Whiskey Chaser (Bootleg Springs Book 1)

by Lucy Score

  I laughed. “Basically, I’m the new kid walking into my first day of high school.”

  “Essentially. Just with more gray hair and money in this cafeteria.”

  I nodded, happy to at least know the score. “Let’s do this.”

  We turned the SUV over to the smartly uniformed valet and entered through the front door where we were greeted by one of the party organizers. “Devlin McCallister, so lovely to see you again,” a woman in a smart red blazer said with a wan smile. “Please join the others in the backyard. Have a lovely time.”

  Devlin’s grip tightened on my hand, and I realized I wasn’t the only nervous one.

  “Everything is going to be just fine,” I assured him. “If you’re not having fun, we can leave after half an hour.”

  He laughed at me turning his words back on him and slung his arm around my shoulder, drawing me into his side. “I’m glad you’re here for my first foray back into real life,” he whispered in my ear.

  I got goosebumps from his lips brushing my ear lobe. I realized this was more of a test for him than me. If Devlin could be welcomed back, he could resume his career and carry on with his life. A life that was two hours away from Bootleg Springs.

  “Devlin McCallister! I haven’t seen you since...”

  Devlin kept his arm anchored firmly around my waist and made a dozen introductions that I promptly forgot. We met the hosts, a lovely couple in their mid-sixties who were half in the bag from the signature punch the caterer had whipped up. Someone handed me a glass of champagne. An actual glass, outside on the stamped concrete patio. Either rich people didn’t drop things, or they didn’t care if something broke since they weren’t the ones cleaning it up.

  Every time someone tried to squirrel me away for some gossip, Devlin reclaimed me and expertly ended the interaction.

  “You are good at this,” I whispered to him as we walked away from a curvy lady with a Liza Minnelli-worthy wig who’d done her damnedest to get Devlin to admit he was devastated over his divorce.

  “You’re not half bad yourself,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek.

  Liza had shut the hell up when I’d giggled and batted my eye lashes. “Are people still talking about that? That was months ago! I swear, sometimes I feel like some of us never got out of junior high,” I’d said.

  “McCallister.”

  I felt Devlin tense against me, and I turned to face the enemy. He was tall and lean with sandy hair and a toothpaste commercial smile. He was wearing dark blue slacks a striped button-down and glossy loafers. Everything about him said subtle and successful.

  “Anderson, good to see you,” Devlin said offering his hand. The man shook it with energy. Definitely a politician in the making. “This is Scarlett Bodine. Scarlett this is Les Anderson.”

  “A pleasure,” Les said smoothly.

  “How y’all doin’?”

  He seemed delighted by my accent. His professional smile disappeared and was replaced with a real one. “Well, well. We’ve all been wondering where McCallister was, and judging by your voice, I can hedge a guess.”

  I slid my arm through Devlin’s. “Dev and I have been enjoying our time together in West Virginia.”

  Les’s eyes widened just the slightest bit. “And here I thought you were off licking your wounds,” he said.

  “He’s been too busy licking other things,” I announced.

  Devlin coughed, and I realized I may have gone a bit too far. I was used to throwing down insults with Misty Lynn. We didn’t have to worry about holding back for polite society being that there was no polite society in Bootleg.

  Les smiled approvingly. I couldn’t tell if he actually liked me or liked the gossip I was providing. “You two up for some horseshoes?”

  I perked up. If I was good at pool—and I sure as shootin’ was—I was even better at horseshoes. “That’s up to Scarlett,” Devlin said, deferring to me.

  “Maybe you can show me, just like you taught me how to play pool.” I winked.

  Devlin laughed, catching my drift.

  Les signaled to another man, short and stout, wearing a red tie and a sheen of sweat, and pointed toward the horseshoe court.

  Introductions were made. The sweaty newcomer was Lewis, a junior assistant district attorney. He seemed relieved that his small talk duties were officially over.

  “Teams?” Les drawled, flagging down a server and distributing beers amongst our foursome.

  “Dibs on Scarlett,” Devlin said.

  “Well, my, my. I believe I just won again,” I said feigning surprise as my last horseshoe encircled the stake.

  “You, Scarlett, are a sneaky, scheming, scam artist. Have you thought about getting into politics?” Les asked with a quick grin.

  “Only so far as it involves getting into Devlin’s pants,” I teased.

  Les threw his head back and laughed. “Your Scarlett is a breath of fresh air,” he told Devlin when he approached.

  Devlin slid his hands around my waist in easy affection.

  “That she is,” he agreed. I leaned into him. Maybe this whole politician party thing wasn’t so bad after all?

  “If y’all will excuse me, I’m going to find the restroom and another round of beers,” I said excusing myself.

  “Don’t get lost,” Devlin said gruffly. I winked at him and followed the brass walkway lights back to the patio. A mustached man wearing a bowtie held the door for me and gave me a mock bow.

  I was killing this politician’s girlfriend thing. Everyone was so happy to see Devlin being so happy. I stepped into the powder room. When I was done, I checked my makeup and was carefully reapplying my lipstick when I heard voices in the hallway.

