Page 239 of Property of Whiskey

“Still made you come in the woods.”

I cut my eyes at him. “You almost fucked me in the woods.”

“Would’ve done that too.”

Heat crawls up my neck despite the cold. “Cocky bastard.”

“Accurate bastard.”

He’s right. We ain’t been able to keep our hands off each other since last night.

I rinse the last mud from my hands.

Whiskey gets quiet beside me.

He leans one hip against the counter, the wet towel hanging from one hand. “You said you stayed because you wanted to.”

“I did.”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna make it weird?”

“Probably.”

“Don’t.”

A brief smile touches his mouth before his attention shifts toward the hallway where Holler disappeared with Wren.

“She could’ve been outside tonight.”

I dry my hands. “She wasn’t.”

“Could’ve.”

“But she wasn’t.”

He looks at me.

I step closer and wipe away a streak of mud caught near the edge of his beard. Whiskey’s hand stops against the counter, and that surprises me.

This man has had his hands over nearly every inch of my body, and somehow me touching his cheek makes him look like I pulled a gun.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He starts toward the hallway, then stops and looks back.

“You coming?”

“To shower?”

“Yeah, and to bed.”

I glance at the two evidence bags on the counter. Pearly Gates. Mercy. Kaylee and Cider. Fresh human boot prints outside Whiskey’s home. A thing in the woods I’m still calling a sick deer because I enjoy sleeping occasionally.

Then I look at Whiskey.

“Yeah.”