Page 311 of Property of Whiskey

“What other asshole? The law?”

His mouth closes.

Mine starts to smile.

He pushes away from the doorway and comes into the bathroom, stopping close enough that the heat of him reaches me in the small room. Then he straightens the edge of my collar I already straightened.

I let him.

Mostly because I like his hands on me.

Also because I enjoy watching Whiskey pretend little domestic gestures mean nothing while behaving suspiciously like a man in a relationship.

Whatever the hell this is.

His thumb brushes the metal edge of my badge before he looks up. “You sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t gotta bait him.”

“I know.”

“Could let Legend handle Crowley.”

“No.”

“Could let your daddy.”

“No.”

“Could let me.”

I look him straight in the eye. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Figured.”

“This was my idea. You know where I’ll be, you know what time, and you know exactly where you’re supposed to wait.”

Whiskey’s expression sours. “Two streets over like some obedient little bitch.”

I smile sweetly. “Look at you listening.”

“Hate it.”

“Growing hurts.”

“Twila.”

“What?”

“If that man touches you…”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

The teasing drops out of his voice.