Page 177 of Tangled Like Us
I can’t pretend that we’re in her bedroom with a locked door. In privacy.
She wafts her blouse. “I’m not asking you to drink with me as a fake boyfriend and girlfriend…because clearly, we’re not in public, you see.”
My brows knit. What we are together in private, in public, in every other setting, is starting to confuse the hell out of me. And we have to be in agreement.
“You need to clarify,” I say deeply. “What do you think you are to me right now?”
Jane tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, then motions to me. “This is just friendship…just two ole pals drinking whiskey. If you’d like to drink with me, that is.”
Friendship.
I’ve been inside her pussy. She’s not some platonic friend. My jaw hardens. “We’re pals who fuck each other?”
“Precisely,” she says like we’re still on the same page.
But my chest tightens. She’s used to friends-with-benefits, and that’s where she’s placed me. That’s all she wants.
The fact that I’m sitting here and feeling like it’s not justthat—it’s a fucking problem. I shouldn’t be veering off course.
“Correct?” she asks, waiting for my confirmation.
I nod. “Affirmative.”
“So what do you think?” She’s referring to the whiskey.
I consider her offer in a short beat.
Drinkingalonewith a client and not in a group setting—it’s a straight shot to buddy-guard territory. Something I normally don’t fuck around with.
But I’m not looking forward to leaving for security’s townhouse. I don’t want to separate from her yet. And I love whiskey.
I set my radio aside on the weight bench. “If we drink, I can’t touch you. It’s too inappropriate if someone walks in and sees.” I’ve one-hundred percent exhausted the “practicing for the op” excuse, and we need to be more careful.
“Oui.” Jane sits straighter, hands flat on her thighs. “No touching, it’s a necessary parameter.”
“I’ll get the liquor.” I start to stand up.
Her curious blue eyes follow my movement. All six-foot-seven of me rising, and a small breath parts her lips.
I zero in on her knees that knock together.Goddamn.My cock strains against my slacks.“Jane,” I say in my core.
She inhales. “Yes?”
I rub my mouth. “Where’s the whiskey?”
“Oh, um.” Jane shakes out her thoughts, then points to an old wooden cabinet. Where the team stores flashlights and extra batteries. “Top shelf, I think.”
It’s not far. Opening the creaky cabinet door, I find a bottle full of dark amber liquid in the back corner, third shelf. I brush off the dust and read the label on my way to Jane.
Taking a seat next to her, I wait to open it. “This is a thirty-year-old whiskey.”Expensive.“You sure?”
“Positive. It’s just been sitting there for years. It was a housewarming present from my brothers. I thought they would’ve all drunk it by now, but Beckett hid it so they wouldn’t.”
I open the bottle and pass it to her. The mention of her brothers reminds me of mine.
Tell her about Skylar.
She hasn’t pressured me to explain more. Neither did Maximoff or Farrow in the car. They’re good people. Compassionate, and I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and regret not saying something.
