Bourbon Bliss: Bootleg Springs Book Four

by Kingsley, Claire

  “Because you like to follow the statistics.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I gotta tell you, June Tucker, you are simply fascinating.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. This was a brand of male attention I so rarely received. The last man I’d dated had been much like me. Logical, with an affinity for numbers. We’d met at work when I’d been in Baltimore for a conference. Although I’d thought we had enough in common to sustain a relationship, things had fallen flat. That was two years ago, and I hadn’t bothered with an intimate relationship since.

  “Am I being too aggressive for you?” George asked.

  “You are touching me a lot.”

  He kept caressing the back of my hand. “Would you like me to stop?”

  “No.”

  “I told you, June, I like to feel things out. But I figure I can get away with some touching on our second date.”

  “Second date? We haven’t had a first date.”

  “Sure we did. We had ice cream together.”

  “I would disagree with your label of date.”

  “On what grounds?” he asked. “We sat together and enjoyed conversation over dessert. That sounds like a date to me.”

  “A date requires both parties to be in agreement as to the intent of the encounter.”

  “In other words, I didn’t ask you first, so it couldn’t be a date?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “All right, so tell me this. Can an encounter that was not agreed upon ahead of time as being a date become a date?”

  I had to ponder that for a moment. His hand was still on mine—more or less holding it now—and the tactile sensations were vying for attention with the thoughts in my brain. And winning.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s possible, depending upon the circumstances.”

  “So one could make the argument that this is now a date.”

  “This?”

  “Yes, this. You and me, here tonight. I didn’t ask you ahead of time, but I did buy you a drink.”

  I had to concede, this was very date-like. “Yes, it could be considered a date. But why the preoccupation with labeling?”

  “No reason, really. I’m hoping you’ll say yes to another one, though.”

  “Another date?”

  He grinned. “Yes, another date. With me. Are you free tomorrow?”

  Was this really happening? Was George Thompson asking me out on an actual date? Tomorrow was Saturday, and under usual circumstances, I’d be—

  “I’m free.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “You really want to go out on a date with me?”

  He picked up my hand and brought it to his lips again, kissing the backs of my fingers. “I absolutely want to take you out on a date. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  “Then, yes.”

  I gazed into his brown eyes, feeling a little dazed and dumbstruck. We’d met on several occasions now, and had multiple chances for conversation. And he still wanted to take me out on a date.

  Why? I really didn’t know. But maybe—just maybe—George Thompson liked me for me.

  9

  June

  My dad was prompt, as usual. He’d texted earlier to ask if he could stop by at six-thirty, and at precisely six twenty-nine, he knocked.

  “Hi, June Bug,” he said when I opened the door.

  He came in and gave me a hug.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  I had thirty minutes before George would be here to pick me up. I felt a little nauseated and wondered if I should cancel. Putting a hand to my forehead, I estimated my temperature. It felt normal.

  “You all right?” Dad asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I led Dad into the living room and we both sat on the couch. “You said you had something for me?”

  He smiled and handed me an envelope. “Go ahead.”

  I opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. Turning it over, I found a familiar signature. GT Thompson. But he’d signed it George Thompson.

  Dad’s grin widened. “I ran into GT Thompson in town. Did you know he’s here in Bootleg? I admit, I might have looked for a chance to approach him. I asked if he’d sign something. Told him my daughter was a fan.”

  I was touched. Dad had given me autographed memorabilia before, but those were things he’d ordered for me. This was different. Although I’d already met George, Dad didn’t know that. And he’d gone out of his way to do this for me. It was very thoughtful. But expressing my emotions was not one of my better skills. I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  “I wish I’d had something better, like a football or one of his jerseys. But I figured I ought to get his autograph while I had the chance. I don’t know how long he’s in town for, or whether I’ll run into him again.”

  “If you stay long enough, you’ll meet him again tonight,” I said. “He’s taking me out on a date.”

  I didn’t think I’d ever seen my dad look so utterly shocked. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating, and his mouth opened. I hesitated for a second, but he didn’t speak.

  There was another knock on the door. Cassidy came in without waiting for me to answer. Her arms were loaded down with bags and she had clothing slung over one arm.

  “Hey, Juney,” she said with a bright smile. “Oh hi, Dad. June, what are you doing? You should be getting ready. I meant to be here half an hour ago but… well, let’s just say I got held up.”

  Dad groaned. “Oh, lordy.”

  “Meant to be here for what?” I asked.

  “To help you get ready, of course.” She glanced at Dad. “Is he okay? He looks like he swallowed a bug.”

  “Did she say date?” Dad asked. “You have a date with GT Thompson?”

  “She sure does.” Cassidy put her load down on an armchair. “Now Daddy, you know I love you, but there’s some serious girl stuff that’s about to happen here.”

  “Since when do you know GT Thompson?” he asked, apparently ignoring Cassidy’s girl-stuff warning.

