Whiskey Chaser (Bootleg Springs Book 1)

by Lucy Score

  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.

  She squealed and cuddled into my chest. “I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m afraid my vagina might turn itself inside out if you try to give it another orgasm so soon.”

  I laughed the whole way down the hall and dropped her on the mattress. “We’ll just sleep then,” I promised. I pointed her in the direction of the bathroom and spare toothbrush and whatever else she needed and then sat down on the edge of the mattress. I could hear the water running on the other side of the door.

  Absently, I rubbed a hand over my chest. Tonight had been... it felt dramatic to say life-altering. But still. I’d never taken a woman that way, never had a lover so eager to meet my demands. But I’d never had Scarlett before. It felt like a key fitting into a lock, and I knew for sure that moving forward, everything would be different.

  She padded back into the room and shucked my t-shirt off. “Hope you don’t mind. I sleep naked.”

  I couldn’t think of anything that I’d mind less.

  She pulled the quilt back and climbed in. “Just so you know, I’m not a cuddler,” she said, punching the pillows under her into submission.

  “Duly noted.” I felt a spark of disappointment but dismissed it. Tonight had been otherworldly, and asking for anything more felt greedy.

  I brushed my teeth with the door open and watched her in the mirror as she settled under the covers. My wife and I had shared a generously sized king bed. Each sticking to our own sides. Respecting the other’s space. Had I given her too much space? Is that why she went outside our relationship? It was something I’d wondered about in passing when I wasn’t too blinded by rage and humiliation.

  I ran the water in the sink and decided that it didn’t matter. I had a tiny, fascinating brunette waiting for me in my bed.

  I paused just inside the doorway and watched her. She lay on her side curled up, and when I crawled in next to her, I couldn’t resist it. I pulled her into my arms, settling her back against my chest, nestling her ass to my thighs.

  “What’s this? What’s happening?”

  “Just go with it,” I advised.

  “Fine, but I probably won’t be able to sleep,” she grumbled.

  I smiled into the dark and rested my chin on her head.

  A minute later, she was snoring softly, and I was still smiling.

  And when I woke in the middle of the night, she was sprawled out on top of me, sound asleep, her face pressed into my neck. I smiled into the dark and stroked a hand down her naked back. She cuddled in even closer.

  It was going to be a good day.

  The pounding on the front door started just after seven-thirty. Scarlett frowned in her sleep when I shifted her off of me and onto the mattress. I cursed whoever was trespassing on our first morning together while I pulled on a pair of sweat pants. If Jonah had forgotten his key, I wondered if I could craft a plausible murder defense. I was still shirtless when I yanked the door open.

  “What?”

  The Bodines ranged themselves on Gran’s front porch. I’d seen this before, but the last time I was on their side of the door. Jonah gave an embarrassed wave from the back of the pack.

  “You’re not taking my remote batteries,” I said, walking back to the kitchen and leaving the front door open.

  “Y’all have a good night last night?” Bowie asked casually.

  I stabbed the start button on the coffeemaker. Except for Jonah, they were all sporting bruises and minor cuts. “Better than you guys, it looks.”

  “There was a small skirmish on the dance floor,” Gibson said. He had a cut on his lip and some bruising under his left eye.

  “Let me guess. Amos?” I said dryly.

  “I fucking hate that guy,” Bowie said. His right eye was blackened, and his knuckles were scraped and bruised.

  “Yeah, because you’re too chicken shit to ask out his girl,” Gibson said, poking the bear.

  “She’s not his girl,” Bowie snapped.

  “Ain’t yours either,” Jameson pointed out mildly. He had a scrape mark on his cheek and a bruise on his chin and a small cut on his forehead.

  “Can we please focus?” Bowie demanded.

  I lined up the coffee mugs on the counter and glanced toward the bedroom door, which was still closed. “I assume you’re all here to kick my ass?”

  Gibson crossed his arms. “Why? Do we have a reason to?”

  Besides the fact that his sister was naked in my bed?

  “I’m guessing you’re here because Scarlett came home with me last night.”

  “Give the man a sucker.” Bowie nodded.

