Page 16 of Long Shot

A weird feeling of excitement builds in me as I await her response. And she doesn’t disappoint.

“Sometimes it takes balls to be a woman.”

After a shocked beat, Hayden and Carrie burst out laughing and I drop my head forward, shaking it, unable to stop the smile that tugs at my lips. Something warm fizzes inside my chest.

This. This is what I’ve been missing with all the women I’ve been hooking up with. Excitement that’s more than physical.

“Oh, my God, I love you,” Carrie says, slinging an arm around Reese’s shoulders. “Please say you’ll help us organize a paint night.”

Reese smiles. “I’d love to help.”

“Don’t worry, Cade,” Hayden says. “You can trust us.”

Still smiling, I lift my head. “Yeah. Fine. Go for it. Just keep me in the loop.”

“Of course!” Carrie beams at me. “Let’s get together this weekend and start planning. Um, do you work this weekend, Reese?”

“Just Saturday.”

“Perfect! We can go out for brunch or lunch on Sunday.”

I watch Reese’s face and the pleased yet anxious look she wears. She’s always so reserved, I almost expected her to decline to be involved, but she seems happy to be included . . . yet there’s still that distance.

Beck digs an elbow into my ribs to regain my attention. I jump and flash a scowl at my buddy. “Jesus, man, what the . . .?”

Beck’s eyebrows hoist, his gaze moving from me to Reese and back again. “We’re moving on to another tequila,” he says mildly.

Next, we taste an extra añejo, this one smooth and rich.

“I swore I’d never drink tequila again,” one of the woman guests says. “Literally every time I do tequila shots I wake up naked. There are naked photos of me at parties.”

“They say tequila makes your clothes fall off,” Reese comments with a smile.

The woman nods emphatically. “It’s true! For me, anyway.”

“Pour her another one,” a male customer says, and everyone laughs.

“Everyone has a tequila story,” Beck says. “Moderation is the key.”

“This tequila is from the Highlands of Jalisco.” Marco holds up the bottle. “It’s aged for three years in virgin American oak barrels. It’s called Ciervo, which means ‘deer’ because the founder’s grandfather used to love to watch the deer running through their agave fields. It has a sweet, rich flavor profile.”

Everyone follows the steps, checking the color, sniffing, tasting. I’m eager to hear Reese’s assessment. This is one of my favorite tequilas. I eye her expectantly, but she says nothing as others in the group give their opinions.

I move closer to her. “Well?”

She tilts her head. “What?”

“What do you think?” I dip my head toward her glass.

Her forehead creases but she lifts one shoulder. “Green apple and cinnamon, and salted caramel. Rich roasted agave—both sweet and spicy. Nice heat and balance.”

I nod slowly, my pulse quickening. A need to know more about her burnd inside me.

What the hell am I going to do about that? She works for me, for Chrissakes.

Later, when the event is over, I retreat to my office. I sit in front of my computer, staring at the monitor. There’s always work to do, but nothing urgent enough that I have to do it tonight.

Beck pushes into the office holding a bottle of Ciervo. I sit back in my chair. “What’s this?”

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