Page 242 of Property of Whiskey

I look at her.

She looks right back.

“Cute.”

“Whiskey.”

“You said I don’t get to decide if you go. You didn’t say shit about me going with you. Heck’s belongs to the Kings, after all.”

“That’s manipulative.”

“Smart.”

“Annoying.”

“Also true.”

She sighs and reaches for the duffel. “You planning to hover?”

“Absolutely.”

“You planning to start fights?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“How many men try to touch you.”

Her mouth threatens to smile. “You realize wrestling involves touching?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I hate all of it equally.”

Twila laughs and swings the duffel toward her shoulder.

I take it from her before she gets there.

She looks down at my hand around the strap. “What?”

“Keep your hands free. I got this.”

“You know I’m capable of carrying a bag.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are you carrying it?”

“Because I want to.”

She studies me with that same strange look she gets whenever I accidentally do something decent without turning it into a hostage negotiation.

Then she opens the door. “Come on, caveman.”

“Deputy.”