Page 54 of Whiskey Kisses

But also, there’s safety in numbers. I feel better knowing Tristan has his crew here because what happened earlier today gave me the willies. All Cole did was stare, but that was enough for me. I’ve never told Tristan this, because I’m afraid of what he’d do, but when I ended things with Cole in high school, he kind of stalked me for a while. It was mild, like leaving notes on my windshield in public places or showing up where I was hanging out with my friends. I didn’t like it, but I figured he’d quit once he found someone else.

But then one night, he came to my house really, really late. Daddy was on a business trip and Maribelle had gone off to college, so I was home alone. Cole jumped the gate and threw pebbles at my bedroom window like a romantic antihero, refusing to leave until I threatened to call the cops. He got the hint, but there were several times afterward where I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

I’d already been taking jiu jitsu classes for a while, so I felt somewhat empowered, but that’s when I started carrying my Ruger. Daddy had gifted both Maribelle and me nine millimeters when we turned sixteen—hers had a purple handle, mine was turquoise—but I’d always kept mine locked in a case at home because I wasn’t into all that. Cole, however, made me think twice. There was a darkness in him that I’d glimpsed during our ill-fated relationship. Just because he’d never hurt me, didn’t mean he never would.

I moved on and thought he had too. But when I came home from college, the flirting started up again, touchy and teasing like it was all a funny game. Only it’s not funny; it’s creepy. The fact that his interest has lastedthislong, especially unrequited, genuinely makes me wonder about his mental health. It’s not like he’s lonely—he gets around. I’ve seen him out at the bars, draped over unsuspecting girls who don’t know what’s simmering beneath that cocky charm. But he always comes back to little ol’ me.

The way he looked at Tristan today keeps running through my mind, like a scary movie I shouldn’t have watched. He hates him, I know. The night they fought was the first time I’d seen Cole explode in a long time and it’d scared me. Tristan might have beat his ass, which was both satisfying and a relief, but it’s been haunting me, too. Tristan humiliated Cole that night, and I can’t help but wonder if Cole’s been biding his time since then.

“Where’s the other cord?” calls Tristan, startling me from my thoughts. He’s in the living room with Finn, setting up the TV so we can watch Netflix. Timmy and Malachi went out for pizza and beer, but they should be back any moment.

“Which cord?” I reply from the kitchen, where I’m putting dinnerware into Aunt Myrtle’s dated, cherry cabinets. Well, I guess they’re my cabinets now. Maybe one day I’ll switch them out with something a little more modern.

“Never mind,” he says. “Found it.”

I smile to myself, closing a freshly filled drawer of silverware. He’s been at it since we got back earlier, unpacking boxes and helping me put things away. He even installed a security system. “I like having eyes everywhere,” he’d said, ordering additional cameras from the company’s website. I’d just downloaded the app, so I could “have eyes” too. “This house is pretty big, so it warrants more coverage. That front gate, especially.”

Tristan’s like a whirling dervish, stopping and starting and movingon to the next project before I can blink, but the fact he’s doing it for me makes my heart melt like ice cream on a hot day.

Tristan lingers in the doorway,snickering as I try to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to sleep on this queen-sized bed when all of my old sheets are full-sized.

“Shut up,” I laugh, giving up. “I didn’t even think about sheets.”

“You’re forgiven, seeing you’ve had about a million other things on your mind today.” He comes in, yanking off the fitted sheet and tossing it onto the loveseat in the corner. “Just use the flat sheets. No big deal.”

Ridiculous sheet situation aside, it’s a beautiful bed. Made of varnished mahogany and over a hundred years old, the slender posts and intricately carved headboard make it so unique. Unlike the cherry wood cabinets downstairs, I wouldn’t dream of altering this.

“Speaking of sheets, did you give the guys any for their beds?” I ask, looking at Tristan.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. “They can take care of themselves.” I tilt my head, looking on expectantly until he nods. “I showed them that box in the hall. I’m sure they can figure it out from there.”

