Whiskey Chaser (Bootleg Springs Book 1)

by Lucy Score

  He was adorable. And I wanted the hell out of him. If I didn’t know it would freak him out, I would have taken a picture of him like this.

  I decided I’d make entertaining Devlin my new side project. Maybe it was time he found out what he really wanted out of life. And hopefully Sober Devlin really would want me.

  16

  Scarlett

  “Why the hush-hush family meeting?” I asked, barging into Bowie’s house in downtown Bootleg on a fine Friday morning.

  Bowie lived in a cute little brick duplex with a wide front porch and fancy trim around the windows a whole two blocks from the high school where he worked. Cassidy lived in the other half. And nothing on God’s green earth would convince me that was a coincidence.

  “I wanted breakfast, and none of you have anything in your kitchens,” Bowie called from the back of the house. We Bodines did most of our business over breakfast. We were all early risers by nature and all preferred to pull off the bandage quick when it came to uncomfortable situations.

  I followed him back to the kitchen and found the rest of my brothers—minus Jonah—sitting around his kitchen table.

  “Well this isn’t good,” I said, pulling out a chair. Bowie had told me seven, and here I was on the dot, yet all my other brothers managed to beat me here? It meant only one thing. “What do you assholes want me to do?”

  “Dad’s lawyer called,” Bowie began. He dropped a plate of pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles in front of me. There was a whipped cream smiley face on top.

  This was going to be really bad.

  “Someone needs to start going through his house,” Gibson blurted it.

  “Awh, come on, guys. You’re going to dump this on me?” I hated them all a little bit at this moment, digging into my stupid smiley face pancakes.

  I looked up, and they all had their fingers on their noses. “Yeah, yeah. Not it. I get it.”

  “Look, Scar,” Bowie began. “If one of us went in there, we’d just start pitching things. We don’t have the sentimental feelings that you do. We’ll handle the hauling. But we need you to go through the house.”

  “What are we doing with the house?” I asked.

  My brothers looked at each other. “What do you want to do with the house?” Gibson asked.

  “Wouldn’t hurt to keep it for another rental. It’s got more bedrooms than most other properties.”

  “Needs some work,” Jameson pointed out.

  “Needs a fucking exorcism,” Gibson muttered under his breath.

  “Can we maybe just choke down our hate for one meal?” I suggested.

  Bowie and Jameson shot Gibson stern looks.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “I can’t believe y’all are dumping this on me.” Just like they’d dumped Dad on me. Just like they’d expected me to handle everything. Maybe I’d just save us all some trouble and burn the damn house to the ground.

  Bowie sat down next to me. “Scar, we know it’s not fair to ask this of you. But if you want it done right, this is the way to do it.”

  “I’ll clean it out. You all do the hauling, selling, and storage. And then Gibs and I will split the flip work,” I decided. “But I want free labor from every one of you. This is gonna take time away from my business, so y’all better show up for me.”

  “We will,” they promised vehemently.

  I knew they would, but I was still pissed off and wishing they’d all grow a pair and just get over the grudges they held against our father. He was dead. He couldn’t do any more damage.

  Business concluded, they all dove into the stack of smile-free hotcakes at the center of the table.

  “So. You and Devlin?” Bowie began.

  I poked him in the hand with my syrup-covered fork. “Uh-uh. From now on, we’re staying out of each other’s love lives unless Gibson has a head injury and gets back with Misty Lynn.”

  “Come on, Scarlett,” Jameson said. “We’re just looking out for you.”

  I shook my head. “I mean it, guys. I don’t need three—four now—overgrown buffoons overseeing my dating habits.”

  “Devlin’s not horrible,” Gibson said, forking up a triple layer of hot cakes into his mouth.

  “Seconded,” Jameson nodded.

  “Well, there’s a ringing endorsement,” I said dryly.

  “But he’s also not staying,” Bowie said. “He’s just passing through. Is that really someone we want Scarlett spending time with?”

