Page 5 of Getting Lucky

“Not to worry. I’ve been warned,” he said, gesturing for her to head down the hall.

She turned and started for the living room, and his gaze landed on the swell of her butt, the silky fabric hitching up slightly as she walked.

He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to stare at the back of her head, which was only slightly better. Her mass of curls made him wonder what they’d look like spread out on a pillow as he…

Shit.No.This wasMaisie. River’s friend. Hell, she was one of Adalia’s best friends too. If they started something and it didn’t work out, it would mess upeverything, and Jack was tired of watching the world blow up around him.

Hell, he was digging himself out of a trench hole at that very moment.

No, no thinking about Iris tonight. He’d spent the past six months worrying about Iris—make that the past seventeen-odd years—and there was nothing he could do for her right then. He’d deal with his sister’s issues tomorrow.

Still, he found himself following Maisie like she was the Pied Piper, because while his head told him that continuing this was averybad idea, his hormones strongly disagreed.

She stopped in front of the fridge and opened it, scanning the contents while he stood on the other side of the open door.

“Dottie has some of River’s new IPA out back,” he said. “I brought it over and put it in a bucket of ice.”

She made a face. “Didn’t you see Lurch put his head in that bucket? Anyway, I’m not in the mood for beer.”

He released a chuckle. “Is itpossibleto be a member of the Buchanan family, honorary or otherwise, and not be in the mood for beer?”

She turned to look at him, her eyes dancing. “So you’re telling me you want beer 24/7?”

He grinned. “I like to brush my teeth with Hair of Hops, and I pour Cesspool of Sin in my Cheerios for breakfast.”

Her smile spread as she rested her forearm on the fridge door. “So you’re a Buchanan through and through?”

That sobered him. While his father was Prescott Buchanan, Jack’s last name was Durand. A stipulation his father had made when his attorneys had worked out the child support arrangements. He wasn’t a Buchanan, and although he’d thought that working with his siblings at their grandfather’s brewery might change that, he felt like more of an outsider than ever. It wasn’t his half-sisters’ fault. It was his past that held him back, reminding him that sharing DNA with someone didn’t ensure any kind of relationship.

“Hey,” Maisie said, worry filling her eyes. “What that woman said was wrong.”

It took him a second to realize she was talking about the goat lady—Stella?—calling him a bastard. Strangely, that part of being the product of an affair didn’t bother him, but he saw no point in correcting her. He forced a smile. “I’ve heard plenty worse. So if we’re not drinking beer, what are you searching for?”

She leaned back down, searching the fridge. “I was hoping Dottie might have a pitcher of margaritas or sangria or something.”

“Sounds a lot like punch. Maybe you’re not so averse to Lurch’s drink after all,” he said with a laugh.

“News flash,” she said as she stood upright and closed the door. “He makes it from beer.”

“Rumor has it there were other ingredients in it at the last party,” Jack said. “Beet juice and dandelion wine, to name a few.”

Her face scrunched in disgust, and she went from looking fierce to unguarded in the blink of an eye. “That’s gross.”

He shrugged, still grinning like a fool. “I’m only reporting what I heard. I wasn’t there, and if I had been, I wouldn’t have been first in line to try it. But I only recall seeing beer and Lurch’s punch out back, so if you’re in the mood for something else, I’ll see what Dottie has in her liquor cabinet and make you something.”

“You’re gonna make me a drink?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “I think I saw this play out in a Lifetime movie once. The guy made the girl a drink, and when she woke up, she’d been sold into some sex cult.”

He laughed as he looked in the cabinet over Dottie’s fridge, where most people kept their liquor. “That doesn’t sound like a Lifetime movie to me,” he said, pleased when he saw several bottles. Vodka. Gin. Rum. Triple sec. “And I used to be a bartender. I take it you like sweet and fruity drinks?”

Her brow shot up. “Are you judging me, Mr. I-Watch-So-Many-Lifetime-Movies-I-Can-Spot-a-Fake-Plot? Seems likeIshould be judgingyou.”

Turning to face her, he shook his head. Damn she was prickly, and for some bizarre reason he liked it. “Judge me all you want, but I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to figure out what to make you.”

Her face froze and her irritation faded. “Oh.”

He laughed, then spotted some lemons on the counter. “How about a lemon drop martini? I’m limited on a few key ingredients, so it won’t be my best, but I guarantee it will be better than Lurch’s punch.”

An appreciative look filled her eyes. “Okay, then. Wow me.”

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