“Good.” Satisfied I’ve done as much as I possibly can, I kick off my flip flops and stroll over to the en suite bathroom. “If you need me, I’ll be in the shower.”

“Is that an invitation?”

My heart dips crazily. Tristan loves to tease and play. I know that he’s attracted to me, and he wouldn’t do anything purposely cruel, but it’s still hard to accept that he might actually feel some of what I’ve carried for so long. I don’t want to come across as clingy, so I’ve kept some distance today, keeping it friendly. Light. But then he says something like that and all I can think about is him fingering me in the garden.

Pausing in the doorway of the bathroom, I look back at him. Sure enough, he’s leaning against the wall, watching me with the sexiest smirk I have ever seen.

“It can be.” Turning to face him, I pull off my tank top and drop it to the floor. Tristan’s smile fades and then deepens again as he takes in my breasts.Good. Looks likeIcaughthimoff guard for once. Releasing my hair from its bun, I step back until I’ve disappeared into the bathroom. Silence. My stomach flutters in anticipation.

Leaving the door open, I turn on the water, letting it get hot as I strip out of the rest of my clothing. I’ve just started lathering up with my favorite lemongrass soap when Tristan’s blurry form appears on the other side of the frosted glass. My heart kicks, crashing frantically against my ribs as I hurry up and rinse off. As much as I used to obsess over him noticing me, I didn’t think he ever actually would. But now he’s here, and he hasn’t just noticed me. He wants me.

The shower door opens and Tristan steps in, his eyes darkening as they trail slowly down my body. I’m doing the exact same thing to him, but it’s hard not to shy from the scrutiny of his gaze when he looks likethat. He’s even more beautiful than I imagined, radiating barely checked power and strength. An image of him in the ring comes to mind, his lean, muscled body moving in the choreography of the fight. And then that night with Cole and DJ, how instinctively he’d moved to defend himself … and me. Every part of him is perfect, even the parts that are scarred.

I’ve seen some of his tattoos, like the family crest on his right wrist—he got that when he was pretty young—and the full sleeves on his arms, colorful, cohesive dreamscapes of flowers and Roman numerals and Celtic symbolism, even a lion. Gaelic words run down the left side of his ribs:Tiocfaidh ár lá. I want to ask what it all means, what inspired him, but he bullies me back against the tiled wall and crashes his mouth down on mine.

Gripping my hips, he wedges one of his thick, powerful thighs between mine. I run my hands up his muscled arms and over his shoulders, reveling in the feel of his smooth, wet skin. He kisses me like he’s devouring me, leaving my lips for my throat and then the dip between my collarbones. Hooking an arm around my lower back, he pulls me into him, forcing my body into an arc like it’s offering itself to him, and he accepts, sucking my nipple into his mouth. My breasts are small, but they’re extremely sensitive, and hot pulses of pleasure throb through my body with every swipe of his tongue.

He continues down my body, dragging his lips and teeth over my stomach and thighs, until he’s on his knees. I stare down at him, panting,wet in every way there is to be. Staring up at me, he bites down on my hip bone, pulling my skin with his teeth as his fingers part the very center of me. “Did you ever think about this?” he asks, rubbing my pussy the way he did in the garden. Only this time his finger slips slowly inside, gliding up until it can’t go any further.

“I mostly thought …” I manage, swallowing as he starts to work his finger in and out. “About kissing.”

“What kind of kissing?” With a wicked smile, he lifts my leg to his shoulder and then licks my pussy so deeply that my standing knee buckles.

I let out a strangled moan, my hands slipping on the wall as they grapple for something to hold. Reaching around, he grabs my ass and holds me still. Kissing is exactly what this is like: French kissing, his tongue slipping and sliding up and down and in and out. He gorges himself on me,finessingme with his mouth until I’m riding his face. No one’s ever done it to me like this, like they can’t get enough. I’ll never recover from the crass things he’s doing to my clit.

“Give it up, Evie,” he coaxes, kneading my ass. He slides his fingers back inside me, thrusting them to the tempo of his tongue.

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