  “Can you believe he had the nerve to show up here with her?” a woman asked in gratuitous glee.

  “Johanna is not going to be happy that her soon-to-be ex is slumming it with some redneck. I mean, she said y’all!”

  They laughed, a tinkling cultured laugh that they probably practiced, and I saw red. Bloody murder, bleeding nose red.

  “Devlin acts like this was just a little ding to his career, but he’s hanging by a thread. One false step, one wrong move, and he’s done. Everything his parents have worked for will have been a complete waste.”

  “I know,” the other woman crowed. “Him showing up with some twenty-year-old hillbilly is just too much. He’s going to need a permanent mental health leave, not just a temporary one.”

  I stared at my reflection long and hard. I was Scarlett Motherfucking Bodine. And I was a liability. I had no idea what a politician’s girlfriend would do. What Johanna would do. So I did what I’d do.

  I yanked the door open. “Hey, y’all. Funny thing. These walls are so thin!”

  They gawked at me, looking as though they’d been cut from the same perfect postured, no-assed cloth.

  “I feel real bad about eavesdroppin’ on y’all because now I’m just gonna make it my personal mission to find out everything there is to know about you. I’m gonna know which one of you is sleepin’ with your golf pro and which one of you binge eats cartons of ice cream until you vomit.” I took a step closer, and they both took one back, crowding closer to each other for support.

  “I’m going to find out where you volunteer and get you kicked off of every board of every organization. And I’ll make it my j-o-b to ruin your boring little lives. Just for fun.”

  I wiggled my fingers at them and started to walk away. When I felt them relax, I turned around and smiled. “Oh, and just so you don’t think no one talks behind your back, a woman in a pink dress called y’all bony bitches, and two gentlemen in sport coats were talking about which one of you gives worse head.”

  I had heard no such things, but judging from their expressions, both were completely plausible. I patted myself on my back and walked back out to the party with a skip in my step.

  Bootleg Justice for the win.

  35

  Devlin

  Scarlett lasted longer
at the party than I thought she would. She hung in there patiently while I worked my way through the crowd. Using every weapon in my arsenal, I reassured each person that I was happy and healthy and ready to work. If the questions went beyond probing, Scarlett stepped in with a redirect that usually dizzied the interrogator into submission.

  “My great-granddaddy was one of the founders of our town,” she was saying proudly. I loved watching stuffy society try to cover their shock at learning the Bodine family’s bootlegging history told with the same pride as their Mayflower ancestral lineage stories.

  An hour after I’d intended to leave, I finally got Scarlett in the car.

  We both collapsed against our head rests with twin sighs of relief.

  “Well that was somethin’,” Scarlett said.

  “You can say that again.”

  “I would, but I’m too tired.”

  “Are you too tired for—”

  “Sex? No, I think I can rouse the energy for a couple of orgasms,” she said, smiling without opening her eyes.

  “I was going to suggest pizza.”

  “I could definitely eat and then have some of those orgasms.”

  I brought her hand to my lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Pizza and sex sound like exactly the perfect thing.”

  “Did you have a good time?” she asked, turning her head to look at me.

  “As good of a time as you can have at a work function.”

  “Do you miss it?” she asked.

  Did I?

  “There’s a certain satisfaction in successfully navigating the social minefield of politics,” I said. “But it’s no night at The Lookout.”

  She laughed. “I know you’re making fun. But you promised me pizza, and I’m still making up to you, so I’ll choose not to fire back.”

  “I appreciate your restraint,” I laughed. I turned the key in the ignition. “Did you have a good time?”

  “It was... interesting,” she said slowly.

  “Hmm. That certainly sounds definitive.”

  “I learned a lot,” she said.

  “For instance?”

  “For instance, there are catty Misty-Lynn-like assholes in every town.”

  I was curious who she’d labeled as a Misty Lynn. There were quite a few likely choices.

  “And I learned that it’s never appropriate to use plastic dishes and utensils. And that everyone will like you more if you let them talk about themselves.”

  “All accurate assessments. Although I personally believe that Solo cups and paper plates have their place.”

  She looked out the window, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “I liked seeing you in action, but I felt like I was watching an actor playing a part.”

  “That’s pretty much exactly what it is,” I admitted.

  “Why can’t people just be real?” she asked. “Why can’t they say, ‘You know what, Stuart? I don’t want to support your initiative to jail the homeless.’ Why does everyone have to pretend to be polite?”

  “It’s how things get done,” I explained. “Everyone pretends to play nicely together until we can’t pretend anymore.”

  “I heard you were on leave. Mental health leave,” Scarlett said.

  I swore quietly. “Let me guess. Misty Lynn the Second?”

  “And third.”

  “When I hit Ralston, my ex-wife’s lover, my family went into damage control mode. Everyone knew what I’d done. Most would have done the same in my position. But, in the eyes of the constituents...”

  “You come off as unstable. Can’t keep a wife. Now you’re violent,” Scarlett filled in the blanks.

  “I basically handed everyone a weapon to use against me. I took a leave from my job. My parents and our publicist told everyone that it was an unfortunate reaction to too much stress.”

