Page 19 of Whiskey Throttle
Silence sits between us. My hand squeezes her thigh to reassure her. I flash her a smile to go with it. It seems to help when she sighs.
“We don’t decide today,” I say suddenly, surprising myself as much as I surprise her.
She raises her sunglasses to the top of her head. Her dark eyes bore into me, expecting an explanation where I had none.
“We let this breathe. Whatever this is. Let it breathe. Don’t bury it just because it scares us. Because we don’t know how to do this.”
Now I’m talking for both of us. Voicing our shared worries. I don’t know how to do this any more than she does, it seems.
“You’ve never . . .” She looks away for a second, over my shoulder, as if trying to gather the right words. “Entertained something with an older woman before?”
When her eyes return to mine, they look more worried than before. Like, labeling this somehow makes it worse. Maybe it does. Maybe I’m a fool for not calling it what it is. Hell, I don’t know.
All I know is she fascinates me. Far more than anyone ever has. Even I don’t know why that is.
“No. You’d be my first.”
She studies me in silence. Then, almost imperceptibly, she chuckles. I lean back. Remove my hand. Sort of offended by her response. When her hand releases the steering wheel to toy with her pearls, I’m borderline mad.
“You’d be my first, Hollister.”
A few chuckles turn into light giggles. Her hand covering her mouth as if her confession is so raunchy and sinful, she’ll go straight to hell for admitting I’d be her first younger man. It’s not a fact lost on me. I already knew it by the way she’s acted. But damn if it doesn’t do something to my ego, knowing I’d be this stunning woman’s first at anything.
Her laughter fades into something quieter.
More fragile.
A soft smile replaces it, her lips still curved as she exhales through her nose. The sound lingers like an echo, too intimate for the setting, too heavy to be innocent. I don’t press her, just watch her. Let her feel what she needs to feel because this isn’t a moment that wants to be rushed.
After a beat, she places both hands on the wheel again. Straightens her back. Re-centers herself like a woman who’s been through far worse storms than this and knows exactly how to survive them.
“Then we don’t decide today.”
I nod once. It’s the closest thing to an agreement we’re going to get. No promises. No future, just a pause. A moment suspended in the air, like heat shimmering off the asphalt beneath me. She reaches for her sunglasses and slides them back down over her eyes.
“I should go.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, standing but letting my finger caress her neck the same way I did that night. She shudders, so responsive to my touch. My cock hardens. “Me too.”
I move out of the way, closing her car door quietly beside her and stepping onto the curb. She shifts the car into gear. Doesn’t say goodbye. Just gives me one last look over the rim of those lenses. A flicker of something unreadable passes across her face before she pulls away.
I watch until the white coupe disappears around the bend, and I still don’t move. I stay rooted there in the parking lot, like a guy who just stumbled across something precious that no one else sees and has no idea what to do with it. She didn’t shut me out. Didn’t push me away. She let it breathe, and so will I.
Even if every instinct in me already wants more. Standing here, sweaty and stunned. Dick is halfway hard, and my brain is completely fried. Even though I watched her drive off, I’m standing watching the direction her coupe went, even if she’s long out of sight. I drag a hand through my damp hair and turn toward the clubhouse, still not entirely convinced I’m not crazy for pursuing her.
Then I think of the curve of her mouth. The quiet inhale when I told her she'd be my first older woman. I’d be her first younger man. My ego swells with that thought.
She wants me.
There’s no doubt about it. I want her. Yet waiting this out is completely not my nature, and it sort of sucks. My phone buzzes. I stoop on the sidewalk, digging through my bag to find it. When I look at the screen, I’m shocked.
Dom.
Of all the people. Calling out of the blue isn’t his thing. Holy shit, what if he saw us? I stand, look around the parking lot, the clubhouse up ahead, and everywhere possible for his dark clothes and scowling face. When I don’t see him, I blow out a harsh breath and tamp down the sudden panic clogging my throat.
“Hey, Dom, what’s up, man?” I try to sound normal, even if I feel anything but.
“Fucking hell,” he grumbles by way of greeting. “Check your calendar.”
