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Dash smirks when I say his name.
“Whiskey?” he questions and cocks his head to the side.
“That’s his name.”
Dash’s phone dings, he looks to it as he stands, leaving a tip on the counter, I hand him my work card.
“That’s got my mobile on it, text me your address and we’d be delighted to come.”
I think it’s time I make Whiskey do things instead of the other way around.
The following day I still haven’t heard from Whiskey, but then again, I haven’t reached out either. I also don’t intend to. I signed the contract, so it’s done, I now have six months to go, and I will be free. It’s a relief, and also scary, as I never wanted to be a divorcée. Not once did I see myself as that type of woman. I wanted my marriage to last forever, and with it a lifetime of happiness.
“Are you avoiding me?”
I jump and almost drop the tray of glasses in my hand. Turning around, Whiskey’s standing there. I push past him and walk around the bar. It’s safer with something separating us. “No, I’ve been working, you should know this, since you can see me.” I point to the cameras.
“I’m amazed you haven’t torn them down,” he says.
“Oh, I thought about it.” I tell him. But in truth, I need them until I figure out how to get in contact with another security company that is not my husbands.
Whiskey doesn’t sit, he stands there watching me as I fidget doing everything else there is to do apart from look at him. Because if I look, I’ll see him between my legs. And if I stare long enough, I will see those whiskey-colored eyes as they fuck me, but I am mad at him, not just for the cameras—for Shane too.
“You’ve been avoiding me. That’s okay. I’ve been avoiding you as well.”
Whiskey’s answer takes me by surprise, so I look up at him. He smirks, sits, and taps the bar with his finger. “Whiskey neat.”
“How ironic,” I say with an eye roll as I swing around and pour him two fingers.
“I’d like you to come back with me tonight.”
I slide the glass over to him, and he eyes it for a second before he looks back at me. “Is that so?”
“Yes, come home with me.”
As he says it, the band walks in. One of them looks my way and winks, and when he does, my cheeks redden instantly.
“You can’t fuck him, you know that, right? I’d hate to go around breaking another set of legs.”
My eyes snap back to Whiskey, who has the tumbler to his lips.
“I know,” I say through gritted teeth. “If you even dare do something like that again…” I fume.
“You’ll what, withhold sex from me? If you do and when you cave, because we both know you will, I’ll draw out you coming and watch as you scream for your release.” He winks before he turns around. “If you will excuse me.” He gets up, and I watch as he heads to band. I don’t even bother following, instead I start wiping the bar, waiting for him to return a few minutes later. Whiskey heads straight back to the bar and sits as if he didn’t go anywhere. Then he picks up his glass, and I notice his knuckles are red.
“Tell me you didn’t hit him,” I say, looking over at the back door then back to him.
“I didn’t hit him.” Relief washes over me. “I punched his fucking teeth out.”
What the fuck! My eyes snap to him, and my hand covers my mouth.
“Oh, my god. Tell me you’re joking. Soon I won’t have any fucking bands want to perform here.” I could cry. “You are ruining my life and you aren’t even my real fucking husband!” I scream.
The back door flies open, and the band member that winked at me walks in holding his mouth.
“Lucky he doesn’t need it to sing,” Whiskey says. When I look back to him, he’s smirking.
“Lottie…” I turn to my manager who’s nodding for me. I look back to Whiskey as dread fills me, the band spoke to her.
