Page 46 of Whiskey Wednesdays

“You’re not good at fake sympathy, are you?” He reached out and squeezed my thigh.

“Not really. It sounds like you spent time with her when you could, and you’re taking custody of her now. You’re doing fine.”

“Okay. I’ll take that.” He took my hand. “Tell me what Zoo Lights are.”

I laid back and looked up at the canopy. “The zoo installs thousands of lights and these large hand-painted, animated luminaries. Then people go at night and walk around looking at the displays, and visiting the nocturnal animals.”

“Huh. Sounds great,” he said flatly.

I reached over and flicked his arm. “Jeez, you don’t like libraries or Zoo Lights. You probably don’t like kittens or puppies either. What do you like?”

He gave me a leisurely grin. “A lot of things. Mostly ‘adult’ things.”

“What ‘adult’ things?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted asking.

“Hockey. Most other sports. A good whiskey…” He trailed off.

“And sex.” I finished for him. “I told you I saw all the pictures online when I looked you up. You seemed to have a flavor of the week. Like ice cream.” I sat up.

He scowled and sat up next to me. “I didn’t have ‘flavors of the week.’ And it’s been a long time.”

My stomach knotted when I thought about him bringing one of them here.

I gave him a fake smile. “I’m not judging or telling you what to do. But I’d be careful about bringing anyone around Elodie if you aren’t serious. She loves almost everyone on sight, and it might be confusing for her.”

“You said she lovesalmosteveryone. Who doesn’t she love?”

“She doesn’t like Noah. I’m going to start on dinner.” I stood up and walked out of the room, trying to get some distance.

But he followed me into the kitchen and pulled out a beer and a bottle of white wine from the fridge. He poured a glass, and slid it over to me.

I looked at it. “Is this a peace offering?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

I tasted the wine. It was delicious. “Wow. This is way better than what I usually drink.”

He shook his head, then started the oven and leaned against it. “How are the players really treating you at the arena?”

“They’ve been fine. Seriously. You called them degenerates, but you used to be one.”

He took a drink. “Not all of them, but enough. And I used to be one, so I know. This team’s average age is maybe twenty.”

I shrugged. “Not Titus. He's probably in his mid-thirties, and from all the scars on his body I’m sure he’s been playing for a while.”

Connor carefully set his beer bottle down. “How do you know Titus? And how’d you find out about the scars on his body?”

“Your first question doesn’t deserve an answer. And I saw his scars.”

“When?”

Picking up my glass, I took another sip. “The last time was on Tuesday.”

He ground his teeth. “The last time?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

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