Page 32 of Bourbon and Proof

It’s a half-truth, but the only half he’s going to get today.

Chapter 13

Hadley

April: Grape Pop Rocks might be wildly underwhelming. But if you add them with Cherry, it’s a damn mouth party. Maybe not as big of a party as kissing Atticus Foxx, but a close second.

The quiet crackle of the grape and cherry candy fire off in my mouth as the moody bluegrass band plays a new set. I smile and close my eyes for a moment as my senses overload with the sweet and sour taste mixed with music that’s always felt like a part of who we are in Kentucky. Bluegrass is nothing new to Fiasco, but something different for Midnight Proof. A talented singer who came looking for a gig during last year’s Bourbon & Blues Festival was the perfect addition to Faye’s burlesque nights. I glance around, pocket my little black journal, and appreciate that the bar is full tonight. It’s a welcome change.Fiasco has been feeling the aftermath of what Finch & King had tarnished.

But people still love to drink. It’s been slower as a whole, so I don’t bother holding back a smile as I watch my bartenders shake up long lines of shots and specialty cocktails. My whole wait staff is busy hustling. Since we’re a cocktails-only establishment, everyone on my team can mix their own orders, which means the bartenders handle the busiest section of the place: the bar. Each seat is taken, and tonight, it’s standing room only. It’s always been meant to feel like Midnight Proof is versatile—social and a place to meet a stranger in a packed bar, while my tables and lounging spaces can be intimate and quiet for couples.

It leaves little time to get lost in thoughts about Ace’s lips and the way it felt so effortlessly toe-curling as they moved with mine. I would’ve done anything he wanted in that moment, and I wouldn’t have regretted it. A woman knows when a man wants her. There’s a look that can’t be put into words, but we know when someone wants nothing more than to devour as much of us as we’ll allow. And all I can think about is how much I’d allow.

There have been years of drawn lines and feigned disinterest. But then the tiny scar on his upper lip tipped up just a little bit. He looked at my lips as if they were his favorite batch of bourbon. And that was it. Every carefully constructed wall crumbled. It’s impossible to decide who made the first move, but our limbs and bodies, mouths and tongues collided like they’d finally been returned to where they should have been all along. It hurt the second he pulled away.

“Hadley,” one of my regulars says with a smile. “Any chance you can make me that cherry bombshell drink?”

“Absolutely, darlin’,” I say as I make my way down the bar to grab what I need.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and the name that’s waiting has me stopping short.

HAWK

Feel like company later?

I’m going to need to do more than drop a “no thanks” text. It’s been weeks since I’ve spent time with him, and I can’t find it in me to be close with another man—not after touching and kissing Ace. It just feels...wrong. Hawk deserves a conversation, not a text message. The man’s been inside me, so that demands at least a coffee and a hug. But my phone buzzes again before I can pocket it, and the text that comes through has my stomach souring. It’s the consistency of these that’s starting to make me more uneasy.

UNKNOWN

You need to make some deposits. I’m done with asking, pumpkin. Do not make me angry.

Pumpkin. The threats from my father and whomever else has been texting me are turning into an anxiety I can’t keep brushing away. At some point, I’ll need to deal with it. This one, however, pisses me right the fuck off. I have no interest in touching any part of his estate. All of it may be in my name, but it can burn, for all I care.

I take a few deep breaths and try to calm the way messages from him burrow underneath my skin. There’s a part of me that still hates disappointing him. I’m sure it’s a part of me that’s been conditioned over the years. So, I do exactly what I should when it comes to narcissistic people: I ignore him. I pocket my phone and leave it on read.

“You own this place?” a man with a deep scowl and a bald head asks as I get my bearings behind the bar. I recognize him—he’s a bloodstock agent. Worked exclusively for my father in finding the right thoroughbreds and developing the breeding program for Finch & King. His body language is all wrong—his face is reddened, lip curling with the question, and he isn’t here with anyone that I can see as I glance behind him.

“Yes. This is my place.” I smile tightly as I swipe beneath the bar for the cherry liquor. Replacing the cap with a pourer, I ask, “What can I get you?”

He laughs to himself. “So you’re the Finch bitch.”

“Creative,” I counter. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

Resting his forearms on the bar, he leans in between two customers. “Fucking figures that you look like that.” His eyes move down the front of me.

“I know, it’s distracting.” I take a breath in and scoop ice into my shaker, then pour in the house-made gin. As I give it a few furious shakes, I look him in the eyes and say, “You going to order a drink there, big guy, or are you planning just to give me rapey eyes and insult me? Because if it’s the latter, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

He doesn’t like that. His eyes bulge, mumbling something I can’t hear over the crowd and music as I top the cocktail with a sprig of thyme wrapped around a bourbon-soaked cherry.

I glance at the far end of the bar and catch a pair of stormy blue-gray eyes watching me.Ace.Usually, it’s a swirling stomach feeling when I catch that gaze resting on me, but right now, with big mouth, little dick getting next level pissed in front of me, I feel a sense of relief knowing he’s here.

“For starters, darlin’, you can quit fucking smiling and tell me exactly how you plan on paying me back for the money and horses your fucking father owes me,” he says, quiet enough that his words only carry to those sitting on either side of him. It isn’t the first time someone who’s been screwed over by my father has found their way in here. Most of the time, they never make it toofar, but this is the third time now that a horse breeder, trainer, or rancher has approached me and demanded I pay them. One of the more frustrating parts is, I don’t know who the good guys are who just got fucked over by my father, and who knew and participated in all of it.

I look over the angry man’s shoulder toward the door, but Brady is busy with a loud group of bachelors. When all this started, I didn’t want to hire the extra security that I probably should have, since business has been surviving and not thriving. The cost hasn’t seemed justifiable, but now I’m regretting it.

“You going to answer me, princess, or do I need to be louder and start breaking things?” he prods.

I swallow the dryness in my throat and raise my chin. But as soon as I look up at the angry bald man’s face this time, I notice it’s pinched, like he’s in pain. He stands taller now, back arching, making his chest bow forward awkwardly. Behind him, the man from Lincoln and Faye’s bachelor party stands, gritting his teeth and speaking quietly into the bald man’s ear. His tall, solid frame dwarfs the bald man’s stature. I glance at Ace, who’s watching me, not the least bit interested in the commotion this is starting to cause. The long-haired hero guides the bald man to the door and Brady meets them halfway, ready to do his job and get this asshole out of my speakeasy.

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