  “That’s a good point.” Jameson picked up his coffee.

  “You all know I’m not getting married before thirty, right?” I’d made my mother a promise every year on my birthday for as long as I could remember. I would not get married before thirty. Which meant I could have a hell of a lot of fun for now.

  “Scarlett, why don’t you think about settling down with someone and not marrying them?” Bowie suggested.

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  Gibson leaned over his plate. “Look, Scar. We raised you. If you’re out screwing around, it’s our fault.”

  “Oh, so you want me to settle down to make you all feel better.”

  “We just want one of us to turn out to be a well-adjusted adult,” Bowie shot back.

  “How’s that electrician you were seeing?” I asked Bowie, knowing full well he’d dumped her within ten minutes of hearing that Cassidy and Amos Sheridan had called it quits this winter.

  “Electrical engineer,” he corrected. “And we decided to see other people.”

  “Like your next-door neighbor?” I asked innocently.

  “Burn,” Jameson nodded in approval.

  Gibson smirked his appreciation.

  I pointed my fork at Gibson. “Don’t you start. I know you’ve been taking no one but bar skanks home with you after your shows,” I said. My brother was quite the talented singer and guitarist. He played bars within a 50-mile radius for fun... and women.

  “My sex life is my business.”

  “Not if mine isn’t mine,” I argued. “In fact, I think I’m gonna make a list of your recent conquests. Just so we can all stay up to date on your long, sporadic line of one-night stands.”

  Jameson was smart enough to stare intently at his plate and not move around too much to catch my eye and wrath. To be honest, I wasn’t sure about that particular brother’s dating life. I thought he might be seeing someone, but she lived outside of town. He’d never seen fit to introduce her to any of us, so I figured it wasn’t serious. But I could find out if I had to. When I was little, spying on my brothers had been one of my favorite past times.

  “So, we’re agreed,” I said. “No one bothers me about my sex life, and I’ll leave y’all’s alone?”

  “Agreed,” they mumbled.

  I dug back into my pancakes and started thinking about just how long I wanted to wait with Devlin. It was like being on a diet and living next door to an ice cream stand.

  I thought about that irresistible hot fudge sundae that was Devlin McCallister all morning in between cursing out my brothers one at a time. I had projects to wrap up before I saddled myself with Daddy’s house. And if they had a problem with it, then they could just go and clean out his things themselves. I wasn’t avoiding it, I told myself. It was just good business to put paying jobs first.

  I’d gone from eking out a living at eighteen to doing real well for myself. The income from my rentals kept me going when work was slow in the winter. And I was building up a nice chunk of savings so I could snatch up another seasonal rental.

  With Devlin’s job, I’d be pocketing a nice fee. And just like that, I was back to thinking about him. He was quite the fine male specimen. And his time in Bootleg was doing wonders for him. Every time I saw him, he looked stronger, sharper… fitter.

  I thought about Dev and his fine form all through the furnace filter swap out at my rental and during my roof patch job at Zadie Rummerfield’s parents’ house. Hell, I even thought about him when I snaked Cassidy’s upstairs toilet becaus
e she was too embarrassed to call her plumber cousin.

  Devlin kissed me like I was a woman. Not some girl he’d known since kindergarten. Not the youngest of four—five now—Bodines who would throw down if he stepped out of line. And not the poor daughter of a drunk and a loser.

  He made me feel mysterious, interesting, sexy. Things I couldn’t feel on a daily basis around the people I’d known my whole life.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t see a downside to a little spring fling with the man.

  I pulled my phone out of my bra where I’d stashed it for my little plumbing escapade. Cassidy had paid me for my troubles with a spa gift certificate and a box of condoms. And I was going to put one of them to use tonight.

  I dialed Devlin’s number, and he answered on the first ring.

  “Well, hello there,” I purred.

  “Hi, Scarlett.” I heard a small crash in the background and some quiet swearing. “I mean, hey. What’s up?” he said casually.

  Devlin had a crush on me. And that warmed my West Virginia heart.

