Page 36 of Bourbon and Lies

She nods, head tilting with that bright smile.

I’m playing with fire here, but holy hell, is she fun to play with. “Laney, there’s no way that being your friend would ever be enough for me.”

Eyes widening, her mouth opens slightly.

It takes every ounce of my willpower to turn away from her. My body screams at me with every step that brings me closer to my front door. I don’t look back over my shoulder or check to see if her lights are out before mine tonight; otherwise, I’ll rush right back to her, slam my mouth to hers, and fuck the truth right out of both of us.

Chapter 18

Laney

The oven timerhas been buzzing for more than a minute when my shower turns from warm to freezing while I’m still rinsing the red-tinted conditioner out of my hair. Keeping the red, strawberry tint to my hair is more demanding than I expected, but I like it. It’s worth the upkeep. In my rush to reach the timer, I forget to grab the fluffy pink towel hanging on the rack next to my closet.

Barking at my front door is the least of my problems, but it adds to the noise, which then adds to the anxiety to make all of it stop. I’ve felt so much better with how quiet things have been lately. I used to thrive on the buzz of the city, but now I crave the stillness of this Kentucky summer.

I glance at the clock right before I wrap my hair in my towel. It’s only 6:22 a.m. I’ve had Etta James’s Greatest Hits on repeat since I woke up to give me the attitude boost from the shitty night's sleep induced by massive amounts of overthinking.

A few days ago, I ventured to the Fiasco farmer’s market and picked some of the prettiest looking basil and sweetest smelling peaches. Between the peaches and the loaf of sourdough from Crescent de Lune that I couldn’t say no to earlier in the week, I had the perfect distraction when I rolled out of bed. It was easy to get lost for a little while doing it, and baking reminded me of my dad.

My skin is still damp, but I throw on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top from my floor because, again, just that one damn towel. I flip off the timer, toss on oven mitts, and pull out the baked French toast. Julep sits at my front door, and her butt wiggling and tail wagging is a heck of a greeting. I extend the top of my hand, letting her smell me first. “Hey, pretty girl.”

In front of her is an interesting-looking piece of gray cloth. “What is thi—Oh! Fucking gross,” I hiss and shimmy back as I reach it to pick it up. It’s not a cloth. “Did you bring me a present?” Yup, that’s a shed snakeskin.Awesome.Now I can overthink about how there are snakes out here. I look at her big brown eyes, and she really is the sweetest dog I’ve ever met. “You thirsty, Julep?” She gives a little high-pitched whine and a bark, as if she can understand me. “C’mon.” As I open the door wider, she follows me in. I fill up a bowl of water that she sniffs but doesn’t drink and then makes herself at home smelling around the cottage.

“Where’s your big, flirty daddy?” I ask in a playful voice, and then laugh as soon as I say it. Even losing sleep over it, I can’t help smiling, thinking about the way he stood there, his hands in his back pockets, squared off and shouting back that friendship wouldn’t be enough. He knew what I was asking when I offered a nightcap, but he didn’t go for it.

Grant Foxx is nothing like the type of men I’m used to being around. One, in particular—more polished, seemingly sweet,and taken. Also, a liar. A cheater. I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Exactly like me now.

Whisking together a shot of bourbon with some powdered sugar and a dash of vanilla, I thin it out with some water, then drizzle it over the warm and gooey bread.Damn, this is going to be good. Julep sits on the floor next to me and whines. “I know, it smells yummy.” Grabbing a leftover slice of peach, I give it to her. “I think this will earn me a favor and serve as a thank you, what do you think?”

She barks back.

“Exactly.”

I slip on my flip-flops and make a smooching noise for her to follow me. The humid air feels almost as damp as the dew-slicked grass, as my feet get wet traipsing from my place to his. It’s going to be hot today if it’s already this warm. Maybe I shouldn’t even bother with finishing out a shower; I’ll be sweating and in need of another by the end of the day anyway.

What if I told him? All of it. The truth of what brought me here and everything leading up to it? I’d be trusting him to keep a secret. He’d have to lie on my behalf. He wouldn’t like that. And then what if it all just ends up being a good time and nothing more? Then someone will know who I am. That’s a gamble I’m not ready to take.

I make a fist and give his front door a good tap.I wonder if he’s even home right now.On my second round of knocking, I hear movement behind the door, and Julep lets out a short bark. She stays next to me on the porch like this isn’t her home, even though she has a doggie door she could have entered through.

“Jules, you’re knocking now?” Grant says with a laugh, opening the door. His hair is wet and messy. But that’s not what I’m focused on. It’s the tattoos that spread from his biceps and up along each shoulder cap. Outlines and shading of shapes that if I could freeze time, I’d trace with my finger and try to findtheir meaning. This isn’t good. I’m trying to swallow the lump in my throat. It doesn’t help that he’s also standing right in front of me, half leaning against the doorframe with nothing more than a navy-blue towel knotted along his hip.

He holds the door wider, the muscle in his sculpted arm jumps and draws my attention down to his broad chest. It’s the dusting of dark hair along his chest that operates like a roadmap for his body, allowing me to confirm where it ends and his abs begin. He’s so much bigger than I am. Taller. Broader. With a trim waist and averywell-kept physique, Grant Foxx is intimidating.

“You here for something, Laney?”

I give him a tight-lipped smile. What are words? What am I doing here right now?

“I made a bourbon peach-stuffed French toast.” I tilt my head to the side. “For you. For stepping up at Hooch’s last night. I appreciate you doing that for me.” I hand him the warm pan, and the surprised look on his face is endearing. So I push my luck and hope for the best. “And my hot water turned off, so I need to use your shower and finish rinsing the conditioner out of my hair.”

“That horse trough has fresh water from the morning,” he says so quickly that I think he’s being serious.

I give him a wink. “Maybe next time.”

With a chuckle, opening the door wider, he gestures forme to come inside. “It’s just a valve adjustment outside for the well. I’ll do it for you once I’m dressed. But go ahead, you can use my shower for now.”

It’s brighter than I would have expected when I walk into his place. The brooding, quiet man has nice taste. Its ranch-style layout has everything on one sprawling level. Windows that face the east make up almost the entire wall of the large main room. It’s the perfect view of the property at sunrise, with the sky tintedthe prettiest hues as the sun finally crests above the horizon line, burning off the night and leaving a smokey haze in its wake.

“This is beautiful,” I say as I look around the room. To my front is a fireplace. No television or entertainment system in sight, just a large leather couch and coffee table covered with papers and books. The leather recliner next to it has a thick blanket thrown half on the ground, like he had been relaxing there and then went to bed.

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