  “I’ve met George several times,” I said. “Culminating in an encounter at the Lookout last night.”

  “By encounter, she means he flirted with her like crazy, danced with her, bought her a drink, and then asked her on a date tonight,” Cassidy said. “And he’ll be here in less than half an hour. That’s not much time to get you ready.”

  “I’ll be,” Dad said, shaking his head. “All right, girls, I think I’ll get out of your way.” He muttered something else, but I was starting to feel a little dizzy. All this talk of George and dates and girl-stuff was making my heart race.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  He gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then hugged Cassidy. “Have a nice time tonight, June Bug. Goodnight, girls.”

  I watched him go, feeling shaky.

  “Okay, first, outfit,” Cassidy said, apparently unaware of my current state of distress. “Where’s he taking you?”

  “I actually don’t know.”

  “That’s okay. He’s picking you up at seven, so that must mean dinner. It’s chilly out tonight, but it might be warm wherever you go to eat. We’ll do layers.” She dug through the clothes she’d brought. “I have this adorable sweater I got from Leah Mae. If you wear a shirt underneath, you could take it off if you get too warm. Or if, you know, you want to get frisky.”

  “Why do I need to change?” I asked, looking down at my current attire. I was wearing a white blouse and dark gray cardigan with a pair of black pants. It seemed suitable for a date.

  Cassidy looked me up and down. “You look fine, but I think we can do better than that.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, Juney, this is a big deal. When was the last time you had a date?”

  It only took me a second to do the math. “It’s been seven hundred forty-two days.”

  Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling, like she was thinking. “So just over two years? Who were you dating two years ago?”


  “Michael Morgan,” I said.

  She groaned. “Oh, I remember him. Although I don’t think we ever met him, did we?”

  “No. He lived in Baltimore and our relationship never progressed to the point of introducing him to family.”

  “He was a jackass anyway.”

  “What leads you to the conclusion that he was a jackass?”

  “He broke up with you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, the choice to end our relationship was his.”

  She nodded once. “Then he’s a jackass. Most of ’em are. But I don’t know, June Bug, I think you might have found one of the good ones.”

  That made me smile a little, although the pleasant feeling was tempered by the persistent roiling in my stomach.

  “I might have to cancel,” I said.

  “Why?” Cassidy asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I contracted a viral infection. Or perhaps ingested something that was contaminated with harmful bacteria.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  I pressed my hand to my belly. “I keep experiencing intermittent bouts of stomach upset.”

  Cassidy grinned. Why was she smiling? Illness wasn’t an amusing matter.

  “Tell me something. When did you first start getting an upset tummy?”

  “Eight days ago.”

  “Uh huh. And what else happened eight days ago?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  “Is it possible that it has something to do with seeing or thinking about a certain tall, attractive football player?”

  I was about to refute her claim, but I found that I couldn’t. Every incident of feeling sick coincided with seeing or thinking about George. That was peculiar.

  “I’m guessing the look on your face means I’m right,” she said. “I think you have a crush.”

  “A crush? I’ve never had a crush before.”

  “No?” Cassidy asked. “No one ever made your knees a little weak and butterflies flap their wings all through your tummy?”

  “Butterflies couldn’t survive in the acidic environment of the human gut.”

  She laughed. “I know, silly. It’s an expression.”

  “I realize it’s not literal. I’m just pointing out that—”

  “Juney. Stop trying to change the subject.”

  I took a deep breath. “Does having a crush mean your stomach feels like it’s turning upside down and your heart beats faster than your level of physical exertion could account for?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your facial capillaries fill with blood, resulting in warmth and redness?”

  “You blush, yeah. Have you been experiencing those things?”

  I nodded, almost afraid to admit it.

  “Then June Bug, you have a good old-fashioned crush on GT Thompson.”

  Was she right? Was that what was wrong with me? I had a crush on George?

  The intense whirl of emotions was too overwhelming for me to process. I pulled away from it, mentally distancing myself from the feelings I was experiencing. It was almost as if I could see them, a jumbled mass of colors, like a thick ball of multicolored yarn.

  Part of me couldn’t understand why people put themselves through this on purpose. The anxiety and fear involved in the human pairing process was unpleasant.

  But it was also exhilarating. Alongside my nervousness for the evening was a sense of anticipation. A tingle of excitement at the thought of seeing George again soon. The memory of his lips brushing the backs of my fingers was still fresh, and I found myself gazing down at my hand.

  He’d touched this hand. Held it. Kissed it lightly. And I’d enjoyed it very much.

  “June?”

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Cassidy smiled again. “I said I know you’re probably nervous, but you don’t need to be. And you also need to let me do your makeup.”

  “I don’t wear makeup.”

  “Just a little.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “Please, June Bug. Pretty please with a heaping pile of sugar and a cherry on top.”

  “In most other animal species, it’s the males who are expected to impress the females with displays of physical attractiveness. From an evolutionary standpoint, it makes more sense for the male to be adorned with features that render them beautiful as a means of attracting a mate, and for females to possess traits that allow them to better protect their young.”