  “What are y’all doing tonight?” I asked.

  17

  Devlin

  The Lookout was more crowded this time than the last. Generations of Bootleggers cozied up around the bar or held down tables on the main floor space. There were pool tables in the back with the requisite neon beer signs. And peanut shells and dust all over the floor. When I’d asked about it, I was told that no one in Bootleg had peanut allergies. The locals credited the hot springs and their mystical healing powers with the town’s lack of life-threatening allergies.

  “Hey, Dev,” Millie Waggle called out from a table of women in a mix of flannel and spring dresses. “Where’s your roommate?”

  I waved. They all waved back, smiles curving their lips.

  “Jonah’s visiting with friends in Virginia,” I told them despite the fact that it was none of their business.

  I started toward the long L-shaped bar even though I’d already decided I would not be overindulging tonight. My moonshine and softball hangover from earlier in the week was enough to convince me to spend the rest of the week apologizing to my body with a series of grilled meats, salads, and workouts. I now knew I suffered from the week-long, feel-like-I-have-the-flu hangovers that all adults came to experience.

  But I needed something to do with my hands. A drink would be the most believable prop to hide my nerves.

  Tonight, I was on a mission. Scarlett Bodine was coming home with me, or I was going home with her. One way or another, we were going to end up naked together. And in order to make that happen, I couldn’t be the anxiety-ridden hopeful romantic that I currently felt like.

  “Devlin,” Rhett, Misty Lynn’s current burly boy toy, nodded as I passed him.

  “Evening, Rhett,” I said, slipping past him. It was odd that I was a stranger here, yet I knew more people in Bootleg than I did in Annapolis. That was the small town for you, I supposed. Everyone knew you and your business. I wondered if they all knew my recent history. And if they did, would they advise Scarlett to stay away from me?

  She’d invited me here, mentioning that Gibson was playing and I should come. Shit. What if she only invited me to be polite? Or what if it was a group hangout kind of thing, and I’d manscaped for no reason? I mentally prepared myself for that humiliation. At least me and my razor were the only ones who’d know my shame.

  I hated the fact that those thoughts crossed my mind. Six months ago, I felt secure in my existence. Thanks to breeding and regular reinforcement, I had the confidence of knowing I was important.

  The prenup had protected my accounts, but it hadn’t done a damn thing for my ego. I’d taken more than a ding with this divorce. But a night with the beautiful Scarlett? I couldn’t think of anything that would make a man feel better than that.

  And more than that, I wanted to give her something Wade Zirkel never could. I didn’t want to just be a familiar set of arms. I wanted to make this special for her. I wanted to give us both something to remember fondly for the rest of our lives.

  The only thing standing between me and that eventuality was the distance between my feet and the bar.

  I spotted her. She was talking to two older men at the bar. She was in that short denim skirt, a scooped Bootleg Cock Spurs tank, and a cute little cardigan over it. Her hair was down in thick waves, and she was wearing the cowboy boots from the first time we’d met.

  It was official. She was the sexiest woman I’d ever seen in my entire life. Who knew my type would be country cowgirl rather than sleek sophisticate? But there was no fighting it.

  I took a deep breath and threaded my way through people laughing around tiny tables.

  She spotted me halfway there, and the way her face lit up made the tightness in my chest loosen.

  “Hi,” I said. Way to be smooth, jackass.

  “Hi,” she said, bringing her straw to her lips.

  Was it too early to ask her to go home with me? “Can I buy you a drink?” I asked.

  She held up her still full glass and wiggled it. “I’m good. But let me buy one for you.” She turned back to the bar, and I skimmed my hand over her hair. “Nicolette! Whatever this tall drink of water wants.”

  The bartender, Nicolette, was a short brunette who had waited on me and the Bodines last time we were here. Tonight she was wearing an If You Don’t Like Tacos, I’m Nacho Type t-shirt. She cocked her head at me. “What’ll it be, Devlin?”

