Page 12 of Whiskey Kisses

And, just like yesterday, he’s standing between me and a perceived threat. I touch his arm, not sure if I’m grateful for his chivalry or irritated by it. “It’s fine, Tristan.”

“It’s fine, Tristan,” Cole mocks, winking. Fabien titters, glancing at me before returning to his phone. “Me and Evie go way back.”

Tristan glances back at me, at my hand on his arm. “He bothering you?”

Across the room Lane, the bartender, looks up from the drink he’s mixing. He’s as mellow as they come, but he has no problem kicking people out for disturbing the peace. Even me.

“Yes, but ...” I give Mr. Chivalrous a sharp tug so that he’s at my side instead of in front of me. “I can handle it.”

“You sure can,” drawls Cole, giving me another lazy once-over. He’s doing it to challenge Tristan as much as he is to annoy me. Little does he know, it won’t do either.

“Go on, Cole,” I say firmly. “I’m sure there’s plenty for you to get into elsewhere.” I hold my breath, hoping he’ll listen this time. Cole Deschamps can be as unpredictable as a summer storm.

He shrugs, finishing his drink in a gulp and leaving the glass on Opal’s table. “Next time, then.” He nods to Eziah as he and his boys leave, pushing their way through the heavy crowd.

Tristan turns to look at me. “What was that all about?”

“What are you doing here?” I blurt at the same time.

A crooked grin curves his mouth. “I’m enjoying the local nightlife,” he says, lifting the beer in his hand. “Your turn.”

“Cole’s a nuisance. Ignore him.” I lean over, returning my unuseddart to Marcel. I don’t feel like playing anymore. “Actually, he’s a menace so just avoid him altogether.”

“That bad, huh?”

“The worst.” In so many ways.

He frowns then looks up at me. “Is he a Deschamps, by chance?”

I nod, wondering how he’d know that. Opal struts over, her face bright with curiosity and a touch of mischief. “Tristan, this is my girl, Opal. Opal, meet Tristan. He’s an old friend.”

“How old?” she teases, giving Tristan the once-over.

“Pretty old,” he says. “Since we were little.”

“So, longer than me?” she asks, genuinely surprised.

Grinning, I slide my arm around her waist. “Technically, yes, but not closer than you.”

“That’s what I thought.” She offers her hand to Tristan. “Nice to meet you. You’re not from around here, are you?”

I press my lips together, amused. Opal knows damn well who Tristan is. We’ve been friends most of my life—she remembers how I nursed a crush on him back in the day. And she knows exactly why he’s here now because I told her all about it this morning at the farmer’s market.

He cocks his head, offering a cheeky smile. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Just …” Opal pinches her forefinger and thumb together. “A little bit.”

5.Tristan

Ihang out with Evie’s group for a while, playing pool and drinking before calling it a night. When it seems like her friend wants to leave with a guy, I offer to walk Evie to her car.

“You don’t have to,” she says breezily, that long ponytail swishing like a cat’s tail as we leave the bar. “If anything, I should be walking you to your car.”

“Why?” I fight to keep my gaze from the sway of her ass as she marches up the steps, but it’s a losing battle because Evie Doyle’s had a helluva glow-up.

I’ve always liked Evie. She was the youngest out of all of us, closer to my sister’s age than mine, but we got along well. She was kindhearted and super smart, always nerding out about something she’d read or learned about. As we all got older and our parents gave us more freedom, we’d hang at the beach or ride bikes around Savannah, Evie and her big sister Maribelle our unofficial tour guides.

Evie was a cool kid, but she was also overly sensitive and a little chubby. I remember her crying a lot, teased mercilessly by Maribelle, who was as beautiful as she was bitchy. And when you’re a horny teenager, you get sidetracked by the hot sister with the bouncy tits, especially when she’s always flirting with you. What can I say? I was a dumbass, and kids can be dicks.

---