Page 50 of Bourbon and Lies

“We bottle up the oldest barrel that’s been resting. A small run of only about a hundred or so the year that something important happens. Coming into the world is one of those important things, and Griz’s year is 1945.”

Her eyes go wide, sparkling with interest. Soaking wet, this woman is so fucking tempting.Space. A little bit of space from this moment would be good. “Let me grab glasses and a lighter.” I walk backward toward my door, still watching her, remembering where she was going today. Maybe that has something to do with her being out here. “Griz said you went to book club with him?”

Her posture changes, and she looks up at the sky quickly, her eyes watery. I’ve never wanted to yell at Griz the way I want to right now for throwing her to the wolves. Because I can guarantee that’s what it felt like when I heard about just a few of the women who were there.

I abandon the idea of getting matches and glasses. Instead, I’m in front of her chair in just a few strides, kneeling so she can see me when I say, “Whatever or whoever made you upset, I’m going to put money on the fact that they’re not worth the tears.”

Two tears fall from each eye as she looks down. There’s no part of me that thinks about what I’m doing or why I feel the need to do it, but I rub each of them away with the pads of my thumbs. “Or was the book just trash?” I ask jokingly.

She barks out a small laugh. “I shouldn’t be crying about this.”

I wipe a few more that track down the non-crier’s face. “Just some leaking emotions. Happens to the best of us.”

She laughs again, and those big glassy eyes find mine.

“Why are you crying, honey?”

I take the bottle from her hand and down a quick swig. Honestly, I need a second. There’s something I’ll always love about the way that first sip of bourbon hits your tongue and throat. But I just need it to help remind me that this isn’t smart, getting so close to here, comforting her. “You upset I crashed your topless horse trough party?”

She barks out a laugh. “Naked. Not just topless.”

I scrub my hand over my face and whisper out, “Fuck.”

When I look back up, her eyes fall to my mouth before trailing back up to mine. Yeah, I could get in lost in this woman. The kind of lost that I won’t find my way back from. That kiss was so damn good, but I could leave it there. I could ease back and try damn hard not to want more.

Changing the subject would be good.“Where else besides The Pez Factory?”

She smiles at me and leans back, a questioning look on her face.

“Thinking about my favorite things always makes me feel better.”

Wrapping the towel around her shoulders tighter, she tilts her chin up to the sky. “Zoltar.”

“The fortune teller machine?”

She points at me with a correction. “Not fortunes. Futures. Like when Tom Hanks wished to be big and he turned into a thirty-something the next day.”

Well, now I’m curious. “What did your future say?”

She stares at my mouth again like she’s zoned in on either making me wildly uncomfortable or imagining what I can’t seem to forget. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have it anymore.” Her smile laces with sadness. “And it doesn’t happen if you don’t have the card anymore either.”

I shrug. “Still curious.”

“Can I ask you something?” she whispers.

I nod and take another drink before I look back at her.

“Do you think doing a good thing can erase when you’ve done a bad thing?”

My knees scream to get out of this crouched position, but I can’t. Not when she’s asking me things like this. I give her a tight-lipped smile and then sit back on the ground in front of her.

She holds out a piece of the red licorice in front of my mouth. I open for her, biting down on the chewy cherry rope.

“I think the world doesn’t really work like that. Some things are black and white. If something is right or wrong. But reasons for doing them—the why—is what can be gray.” I lean my forearms on my bent knees and watch as she nods at what I’m saying. “What kind of bad thing could you have possibly done?” For some reason, a few weeks ago, I could have imagined just about anything, but a little bit of time with her has me feeling like I want to do bad things to anyone who may have hurt her.

“The kind of thing that people tend to hate.” She holds out her hand for the bottle. I pass it back to her, very aware of the way her fingers brush mine again in the process. Her tongue peeks out, brushing the rim just as she tips it back.

I can’t help but swallow in response. That small movement alone hits me right in the gut and then travels down to my groin. Instead of filling the silence, I let her get comfortable with it and give her the space to tell me whatever she needs in order to feel better. I’m starved to hear anything that sounds like a truth from her.

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