  “Just a beer,” I said. One beer wouldn’t get me in trouble with Scarlett’s consent concerns.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked, leaning into Scarlett’s ear so she could hear me. She smelled like sunshine and a field of daisies.

  “Pepsi,” she said with a wink.

  “Any reason why?” I asked, barely daring to breathe.

  “I think you and I might have plans later tonight.”

  Merciful heaven. My heart stopped. I was, for all intents and purposes, dead on my feet with the anticipation of what I thought she was saying. It jump-started with an awkward limp, and then I was breathing again.

  “So, want to get out of here?” I was only half joking.

  She laughed and ran her hand over my chest, down the buttons of my shirt. I went rock hard when she rose up on her tiptoes and let her lips brush my ear. “I want to spend my evening flirting with you before I spend my night fucking you.”

  And just like that, any drop of blood I’d had left in my head dropped south so fast I saw black creeping in on the edges of my vision. “Huh,” was all I could manage.

  “Beer’s up,” one of the old guys said, handing me a pint glass of whatever the hell I’d ordered. “You sure you don’t need smellin’ salts, boy?”

  Scarlett grinned and grabbed my hand. “Come on, Dev. We’ve got a table up front,” she said, pulling me along.

  The group thing was no longer a concern for me. Not when I knew tonight was the night. However, I was in no state to make eye contact with Bowie and Jameson, or Cassidy and June for that matter. I nodded to the table and sat, hoping no one would notice the raging erection in my jeans. As if reading my mind, Scarlett dropped her hand in my lap, and I nearly jumped out of my chair.

  “You all right there?” Cassidy asked, raising an eyebrow at us.

  I grabbed Scarlett’s hand and moved it a few inches away from my cock.

  “All good,” I assured her.

  Scarlett smiled smugly.

  “Hey, June,” I said.

  June held up a finger, staring intently at the screen of her phone.

  “Don’t mind June Bug,” Cassidy said. “She’s watching some game and absorbing every measurable stat with her big brain.”

  June intrigued me. Not the way Scarlett did. That was lust and biology and chemistry and a good old-fashioned crush rolled into one potent cocktail. June was different. She was incredibly intelligent and used her powers to store every sports statistic known to man. She also appeared to have no interest in human relationships. Unlik
e Gibson who just seemed to hate people, June was willing to take or leave human interaction.

  Speak of the devil, the crowd broke into scattered applause when Gibson strode onto the tiny stage. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt and had a guitar slung across his chest. He was accompanied by a keyboardist and a drummer of mismatched ages.

  “That’s Hung on the drums,” she said pointing at the gray haired Asian man in a distressed denim jacket. “And the guy on the keyboard is Corbin. He plays a hell of a harmonica, too.”

  Corbin looked like he was seventeen years old. He had dark, smooth skin and thick hair that stood up on his head. He was wearing a bowtie and Dockers.

  There was no preamble, no introductions of the no-named band. Gibson launched them into a song about red Solo cups, and the crowd went wild singing along.

  Scarlett sang and swayed next to me, and I put my arm on the back of her chair to keep her close. I didn’t want to be disrespectful of her brothers, but I wasn’t going to make it through this evening without touching her.

  She leaned into me and smiled, and suddenly I wasn’t so worried about her brothers anymore.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said in my ear.

  Hal-le-lu-jah. “Me, too.”

  “Where would you be if none of the other stuff had happened? What would you be doin’ on a Friday night in your old life?” Scarlett asked over the music.

  I focused on her lips as she said the words. She had the most beautiful mouth of anyone I’d ever met. A bottom-heavy smile with a plump pout. I knew exactly how it felt to have that mouth on me, and I couldn’t wait to experience it again.

  She poked me when I didn’t answer right away.

  “Fridays were usually receptions or some kind of dinner or fundraiser. Networking, making an appearance.” I reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. She nuzzled against my hand.

  “Would you get all dressed up? Eat tiny foods and make small talk?” she asked.