Page 208 of Property of Whiskey

“True.”

“I don’t know if somebody in my department is leaking information.”

“True.”

“I need access.”

“To me?”

“The club.”

“Sure.”

She glares.

I lean closer. “You stayed because you wanted to.”

“You sure?”

“You fucked me.”

“Evidence of poor judgment.”

“Could test the theory again.”

Her mouth opens. Then closes.

I grin.

She grabs the front of my shirt. “Bedroom.”

Every smart thought disappears.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Thought we were discussing your questionable decision making.”

“We are.”

“And?”

She pulls me closer. “I’ve decided to make another one.”

I kiss her.

Quietly at first because Wren is asleep down the hall, and that changes the whole damn house. Every floorboard suddenly matters. Every creak. Every breath we don’t keep under control.

Twila feels it too. She kisses me before I can say more. We make it down the hall without knocking anything over.

My bedroom door shuts softly behind us. The room is dark except for the bedside lamp I left burning earlier, a low pool of amber light spilling across rumpled sheets and the nightstand where Wren’s school picture is tucked beside my alarm clock.

Twila should look out of place in here, but she doesn’t.

She turns toward me. I lock the bedroom door.

Her eyebrows rise. “That for me?”