Page 37 of Kings Fear No One
“If being thought dead is going away for a while.”
I snatch back my change in cash and gather the rest of our things. We walk out with the case of Pike and a bag of other one-off items I’ve picked up.
And then there’s the bottle of Gold White Oak Whiskey.
Teysha’s still holding onto it like a lifeline.
I don’t say anything as we make our way back to the pickup truck. Something tells me this is a victory in her eyes; something that’s not so common.
She’s finally gotten her way for once.
“Go ahead. Take a drink.”
I jut my chin at the red Solo cup filled with an ounce of White Oak. The pale brown liquid looks almost gold under the kitchen’s fluorescent lighting.
Teysha stands on the other side of the counter, perched on one of the stools. She eyes the Solo cup like it’s a dangerous animal liable to bite at any moment. The second thoughts are written all over her pretty face. Her brows have inched closer together and her teeth nibble away on her bottom lip.
“What does it taste like?” she asks.
“Strawberry ice cream.”
She goes from nibbling on her lips to pursing them. “I might be inexperienced, Logan Cutler, but I’m not stupid.”
“Then go on and try it for yourself. Don’t chicken out now. You’re the one that made a big stink about having a drink.”
“I didn’t make a big stink,” she says almost defensively. She reaches out and curls hesitant fingers around the plastic red cup.
Then she bows her head and sniffs it.
I lose any bearing I have. A raspy laugh cranks out of me.
Fuck.
She really is irritating and cute all at once.
“Okay, okay. I’m trying it! No need to laugh.”
Teysha tosses the ounce of whiskey back. Her throat muscles work as the liquid makes its way down the slender column. The smoky, spicy taste doesn’t hit her ’til a second later. She coughs, her chest jerking forward and eyes squeezing shut.
“You alright?” I slide a cup full of coke across the kitchen counter.
She gratefully accepts, washing away the whiskey taste on her tongue.
The corner of my mouth quirks in half a grin. “Well? What’d you think?”
“You drink that for fun? Why would you do that to yourself?”
“I’m a glutton for punishment.” I raise my glass of whiskey and ice and then show her how it’s done. I drain the whole fucking thing in one swallow. The glass chinks against the counter when I set it back down. “Are we done? Is that little experiment of yours over?”
“Make me a drink,” she says. She points at the two liter bottle of coke and then the White Oak. “Don’t people mix coke with whiskey?”
“I thought you were inexperienced?”
“Do I have to remind you I said inexperienced, not dumb?”
“And again I’m asking where was all that mouth earlier today?”
For a second time, she doesn’t answer me. I start fixing her drink request. Another ounce of whiskey and a hell of a lot more coke.