  “Well, we ain’t peacocks, so how about you let me at you with a little eyeliner.”

  “All right. But not too much.”

  She clapped and squealed.

  The front door opened, and Jonah came inside. “Hey, what are you girls up to?”

  “I’m helping June get ready for her date.”

  “A date? Good for you, Juney.”

  “What about you, Jonah?” Cassidy asked, raising her eyebrows. “Plans tonight?”

  “No, no plans.” He jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “I’m going to go shower.”

  Cassidy looked like she might say something else, but she closed her mouth. She narrowed her eyes as Jonah walked upstairs. “We need to get that man a date.”

  “We, as in me and you? Because I think Scarlett is more suited to matchmaking activities than I am.”

  “I meant generic we,” she said. “Scarlett’s already muttering about him still being single. Do you think he’s out here mending a broken heart or something? Has he said anything to you?”

  “He hasn’t shared many details of his life before Bootleg,” I said.

  “Hmm,” she said, crossing her arms. “He’s a tough nut to crack, that one. We’ll get to him, though. For now, sit your cute self down so I can get started.”

  She sat me down at the dining table and after a lot of instructions—look up, look down, part your lips, rub them together—she stepped back and nodded.

  “You’re gorgeous. Go look.”

  I went into the bathroom and flicked on the light. Slowly, I looked up into the mirror.

  That fluttery feeling in my tummy was back as I looked at myself. She hadn’t used very much makeup, and the colors appeared remarkably natural. I still looked like myself. Just… a little fancier. More polished, perhaps.

  She stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame. “Well? What do you think?”

  I had to push away that big tangle of feelings again before I could answer. “This is quite satisfactory.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Now let’s go upstairs and get you dressed before your date gets here.”

  10

  George

  This felt oddly like high school.

  I stood on June Tucker’s porch, half expecting her father to open the door and ask about my intentions with his daughter. Why, I wasn’t sure. June was a grown woman, and I didn’t think she lived with her parents. There were three cars parked outside—two in the driveway and one on the street. Maybe she had roommates. Although, from what I knew of her, she didn’t seem like the roommate type.

  Her house was tidy, with a small front porch and a dark red door. Lights glowed through the cracks in the curtains.

  A tickle of nervousness ran up my spine. I cracked a smile at that. When was the last time I got nervous before a date? Maybe that was why this reminded me of being a teenager.

  It wasn’t Sheriff Tucker who answered my knock, but it wasn’t June either. I recognized the man who opened the door as one of the Bodines from the other day. He’d been grilling in the back of that pickup truck. What was he doing here?

  “Hey, GT,” he said, opening the door and standing aside. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Jonah Bodine,” he said. “We met the other day. I’m June’s roommate.”

  “Right, the grill in the truck.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. My brothers are… well, there’s never a dull moment.”

  “It was a good burger.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I think June will be down in a s
econd. She’s upstairs with her sister. Make yourself at home.”

  Jonah went into the kitchen where he had something sizzling on the stove. Smelled good, like soy sauce and ginger.

  June’s house was nothing like I’d pictured it. Cozier than I’d expected. The living room had a brick fireplace and a couch with big fluffy pillows and throw blankets. Another chair sat near the window and there were several bookshelves stuffed with books.

  I wandered over to the fireplace. She had a few pictures on her mantle. One was her and the woman I’d seen at the bar last night—must have been her sister. Another had the girls with their parents. Sheriff Tucker stood behind June, and a woman who was clearly their mother was on the other side. The third photo was June with her father.

  In all of them, June wore the same subdued smile. Just a subtle turning of her lips. It was so distinctly her. At first glance she appeared emotionless. But I could see the depth hiding behind those pretty eyes. There was a lot more to June Tucker than one might see at first glance.

  And if she’d let me, I wanted to be the guy to uncover it.

  Footsteps coming down the stairs made me turn. It was like something out of an eighties flick. June took each step carefully, as if she were moving in slow motion. She was dressed in a black V-neck top that hugged her curves beautifully. Dark jeans with ankle boots. Her dirty blond hair hung in waves around her face. Her green eyes were bright, her lips shiny and pink.

  I watched, captivated, as she made her way down the stairs. Her sister followed, but stopped about halfway down.

  “Wow,” I said. “You look beautiful.”

  “Cassidy did my makeup.” She stood still at the bottom of the stairs, as if her feet had gotten stuck. “I wasn’t sure it was necessary, but she made a compelling enough argument that I agreed.”

  I closed the distance between us. “You look nice all the time, but she did a great job.”

  June leaned closer to me and took a deep breath through her nose. “You smell extremely pleasant tonight.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Cassidy wince.

  “Thank you.” I leaned down, putting my face near her hair, and inhaled deeply. “You smell extremely pleasant as well. Have we talked about the impact of scent on the brain?”