Page 99 of The Best of Us

“And what’s that?” I knew. Of course I knew, but I wanted to hear him say it.

A sexy smirk slipped across his lips before he rasped, “You know exactly what.”

Chapter30

Juliette

“On a scaleof one to ten, how bored are you after I blabbered on about how to distill whiskey?”

Constantine and I were sitting on the bed eating. I was a little surprised he trusted me to eat pasta on top of the luxurious bedding in my current state (heck, even without alcohol) and not make a mess.

He paused mid-perfect twirl of the spaghetti noodles, eyes on me. “Oh, at least a twelve.”

“Mm.” I smiled. “Thought so.”

“It’s not every day I get to learn how bourbon is made from start to finish.” He abandoned that perfect bite and set aside his silverware, and I did the same.

I was incredibly grateful he’d had me change out of my jeans before eating so I didn’t have to unbutton the top. I was beyond stuffed.

“Well, since I can’t hold down my liquor, my dad made sure I could hold down the facts about how to distill it. I’m a walking encyclopedia about whiskey, but ask me to walk while drinking it, and we’ll have problems.”

His smile morphed into a light laugh, and that sound was bliss. “Just so you know, there’s nothing you could ever share with me about yourself I wouldn’t want to hear.” He held up his hand. “Aside from that, of course.”

“Right. Men from my past are a no-go unless I want their hands detached from their bodies.” I licked my lips, checking for marinara sauce, and he tracked the movement of my tongue. “Key word, though, past.”

“Very important distinction, you’re correct.” I wasn’t sure if that gruff hitch in his voice was because he was remembering my brother’s friend who wanted a one-nighter with me or because he wanted to kiss me. “So.”

“So,” I echoed back, smirking.

He hit me with one of his killer smiles in response, and I was on the verge of blurt-begging him (it was a thing) to go ahead and kiss me now, not when I was sober.

“Your dad.” He cleared his throat, doing his best to offer a redirect he clearly sensed we both needed. “He’s from Scotland and learned to make whiskey there, but has he ever taken you to visit?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He closed one eye briefly. “Is that a yes or a no mm-hmm?”

My laughter was interrupted by an annoying hiccup. “Ayes, he’s from Scotland. Ano,I’ve never been there to visit.”

Ugh, that flirty look from him was going to send me back into that feeling of lust, especially when he followed it up with a teasing, “That mm-hmm makes perfect sense now, my apologies.”

“Well, you should be sorry.” I leaned forward, poking his hard chest.

He lowered his chin to where I kept my finger firmly connected with his pectoral muscle.

I know, I know. Hands to myself.I sighed as if that’d help compel my heart, mind, and body to behave. “My, um, dad refused to take me because of a falling out he had with his father.” Curling my fingers into my palm, I slowly returned my hand to my lap.

“Let me guess, was it because of whiskey?” He cleared our plates, setting them on the floor by the bed. Great, now nothing was separating me from temptation itself.

“Mm-hmm.” I teasingly rolled my eyes in response to his smile at my use of syllables as a response. “Yesss, you’re correct. Granddaddy owned a Scotch business in the Highlands. They disagreed on the aging process, and I’m sure a few otherthings, and one day, they had a blowout. I’m pretty sure Daddy moved to Kentucky to make bourbon just to spite him.” I slapped a hand over my mouth, realizing I’d gone full Southern on him there.

He clasped my palm, letting our locked hands rest between our legs. “I love it when you let your accent slip out. Why do you hide it?”

“I don’t, not really. Kind of fizzled and went away when I lived in Florida. I become all Kentucky when back home, though.”

“Or drinking.” He smoothed his thumb in small circles over my hand as he held on to me.

“Thankfully, I get to hear yours, bourbon or not. But it thickens when you’re upset or passionate about something.”

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