Page 41 of Bourbon Breakaway


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And that’s exactly how Joey looks at me right now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. “A Mento for your thoughts?”

Her question draws me in even closer to our shared past. Whenever I could tell Joey was upset about something, I’d offer her peppermint Mentos, a treat I always had in my pocket for the horses. Sometimes she’d talk. Sometimes she wouldn’t, but the treat would always get me a smile. I don’t answer, but goddamn does her question tug at the loose string in my heart seams and threaten to unravel me.

I make my way closer and plant my hands on the other side of the breakfast bar to where she’s whisking. I peer in the bowl. “Are you feeding an army?”

“You’re pretty much two men. And I’m damn hungry after this day. Your mom is relentless. She must think I’m still sixteen the way she’s working me.”

I strip off my jacket, peel off my static-filled jumper, which only adds more electricity to the situation. I perch on a stool.

She considers me, laughs through her nose, and leans over the counter, exposing a view of her curves falling damnnear out of that top of hers, and smooths my hair. “It’s all standing up.”

I swallow hard, working even harder to keep my eyes where they belong. “Static.” I clear my throat. “Why is it so hot in here?”

“I think maybe the thermostat isn’t working? I can’t turn down the temperature.” She takes the eggs over to a pan she clearly had already heated up because she pours the eggs straight in. “I don’t know.” She peeps over her shoulder seductively. “But I like it hot.” She turns back to concentrate on the pan and adds, “I can sleep naked.”

I try. Itrynot to picture Jolie naked, but my brain force-feeds me the image. I stare at her ass in her tight, filled-out jeans, and think about how those hips would feel in my hands. Round ass. She probably has smooth skin like the back of her neck…

She sprinkles some chopped vegetables and cheese into the frying pan. “I hope I’m able to flip this omelet without breaking it. I’ve never been good at these. Especially in a big pan like this.”

“As long as there’s cheese in it, doesn’t matter what it looks like.”

She points the flipper at me. “My kind of man.”

And damn, if Jolie hasn’t grown into my kind of woman.

She attempts to flip the omelet over, but it falls apart. “Shit.” She doesn’t face me but throws her hand on her hip and shakes her head.

Scratch that. Jolie hasn’t grown into my kind of woman. She’salways beenmy kind of woman. Bold. Playful. Puts her foot in it all the time but she’s so well-meaning. She has a litany of qualities I’ve always admired and thought a few times, especially after prom when my mind firstwandered to thatwhat-ifspace in time, that I might end up with a woman like her one day.

I drink again, and the bourbon asks me what it would feel like to ease in behind her and put myself flush up against that ass of hers and inhale the back of her neck where the faded, earthy scent of patchouli and a hardworking woman would be the biggest turn-on I’d ever experience.

Being around Jolie is comforting. But also alluring. And worrying. And… Well, just like the girl, the woman makes me feel a lot of things. I rub my thighs to ground myself, bring me back to reality. It doesn’t matter what I feel. I’m here to figure out what Joey feels. Like Logan said, there’s something wrong, and I need to get her talking about it.

She puts the eggs—now more of a scramble than an omelet—on one plate and brings over two forks and takes the stool next to me. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a plate. I hate doing dishes.”

She sits with her legs wide open, and that same seam from Sly’s tempts my mind away from reason.

I pick up a fork and wonder if she can read my thoughts.God, I hope not.“I don’t mind sharing. But for the record, I would have done the dishes. You cook. I clean. Seems fair.” I stab some eggs. “Believe it or not, I actually like doing dishes. It’s relaxing. I hated having a cleaner back in LA.”

“Oooh. A man who likes cleaning. You really are still so perfect, aren’t you, Ashton?” She takes a bite, and her pouty lips move subtly as she chews. She has a damn pretty mouth.

We eat and talk about the kids in the class this afternoon. We laugh about a few of the things Gareth said, and Jolie tells me how his dad is gone and she looked it up in her car before driving here. Gary Mason died two years ago. Imelt in the presence of this caring woman. She knows a lot about the history of the students, and her empathy has grown from what it was when we were kids—from concerned neighbor to a woman who has the intentional attentiveness of a matriarch.

We finish the omelet while still talking about Moon Ridge Ranch. I head to the sink, and Jolie enlightens me on all the things she’s caught up on since returning to Starlight Canyon so many months before me. The town gossip. The fact that there’s only one carrot cake per day being sold at CCs now that Shay Mendez is setting up her own business.

Talking about home together is the most comfortable I’ve felt in a long, long time. It’s a shame I need to steer this conversation elsewhere.

I turn off the faucet, having finished washing the pan while Jolie chatters away, and I follow her over to the couches in her living room. She’s refilled our bourbons. I tell myself not to have another one or I’ll need a straight-jacket. Jolie laughs a lot, even when she’s being serious, and every time she does, her full, round tits laugh along with her, calling to my fingertips.

Jolie plops down on a sofa. “I’m making up for lost time with Eve, but it’s great she’s a horsey girl. I can’t wait to go to Florida with her for Special O.”

I take the cushion next to her. “A lot happened while we were away. Like Eric…” I dare to meet her eyes, which have instantly changed at the sound of his name. “You two were together for a long time.”

She finishes her drink in one go and puts her glass down on the coffee table. Her voice is raspier than when I came in an hour ago. Her eyes are lazy and hold nothing back.

“Yeah, he loves to come crawling back whenever heneeds someone who can string a sentence together at an event. I’m getting old for his taste now, though.”

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