Page 57 of Whiskey Chase
“Is it weird that I think it’s sexy when you smell like polyurethane?” he asked, pressing his face to my throat and breathing me in.
“Yes,” I laughed. “So, listen.”
“Oh, god. What? Wait. Don’t tell me. You want to tear me away from work so we can go ‘wrastle’ pigs?”
“Judgey McJudgerson!” I hadn’t heard the end of it since I’d dragged him to Chicken Shit Bingo for the Bootleg Fire Company. Devlin had had the time of his life and even won the grand prize when the community chicken, Mona Lisa McNugget, took a respectable crap on his square of grass. Class act that he was, he’d donated the cash prize back to the fire company and bought everyone a round of beer. But since then, he’d assumed everything I wanted to do was some backwoods redneck form of entertainment.
In general, he wasn’t far off.
“Just for that attitude, I’m not going to tell you what we’re doin’,” I said haughtily.
He slipped his hand under my tank top and splayed it across my stomach. “Just tell me it involves me getting you naked.”
I tapped my finger to my chin. “Hmm. It does involve fewer clothes than what we’ve got on now.”
He leaned in and nibbled my ear lobe. “Then I’m in.”
I bounced in his lap. “Awesome! I’ll give y’all an hour to finish up here. I’m gonna run into town and get some supplies.”
I scooted out of his lap.
“What kind of supplies, Scarlett? Shit. What did I just agree to?”
“Hey, don’t go out on the deck. I just sealed it. See ya in an hour, Dev!”
“Scarlett!”
I laughed the whole way to my truck.
* * *
June waswhen tourist season really started to pick up. Families with kids burnt out from a school year of overscheduling descend on Bootleg as soon as the last day of school was over with. My rentals were booked solid for four and five weeks out, and I was a happy camper despite the extra service calls that came with occupied rentals.
Part of that could also be due to the regular sex I was now enjoying with my next-door neighbor. Regular only in the timing sense. I had great fears that Devlin McCallister was ruining me for other men. Now that I knew that multiple orgasms were possible, well, why in the hell would I settle for anything less?
I slipped into a parking space in front of Bootleg’s version of a mini mart. Sure, the Pop In was a gas station and lotto place, but patrons could also buy bait, hand-dipped ice cream, and most grocery necessities. I pushed through the glass door and waved a hello to Opal Bodine, softball all-star, behind the counter. The shop had been in Opal’s family for three generations. They used to sell bathtub gin in baby oil bottles right off the shelf.
Opal was dealing with a family picking up enough fishing supplies for a two-week Alaskan excursion, so I moved on to the deli cooler and grabbed two sandwiches, a couple bags of chips, and a pepperoni roll for later. Dev was addicted.
I juggled my load and headed up to the register.
“Y’all have a great day now,” Opal called after the family. “Well, someone sure missed lunch,” she said, eyeing my haul.
“It’s not all for me.”
“I’ve seen you eat after a game. This ain’t nothing but an appetizer when you’re hungry.”
“Har har. Playin’ the hilarious shopkeeper.”
“I don’t see any dessert there,” Opal said ringing me up.
“You got anything I’d be interested in?” I tried to play it cool. But Opal, like everyone else in town, knew I had a sweet tooth that was never sated.
“Oh, I just might have a few Triple Chocolate Death by More Chocolate Tortes fresh from the bakery that I haven’t had time to put out—”
“Gimmie!”
Five minutes and one of the three delectable chocolate tortes I bought later, I dumped my supplies in the truck and headed across the street to wash my chocolate and sugar buzz down with some caffeine.