  “So, what’s the Bootleg Justice on this?” I asked, pouring the first cup. “You kick my ass? You drag her out of here and lecture her on premarital sex? Because I’m going to be pissed off if you think either one of those answers is the right one. I mean, I’d hate to sic my gran and Estelle on you when they get back for embarrassing your adult sister and beating me unconscious and stealing half their shit. They’d be very disappointed in you.”

  “What makes you think we’d beat you unconscious?” Gibson asked innocently. He snagged a mug and poured.

  “You’re the Bodines. I’ve seen you in action,” I said mildly.

  “Why don’t we take our coffee on the deck and talk about this like adults,” Bowie suggested. His amicable tone wasn’t fooling me. But I also didn’t think they were going to kick my ass. At least not with their sister twenty feet away. Scarlett would side with me and fight like a wildcat.

  Gibson and Bowie led the way, and Jameson and Jonah brought up the rear, neatly boxing me in.

  “Look,” Bowie drawled. “All we want to do is explain that it’s in your best interest not to hurt Scarlett.”

  Jameson nodded threateningly.

  “Why in the hell would you think I’d hurt her?”

  “If she falls for you and then you go back to wherever the hell you’re from, we’re gonna have a problem,” Gibson said, stroking his beard. His stance was deceptively relaxed.

  They pounced in unison like backwoods ninjas. Even though I fought it, it was three against one. Gibson and Jameson each grabbed one of my arms and Bowie locked on to my left leg. Jonah was suddenly Mr. Switzerland. He sipped his coffee sheepishly a few feet away from the fray.

  “Get his leg, Jonah, before he kicks someone in the balls,” Gibson said.

  Jonah looked surprised to be included in the family fight.

  “Hurry up, man,” Jameson breathed. “He’s a fighter.”

  Jonah put his coffee down and grabbed my flailing leg.

  “I really hate all of you right now,” I growled.

  They carried me down the deck stairs.

  “We’re doing this for your own good,” Bowie said.

  “And for our own entertainment,” Gibson added.

  “Sorry, man. She’s my sister,” Jonah said.

  Jameson grunted.

  “So, are Cassidy and Amos back together?” I asked. I felt the second that Bowie’s grip on my leg loosened, and I yanked free, kicking him in the gut.

  Gibson hooted. “Serves you right for not keepin’ your eye on the prize, Bow.”

  Bowie recovered and wrestled my leg into submission, but at least I felt like I hadn’t gone down without a fight. I heard their footsteps on wood and realized they were carting my ass down my gran’s dock. “Oh, come on, guys. Not the lake.”

  “Would you rather a fist to the face?” Jonah asked cheerfully.

  �
��I’m not going to hurt Scarlett!”

  “This is just a little reminder of what’ll happen if you do,” Bowie said, still a little winded.

  “You don’t need to do this,” I tried again. We were getting closer and closer to the end of the dock.

  “Pretty sure we do,” Jameson insisted.

  “I’ll press charges!”

  “Good luck with that,” Jameson smirked.

  “The sheriff is a big fan of our little Scarlett. He’s not gonna take a likin’ to some guy whose just tryin’ to get in her pants,” Bowie explained.

  “I’m not just trying to get in her pants!”

  “Oh, hey, Judge Carwell. Mornin’ Carolina Rae,” Bowie said, raising his free hand to a couple in a fishing boat.

  “Mornin’ Bodines,” Judge Carwell called. “He courtin’ Scarlett?”

  “What the hell kind of town is this?” I hissed.

  Jonah shrugged and grinned. “Bootleg, man.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re just remindin’ him to treat her right,” Gibson said.

  “Carry on, boys.”

  The judge motored on, not even staying to watch the four Bodines toss my body into the lake.

  21

  Scarlett

  I stepped back to admire my handiwork and swiped a hand over my forehead. The refinished deck glistened under its new coat of varnish. Just in time for summer, Devlin had a nice new deck for our quiet mornings together.

  We could move some of the weekend bonfires here, too, I thought. On a practical level, he had more bathrooms than I did and a bigger fridge for beer. I could string up some lights in the trees, put in a fire pit, and maybe add a paver walkway, something wide and level for Granny Louisa and Estelle to enjoy when they came home.

