Page 99 of Whiskey Neat

“It’s ten in the morning,” Lowen complains, wrapping his arms around Bane on one side and Kit on the other. “I’m going to have to take a nap.”

“This is worthy of a midday baby hangover,” Kit says, patting my back. “Indy Hart is off the market. You can almost hear the hearts breaking across the country.”

I snort a laugh. “If it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.”

“Truer words never spoken,” Jerryn says.

Florian brings a tray of glasses to us, filled with the perfect amount of aged whiskey.

“Are we celebrating something?” he asks in his slightly accented voice. We learned he was born and raised in France but came over to the states in his twenties with a guy he was dating. He decided to stay after the relationship ended, did his time in bars and restaurants, and just happened upon our ad in the paper. With his dark hair and smoldering good looks, he’s gonna be a hit with the customers.

“We have a lot to celebrate,” I say after a small sip to test the quality. “The bar is almost done, so is our house, and?—”

Sunlight streams through the space as the door opens and Salem walks in. My heart beats a little faster and my stomach flutters. That’s my man.

“Day drinking?” he says as he approaches us. “What’s the occasion?”

He looks happy and light, like he finally released the heavy weight of rejection from his shoulders. He chose full makeup today, and his glossy lips are like a siren call to me.

I wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him into me and kissing him so hard that he gasps. I dip him low, aware that someone took my whiskey from me, and as Salem loops his arms around my neck, the guys cheer and whistle.

“You are,” I say softly, gazing into his eyes before standing him upright again.

“Mm, you taste like everything I love.”

“Good, ’cause you’re stuck with me now, gorgeous.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

THIRTY-FOUR

SALEM

If I’m dreaming, may I never wake up.

Standing next to Indy while two delivery guys finish setting up the massive California King bed we picked out last night feels surreal, like I’m in a lucid dream. Apparently, realizing and admitting he’s in love with me has uncorked some pent-up romantic that was hiding deep in his psyche. He’s been doting, affectionate, and swoony the past two days.

The guys gather the packaging and ask Indy to sign the invoice, and then they’re off, leaving me and Indy alone in his bedroom.

“It’s just how I imagined it,” Indy says, sitting on the edge of the bed and bouncing a little. “Firm but still comfy.”

“It looks great. We should get the bedding on it.”

“Yeah.” He hops up again and walks to the armchair where we piled the freshly washed linens. He invested in high quality sheets and a thick comforter made of velvet. Very luxurious and posh for such a manly guy.

When I made that comment at the store, he said it was all about ensuring my comfort. Yeah, more swooning.

The two of us wrestle the fitted sheet into place, making eyes at each other, and as we finish up and get the pillows on the bed, a shiver of nerves spreads through me.

“What should we do tonight?” Indy asks. “We could rent a movie and order in, or?—”

“Or I could ride your cock into oblivion.”

Indy’s eyes go wide as his mouth falls open. “Jesus.” He reaches between his legs and squeezes his bulge. “I don’t want you to think you have to, or that you have to prove anything to me.”

“Indy, my sweet, gorgeous man. I’ve been holding back for months. I want you to wreck my hole and fuck me so hard I can’t remember my name or what I did yesterday, much less any other man who wasn’t worthy of me. Can you do that for me?”

Indy blows out a breath. “I would love to.”

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