Page 55 of Bourbon and Proof

I need to focus on what our marriage is going to put into play, so I voice note a series of text messages to my people who need to be aware of what I’ve just done, before the rest of the town, including her father, catches wind of it.

When that happens, we need to be ready.

Chapter 22

Hadley

May: Hearing my husband groan against my lips as he grabbed my ass and rolled his hips into me. Aggressively underrated: A confident man moaning for me.

I stretch my arms above my head, shoving my hands into the headboard and twisting my hips into the dark-gray satin sheets of the California King. As I peel a mascara-sewn eye open, I confirm what I’m already fearing might be true: I’m waking up alone. Again.

I feel around the bedside table for my black book, but my fingers hit two pills. As I sit up, I spy two ibuprofen, a water, and a clementine next to my black notebook and charging phone. I stare at the bright orange rind and turn over the idea that maybe Griz hasn’t been the one leaving these for me all this time. Ishake my head and sniff out a laugh, almost not believing that Ace could have done this every time I’ve stayed at this house.

Gulping down the pills and water, I flip open to the section of my notebook that’s markedMay. I didn’t like the idea of just unloading bullshit that would fill the pages fast and then be tossed because I wouldn’t want to read back the bad stuff. Living the bad stuff once was enough. So, I opted for a positivity journal. Throw a metaphorical middle finger up at the bad and find comfort in writing down the good. However small or special it might be. I addclementinesto the page, and then read back some of the other good things May has brought me over the years:

Magnolias blooming along Main. A long ride with one of my girls. Watching the ricker riders run barrels from the rickhouses to the distillery. Winning the Oaks. Derby hats that have ostrich feathers. The fire station opening its garage doors. Firemen sitting in the sun as they wait for their next call.

Shit.I need to talk with Hawk. I don’t want him hearing about me getting married from anyone else. We might not have been officially anything more than casually hooking up, but I’m not stupid. He was looking for more from me. And if Ace’s reaction to seeing Hawk’s text last night was any indication, he’s thinking the same.

I fire off a text as I move into the bathroom, brushing my teeth.

HADLEY

I’d like to have a chat. Want to meet me for a coffee later?

HAWK

On duty today. This weekend?

Maybe I should just tell him over text, but the thought leaves me when I step into the kitchen and I’m visually assaulted by Atticus Foxx. He leans against the kitchen counter in mesh shorts and a gray cut-off T-shirt, scrolling through his phone. It’s like catching him in goddamn lingerie. Who knew moisture-wicking material in the most basic colors would be such a slutty look? Bravo, universe, you really delivered this morning.

He doesn’t even look up when he pushes a box across the marble top. “This package is addressed to you, and it’s vibrating.”

I’m still not sure how I’m feeling after getting married yesterday. I couldn’t tell what was real or simply a performance. I’m disappointed that he didn’t search me out for more later on, that he still hasn’t come to bed. Maybe we both just got caught up in the lie. I want to stomp my foot and demand a fucking answer. I don’t like complicated, so I swallow my pride and play this smart.

I put my black book and phone down, realizing what package this is. Instantly, my mood shifts. “My wedding gift has arrived,” I cheerily sing-song.

I can see his brow furrow out of my periphery as he stares at the small box. “Who’s sending you wedding gifts?” he asks, confused.

When I look at him, I notice his face is red and damp. “Why are you sweating?” I ask, bypassing his question as I snatch a knife from the butcher block.

“Worked out,” he mumbles, still focusing on the low intermittent buzzing that’s making the box shake slightly. “Who is that from?” he asks again, and then follows it up with, “Is that. . . ?”

“From me, to me,” I answer as I flip the top open. “And yes, it’s my favorite kind of flower. I forget what color I picked this time.” When I pull out the palm-sized vibrator from the littleblack box, its bright yellow color makes it look like a stemless yellow rose. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

He nearly chokes on his electrolytes. A stream of actual liquid spurts from his pretty lips, and I feel mildly triumphant that I’ve rattled him.

“It’s a vibrator,” I whisper mockingly. “I know, shocking.”

He wipes his mouth with the hem of his shirt, giving me a very nice snapshot of his stomach—lots of lines. Two very prominent ones that protrude inward and disappear into his mesh shorts.Jesus, he’s dangerous, no matter what he’s wearing.

“It’s not shocking.” He clears his throat. “You just catch me off guard sometimes. When did you order a vibrator to have it shipped here?”

“The night I agreed to a sexless marriage. I was taking pity on myself and decided on a rush shipment.”

Swallowing audibly, his eyes linger on my self-given gift, and then he shifts to my shirt. Correction: his shirt. I like stealing his dress shirts. Plus, I was drunk last night and found myself smelling the shirts hanging in his closet. I settled on this one. I even cuffed the sleeves the way he does.

He chugs almost an entire water bottle before he asks, out of breath, “What are you always writing in here?” He’s picking up my black notebook before I realize what he’s doing.

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