  I had a postcard from them in Madrid. I hoped that when I was that age I’d be doing exactly what they were. Living. Really living.

  I’d wrap up my projects here by the weekend. The house gleamed like new inside and out with the improvements I’d talked Devlin into. I gave myself a pat on the back.

  I liked working near Devlin. I liked looking up from my sawhorses or disgusting pile of ripped up English rose carpeting and seeing him watching me. I liked our long, naked lunch breaks—when Jonah wasn’t around. And I really liked how Devlin stood a little taller these days, smiled a little more... and swatted my ass whenever I walked past him.

  I skipped down the deck stairs and gathered up my supplies, stashing them in the back of my truck. Whistling, I ducked into the first level. Devlin had finally gotten over his ridiculous, urban-dweller notion of locking every door in the house. I jogged upstairs and into the kitchen.

  He’d come here an anxiety-ridden shell of the man he used to be. And now? Now, I liked to think I was seeing the real Devlin McCallister. Not some buttoned-up, white-washed, politically correct version but the real man with his very real desires.

  I found him in the living room scowling at his laptop with his feet on the coffee table. Stacks of mail and paperwork were strewn about the floor.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “Playing a little catch up.” He pointed to a tall stack of papers by his right foot. “Bills introduced by the legislature this year that didn’t pass but that might be reintroduced next session. That stack is ribbon-cutting, fundraiser, and reception invitations. And these are some cases my law firm is working on. Thought I’d do a little digging into some precedents.”

  “Do you want to be doing all this crap?” I asked, eyeing the stacks skeptically.

  Devlin dumped his laptop on the couch next to him and pulled me down into his lap. “I’d much rather be distracted by you.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” I said, making myself comfortable in his lap. He was already hard. And I loved knowing that I had that effect on him. I threaded my fingers through his hair. It was getting long enough that it curled at the back of his neck. His beard was full but neatly trimmed. He’d kept up with his running and his workouts, and I could see the difference in his body. Lean muscle turned out to be quite the turn on for me.

  “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 was when 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 caff
eine.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Scarlett Bodine,” Cassidy said, coming out of Yee Haw Yarn & Coffee with her shift-starting latte. She blocked the door, her hip cocked, and looked at me over her sunglasses. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “I have not!” I resented the implication. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy beddin’ down with that sexy next-door neighbor.”

  “And other things.”

  “Walk with me,” Cassidy said.

  I hesitated for a moment.

  She wiggled her coffee cup at me. “I’ll share my caffeine with you.”

  “All right. But only for a couple of minutes. I’ve got some sandwiches in the truck that I don’t want to get mushy.”

  “When are you gonna learn to cook?” Cassidy teased.

  “Only when absolutely necessary.”

  We wandered south on Lake Drive, Bootleg’s main street, past the Rusty Tool’s window display of deck umbrellas and a yard décor outhouse. I waved at Clarabell through the front window of Moonshine.

  “So, what’s been goin’ on? We haven’t hung out. You haven’t sent me any blow-by-blows of your sex life—pun intended. You didn’t even complain to me when your brothers threw him in the lake.”

  “Those idiots,” I shook my head. Devlin had returned to bed soaking wet from head to toe, and we’d started the fun all over again as kind of a ‘fuck you’ to my brothers. “Thankfully they seem to like Dev.”

  “So do you,” she pointed out.

  “What’s with the interrogation? Are you accusing me of something, Deputy Tucker?”

  “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of why my friend suddenly drops off the face of the earth in a town as small as Bootleg. You’ve made yourself so scarce, I’m starting to think of you as Callie Kendall.”

  “That’s not fair, Cass, and you know it.”

  “Look, I’ve just never seen you so into a guy before. And you’re not showing him off or running around town with him. You’ve never done that.”

  It was true. I’d been hoarding Devlin, keeping him all to myself. He made it easy with his natural reluctance to socialize. He was still feeling rough around the edges about his divorce and his violent, yet totally awesome, exit from the legislature. And he was just as eager as I was to get and stay naked. It wasn’t really a prime socializing situation.