Page 53 of Whiskey Chase
“I can’t help it. I think you took a piece of me tonight.”
She shot me a coy look. “I think I took three pieces of you tonight. One for each orgasm you gave me.”
She did it again. Scarlett had managed to loosen something tight in me, release another worry. How could I not feel like king of the world with this woman in my shirt, in my kitchen, in my arms?
“We should probably talk,” I guessed. We hadn’t discussed what this would mean in terms of a relationship or my limited time here in Bootleg.
“About the pizza?”
“About us.”
“Oh. That.”
I felt my newfound confidence begin to deflate like a balloon.
But she smiled brightly. “I think we both know the score. What we did tonight? Definitely happening again. And as often as possible while you’re here.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
She nodded earnestly. “Yup.”
“Soooo...”
“So, we’re good,” she shrugged.
She rummaged through the fridge and fished out two beers. Making herself at home, she grabbed the bottle opener out of the drawer next to the fridge. An accessory I didn’t know I had. Jonah and I had been opening beers using the railing on the deck... like real men.
The terms of our relationship settled, Scarlett and I ate the pizza off of paper towels and drank beers straight from the bottle and listened to music. Her small feet rested in my lap while we sat on opposite ends of the couch.
I realized that this was the first time I’d ever seen her relaxed. Scarlett was always on the move, always in motion.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” I admitted.
She cracked one eye open and gave me a half smile. “Like what?”
“Still.”
She laughed. “You seem to have sapped the energy right out of me.”
I studied her, stroking my fingers over the soles of her feet. “What do you do to relax?” I asked.
“Relax?” she turned the word over as if she didn’t know its meaning.
She didn’t watch TV, I noticed. If Scarlett had downtime, it wasn’t spent binge-watching a show. She spent it with people. She also wasn’t one to spend time on her phone playing games or chatting with friends. I didn’t know if it came from growing up in a backwoods town with spotty cell reception or if it was more important to her to be present. I liked to think it was the latter.
“I don’t have time to relax. I’m too busy building my Bootleg empire,” she yawned. “What about you? What do you do to unwind?”
I thought about it.
“You’re frowning,” she pointed out.
I shot hoops with friends on the weekends. But they weren’t really friends. They were more other lawmakers, other lawyers. And we’d talked shop, made deals, argued cases.
“I guess I spent my time building my empire too.” And look where that had gotten me.
She stretched, making her entire body rigid before releasing a mighty yawn.
“Bedtime,” I decided for us. I scooped her up, leaving the pizza remains for later.
