Page 31 of Their Greatest Strength

I yank my eyes up and away from his abs and narrow them on his smirk. “Put your abs away before I leave.”

The shirt drops instantly, and then he’s reaching into the fridge. Cans and bottles clink and clang as I sit perched at the kitchen island and wait.

“Coke or strawberry and kiwi juice?” he asks, facing me with two different cans in his hands.

“Water.”

“Water wasn’t an option.” With that statement, he shuts the fridge door and joins me at the island. “Coke or juice?”

“Have anything stronger?” I ask, eyeing the cans.

He chuckles, bracing his arms on the island. “Yeah, I’ve got stronger. What’s your liquor of choice? You didn’t drive here, right?”

“Whiskey. And no, I don’t drive.”

He heads for the cabinet above the fridge. “You don’t drive at all?”

“No. I was never taught,” I admit, my cheeks burning as I wait for his judgment.

Only it doesn’t come.

“Well, lucky for you, your future husband is a great driver. Sounds like we’ll be having lessons a few times a week from now on.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re too confident?”

“No. Usually, confidence is a good thing.” With a fat-bottomed bottle of whiskey in his hand, he meets my watchful gaze. “Are you a neat, on the rocks, or a mix type of whiskey drinker?”

“You don’t have a guess?”

His grin is dimpled. “Of course I do. I’m trying to be a gentleman, though.”

“Try me. I promise not to deduct gentleman points this time.”

“So generous,” he purrs.

“I’m waiting.”

“Alright, maybe notthatgenerous. I’m going to guess on the rocks. Straight whiskey goes right to your head and makes your guard slip. You need ice to water it down a bit.”

Turns out that I don’t need the whiskey for that at all. Jamie’s worse for my walls than any hard liquor could be.

“I do take it on the rocks, but only because if I drink it straight, I’ll wind up punching you in the dick instead of agreeing to your proposal, and I can’t afford to be sued right now,” I mutter.

“You’d be the first woman to punch my dick. We’re just collecting firsts at this point, you and me,” he teases, already filling a short glass with ice and then pouring too much whiskey into it.

“I can’t say that I thought the idea of a broken penis would be entertaining to you.”

“Penis is such a middle school term, Blakely. I let dick go because you’re being so sweet today, but I prefer cock.”

My stomach jumps, skin growing clammy. “We’re not playing the name game right now. Especially not about that.”

“Don’t go shy on me now. I’m having fun,” he half pleads, half teases.

“Something tells me that you’d be able to find the fun in any situation.”

His eyes sparkle, the blue almost blinding, as he offers me my glass of whiskey and pours a can of Coke into his. I wrap a warm palm around the chilled drink and slide it across the island.

“I try not to take things too seriously most of the time, but I’m like an onion, baby. I have layers. Serious situations call forfitting reactions,” he drawls before lifting his drink to his lips and taking a strong pull.

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