Page 4 of Whiskey & Honey

While I’ve only been in two relationships, I consider myself a catch. I’m intelligent, a great conversationalist, a gentleman, and in all honesty I’m good-looking. I keep myself fit and my beard trim. Yes, a beard. My mother would prefer me clean shaven, as did Laurel, my recent though serious ex-girlfriend. I, on the other hand, like the beard. The first thing I did when I walked out of my former place of employment was toss my razor in the garbage.

And then take it out of the garbage, rinse it off, and set it back in the cabinet. That shit was expensive. Plus, I was going from a private school teacher’s salary to a much smaller town’s elementary school teacher’s salary. That’s not even apples to oranges, that’s filet mignon to canned meat. Big difference.

I grabbed Jameson’s twenty and made my way toward the bar. Toward the sexy vixen I was going to charm and hopefully snag a phone number from. Worst case, I’ll strike out, say hi to my sister, and grab a few beers for the guys.

In true small-town fashion, I am stopped a half-dozen times by guys and gals I grew up with, including Mrs. Nori.

“Bentley Sullivan, as I live and breathe!”

“Mrs. Nori, how are you?” I ask as I scoop her up into a hug.

“Clarice, dear. We’re colleagues now.”

After a few minutes of small talk and a promise to meet for coffee and get the “down low” on the students, I once again start toward the redhead. I watch as she flips off her phone, looks at my sister, takes another shot of whiskey, and slams the shot glass down on the bar with a huff. Before I can make it to the girl who has bedazzled me, I see my sister making her way to this end of the bar.

I find a space between an older couple and a guy I played little league with just as he vacates his spot. I nod to him in appreciation and acknowledgment seconds before I snap my fingers over the bar and annoyingly shout, “Can I get some service here, barkeep?”

A cocky smile takes over my face as my sweet sister turns around to tell the rude customer snapping his fingers to fuck off and instead sees me. Even with my beard, Ashton Marie knows her brother. Releasing a squeal that would give a high-strung toddler a run for his money, my little sister runs around the bar and leaps in my arms.

“Asshole!”

“Monkey nuts!”

Terms of endearment between siblings.

I set my baby sister on her feet as she jumps up and down like that same toddler. I grab her face between my hands and she finally stills. I place a quick kiss to the top of her head.

“I missed you, monkey,” I whisper. I have missed her. While I came home as much as possible, the last year or so I have managed to only make those trips when Ash was out of town.

“I missed you too. When did you get in? Why didn’t Mom call me? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Whoa there, turbo. I got in a few hours ago and I assume Mom didn’t call you because, well you are working. And me? I figured I’d just grace you with my presence instead. You’re welcome.”

“Screw you. You smell like whiskey and beer. How long have you been here?”

Busted.

“Not long. I’m with the guys,” I say as I motion toward the other end of Country Road.

“Mmhmm, whatever. I’m so excited you’re home. Mom has been driving me nuts since you called. I think we should start looking for a place together tomorrow!”

“Umm, Ash, I love you but I’m not getting a place with you.”

“We’ll see. Look I have to get back to work. What can I get you?”

“Umm, another Jack and a beer? I’ll go down to the other end of the bar where it’s less crowded.”

“Okay, let me grab those for you.” She returns to her side of the bar and pours my shot, which I gladly take and enjoy the burn as it makes it way down my throat. “I’ll be down in a second, I have to make another round of Red-Headed Sluts for the group of business men in the back.”

The minute she says “red-headed” I feel it in my jeans. Fuck I have never been this hot for someone when I haven’t even seen their face. I nod in agreement as Ashton begins making the line of shots and I make my way to what I hope … well, I don’t know what I hope but I have a feeling about this girl.

I’m within two steps of her when I see her look at her phone again and toss it on the bar hard enough to make it bounce.

“I think you owe that phone an apology,” I say in a voice that is suddenly gravely and husky.

I watch as she straightens her back and inhales deeply. I can see a blush begin in her arms, freckles ever so slightly appearing on her sleeveless arms.

“My phone has a thick skin; I think she can handle it.”

---