Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“No vodka, unfortunately. I have whiskey, tequila, or bourbon. You’re welcome to any of them, or I can still go get you vodka if you really want it.”
I looked into his liquor cabinet, taking a quick inventory of what he had there before reaching out for the bottle of Jameson. “No need. This’ll do just fine.”
I pulled out two glasses before going to the freezer and putting two ice cubes into my glass before turning back to the man standing in the corner of the room and staring at me with a raised eyebrow. “Do you take yours neat or on the rocks?”
“Who says I’m having any?”
“Me. I hate drinking alone.” I poured two fingers of whiskey into two glasses and handed him the one without ice. “Unless… are you sober?” I asked, horrified that I might’ve just messed with someone’s recovery, some therapist I was.
“No. God no. I hate drinking alone too, and there hasn’t been anyone around to drink with in…” He blew out a puff of air. “Years.” He reached out for the glass. “Come to think of it, this is a pretty damn good idea.”
“I’ve been known to have them in my time.” I held out my glass to his. “To weird-ass circumstances.”
He chuckled. “To twists of fate.” We clinked our glasses and sipped, holding each other’s gazes as we drank. The warm, smokey taste of the whiskey flooded my belly with the heat I’d been after for the last couple of days. I went over to the couch and sat, pulling my legs up under my butt and taking another sip as I fixed my gaze on Dillon, who still leaned against the counter with his eyes on me.
“You gonna come sit, or are you gonna hover like a mother hen?”
He took another gulp of whiskey before coming over and taking a seat on the other end of the couch, folding one leg over the other with affected casualness. I did my best to keep my breathing even, making sure not to let him see what an effect he had on me.
“So tell me,” I said, keeping my eyes off him as I spoke, studying the color of my drink, “why police work?”
He snorted. “You don’t let up, do you?” he asked as he took another sip of whiskey.
“Never have, never will.”
He shook his head and looked back at me, entertained. “My uncle worked long hours in town, and I would go spend afternoons after school with this lady, Mrs. Nielson. She was the one who taught me how to cook. As I got older, I started spending more time with her husband. He was the sheriff.”
“Did your uncle have anything to say about that?”
“He was happy and said I could spend as much time as I wanted at the police station, as long as I was on the right side of the glass.”
I chuckled. “He sounds like quite a guy.”
“Yeah, he was.” He raised his glass to his lips and took another sip of his drink. “He always did right by me.”
The way he said it made me think that someone hadn’t always done right by him, and my immediate inclination was to push for more information… but I didn’t want him to shut down on me again.
“How long were you a cop for?”
His muscles locked up a little bit, but he forced himself to relax. “About twelve years. I made detective after four.”
My eyes widened. That was insanely fast to make detective. He had to be incredibly good at what he did. So to turn around and give it up…
“What about you?” he asked. “You said your mom and dad divorced.”
“Yeah. My mom raised me after that.” We were quiet for a second as we continued to sip our drinks. “You know, your accent isn’t as strong as I would’ve expected it to be for growing up here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You disappointed?”
“No. It’s cute.”
Whoa. Where had that come from?
“Yours is cute too,” he said without missing a beat before draining his glass.
“I’m from LA. I don’t have an accent.”
“Of course you do,” he said, fixing his gaze on me. “And it’s a pretty damn cute one.”
“Is it?” I asked. I knew I was walking a dangerous line, but the alcohol was making me bolder than I normally would have been.
“Yeah.” He set the glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me fully. “It’s not the only thing either.”
I couldn’t help asking, my voice pitched low, “Like what?”
His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Like your mouth. How you suck on your bottom lip right before you start ranting.”
My eyes widened. He’d been watching me closely.
“And your skin. You have the most perfect skin I’ve ever seen. I’ve been wondering for days whether it’s as soft as it looks.”
I swallowed hard. “You want to find out?”