  “And now you’re left proving that you’re not mentally unstable. You’re just a normal guy who decked an asshole.”

  “But I have to prove it by playing the game, following the rules.”

  She shot me a look. “And not decking anyone else?”

  “I’ve got a second chance to make the next session a good one. Improve my chances for re-election. Then I can start thinking bigger.”

  “Do you want to?”

  I turned down a side street and drove past the pizza parlor in a hunt for a parking space. “My goal is Congress.”

  She was still watching me. “That, Mr. McCallister, doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Politicians don’t know how to answer direct questions.”

  “Maybe you don’t know what you really want,” she ventured.

  I squeezed into a space a block down.

  “That’s the hunger talking. Come on. I’ll let you pick the toppings... on your half.”

  36

  Scarlett

  Devlin unlocked the door to his condo and motioned for me to enter. We were on the water five stories up. The Chesapeake Bay stretched out in front of the building, dark water meeting a dark horizon.

  He flipped light switches, and the exterior view disappeared. The condo was spacious and well-furnished if lacking personality and devoid of color. The living room furniture was arranged around a gas fireplace and marble mantel. The floors were a light hardwood scattered with black and white throw rugs. The art on the walls, mostly maritime scenes, was black and white as well. The kitchen, small but still twice the size of my own, was black again with white counters. There was a round glass dining table and four clear acrylic chairs.

  “I know. It’s a little stark,” Devlin said, bringing my overnight bag in.

  “You’re living here?” I asked. No wonder he’d been depressed. This place looked like a fancy furnished hospital room. Everything was glass and leather and chrome.

  “I’m living in Bootleg Springs,” he corrected me. “I stayed here temporarily.”

  “You’re staying in Bootleg temporarily,” I reminded him. There was no point in us pretending otherwise. Devlin’s life was here. Well, not here in this soulless condo but in the general vicinity.

  Devlin put my bag down and drew me into his arms. “We should probably talk about what we’ll do when I come back here.”

  We.

  “I don’t want to think about you leaving right now. Is that okay? Can we just pretend that we don’t have to worry about that yet?” I begged.

  “There are a lot of things you don’t seem to want to talk about,” he pointed out. He was frustrated with me, and I understood why. But I needed Devlin to cut me a break. Everything I was doing was for his own good. He didn’t need to be rolling around down in the mud with me.

  I sat down on an unyielding white leather and metal chair in front of the wall of windows. “There are just some situations that are best handled privately.”

  “Fine, then why don’t you want to talk about our future?”

  I was not about to nail down Devlin to a commitment that would ruin his career.

  “Because I just want to have a nice time with you tonight without worrying about where we’re going and what we’re doing,” I lied.

  “We’re going to need to talk about those things at some point,” Devlin said, his frustration palpable.

  But whatever he wanted to say, whether it was reasons why we should try a long-distance relationship or break up now, I didn’t want to deal with anything else in this moment.

  “Now can you point me in the direction of your restroom?” I asked.

  He showed me to the powder room, and I shut myself in and stared at my reflection and let the mask drop.

  I didn’t fit. I would never fit here with him. My chest hurt as if something was breaking open or collapsing in on itself.

  Devlin’s calling was politics. His family had invested everything in him and his career. He was just coming back from one scandal. They had exiled him over a little ol’ divorce, treating it like he’d murdered an entire litter of puppies on live TV. He’d never survive the fallout of dating the daugh
ter of a potential kidnapper... or murderer. I believed my father to be innocent. But that didn’t mean anyone else would.

  If Devlin and his parents thought a divorce was a nail in the coffin, what would they say over his girlfriend being at the center of a cold case murder investigation?

  Thanks to the Misty Lynn twins tonight, I had a better grasp of what this life was like. It wasn’t the truth that mattered. It was the appearance. And me in my cute little Target frock and my self-styled hair with my thick-as-honey accent would be a liability to Devlin. And that’s even without being the daughter of an accused murderer. Talk about a real scandal. His career and quite possibly his relationship with his family would be over.

  Sins of the father carried weight here, even if they were only perceived.

  My breath hitched. Somewhere along the way, I’d started to think that we could survive long distance and different worlds. Now, I knew better. Our days were numbered. Devlin and I had an expiration date.

  37

  Devlin

  I opened the bottle of wine and set two glasses on the counter. A good wine and a great pizza. Our meal reflected our balance. A combination of refinement and casual charm. I’d do my best to pretend there weren’t things we needed to discuss. For tonight. But if Scarlett thought I’d be willing to stay in another relationship where I was kept in the dark, she had another thing coming.

  She’d done so well tonight, I thought, pouring the wine.

  Scarlett never pretended to be someone she wasn’t. That was her power. Her unapologetic authenticity. There was a danger in being yourself in this space. Everyone was always looking for a weakness, a vulnerability, to exploit. But with Scarlett, was that possible? Did the weakness lie in me? Was I vulnerable because I worked so hard to hide my flaws rather than embracing them? Would Scarlett end up being my greatest strength or my most bitter weakness?