Page 33 of Bourbon and Lies

Is that what I’m doing?

LANEY

I have no idea what you’re doing, cowboy.

I decide to dish his words back.

LANEY

But I’m not going to let this go.

He doesn’t respond. Candy shouldn’t make me swoon, but here I am, hours later, lying in bed, swooning. I should have stopped thinking about Grant Foxx the moment I left the distillery, never mind ignore his text messages. And I definitely shouldn't touch myself with thoughts of his mouth on mine. Or imagine his hands playing with my body with his words fromtoday on replay. But I ignore what’s smart for tonight and enjoy Grant Foxx, even if it’s just a fantasy.

Chapter 17

Grant

“I’m all in.”

Del doesn’t budge. He stays steady with his cards fanned out in front of him, which means he’s got a solid hand. For as long as we’ve been playing, Del never bluffs. He either plays a good hand or folds. He’s always been straight-laced that way.

“Fold,” Lloyd says, throwing his cards down.

The low chatter around the place is the soundtrack to our night. If I listen too closely, I’ll hear some kind of bluegrass streaming on the transistor radio perched in the kitchen.

My buddy, Marcus, stares at me, trying to see if I’ll give him anything. Right now, I’ve got a high two-pair of tens and queens. It’s not enough to be going all in, but I like to play aggressively with these guys; otherwise, our poker games will go well past midnight. He gnaws on the toothpick left over from his turkey BLT, keeping his eyes on me, but I just stare back at him. I’m unbothered and ready to take his money tonight. I don’t have any tells.

Lloyd lets out a low whistle as he looks over my head toward the front of Hooch’s. “This ought to be good.”

They all turn around to see who might have shown up. I’m hoping it’s not Marla’s ex. The last time that happened during our poker night, we spent most of it cleaning up shattered plates and glasses.

A familiar voice pulls my attention to the front dining counter. “What do you mean, I can’t order?”

“Exactly what I said, big city. You’re not a local, so you may not order here. This is a locals-only establishment,” Marla says. She’s nasty when she wants to be. Especially to out-of-towners. Standing there with one hand on her hip and a bored look on her face, Marla chews on her wad of sunflower seeds as Laney dishes a glare right back.

“There’s no way that’s legal,” she snarks, dropping her arm full of shopping bags to the floor. “And what is considered local? I live here”—she twirls her finger in the air—“in Fiasco.” She looks around the room but hasn’t seen me yet. We’re in the far back corner, the typical booth for poker nights. The way I can’t keep my eyes off of her is a problem, but fuck it, I can’t seem to curb the new habit.

Marla doesn’t let up, and it pisses me off. “My money is on you passing through. Not staying put, which makes you a tourist. Part-timer at best. Not a local.” She grabs a pitcher of water and a small plastic cup, fills it, and places it on the counter. “You can have water.”

I’ve only been here a handful of times when Marla’s shown people the exit. I never understood why she’d turn away money like that, but folks in Fiasco are territorial and, most of the time, kind of assholes. Most tourists have no interest in having food at a restaurant in the back of a gas station. Little do most of them know it’s some of the best food in town, but that’s beside thepoint. I never liked the idea of turning away people who didn’t belong, but now I’m annoyed that Laney’s on the other end of it.

“Isn’t that girl the one you were complaining was your new neighbor?” Del asks.

I throw down my cards as I stand. “Two pair.”

“Dammit, Foxx,” I hear from behind me.

Laney catches my movements and looks relieved to see me. She lets out a sigh and says, “Grant, can you please tell this woman that I am not a tourist?”

I look down at the pile of bags, all from Loni’s boutique and some from the soap store that connects to the flower shop. As I lean into her space, she takes a small step back, but I keep her from moving farther when I lightly press my hand along her lower back. She sucks in the tiniest breath as I say, “You’re going to owe me.”

Her eyes track from my arm that’s wrapped behind her, then up to my eyes. She searches for what those words could mean. But then, she spins the tables on me with one small glance from my eyes down to my lips. That’s all it takes to know that this woman has done something to me that not a single other person has—made me want them. Without confirmation, I turn back toward Marla, who first has a look of confusion that morphs into awhat the hell was that?glare. And I bet that if I looked around the room, everyone would be paying attention to the way Grant Foxx just came to the rescue of the new girl in town.

“Marla, this is Laney Young. She’s staying at our guest house. For a while.” I give her a look again. “Foxx property,” I say with a smirk. She whips her head from Marla to me with that comment. “She’s here for some food and a few hands of poker with the guys and me.”

Marla stares at where my arm disappears behind Laney’s back for a moment, but then that’s all it takes for Marla to stand down. “You got it, Grant.” This is going to queue up a phone treeof gossip by the end of the day, but I’ll deal with that later. Marla looks at Laney as sweet as tea now. All that piss and vinegar in her attitude is long forgotten. “What’ll you have?”

I answer for her because I’m having too much fun messing with her. “She’ll have a hot brown and we’ll take an extra mug when you come by with a fresh pitcher.”

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