Page 5 of Bourbon and Proof

“I wonder...” he starts to say, just as a realization of some kind washes over his face, leaving a weaselly smile in its wake. “Am I wrong about which Foxx my baby girl is fucking, then?” His eyes light up, as if he just discovered something. “She’s been playing you all.” He tuts. “That’s my girl.”

“Watch your mouth,” I bite back, pointing my finger at him. Hadley isn’thisgirl.Thatmuch I know. She’s held on to her father out of loyalty, or too many years of abuse, but she spends so much time at my family’s home because she can breathe there.

Like he can read my mind, his smirk wipes clean from his face, and in its stead, the ruthless businessman streaked in greed rears forward. He knows I wouldn’t have barged in here unless I had planned to do to him what I’d done to Switcher. Or to make a deal. While killing him sounds enticing, a deal between devils has more guarantees.

Wheeler rubs his thumb over the gaudy silver buckle when he asks, “What are you offering, Foxx? It’s a steep request.”

It will be the only deal I ever make with him.

I casually cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t make requests.” He’ll see this as a Queen’s Gambit—sacrificing hispawn to gain control. But to me, it’s the only way. And she isn’t a piece to be played. “A deal for a demand.”

The asshole tilts his head. “I’m listening.”

10 Years Later . . .

Chapter 2

Hadley

I sneaka glance at the clock—6:40 a.m. I still have thirty minutes. The dark blond between my thighs licks me a little too far to the right, humming as if he’s delighted with his work. I stare at the wooden beams that splinter sporadically above me.I’m not into this.The moan that rattles and lingers in his throat is all wrong. The tone off. It almost sounds like a repeating chorus. Cringing, I squeeze my eyes shut. This was impulsive because I wanted a distraction, which has been the case for many nights lately. I texted him for an early morning orgasm, but it's becoming awkwardly clear that isn’t happening. As I look over his broad shoulders, his hair color is a little too light to apply a particular fantasy I like to imagine. The one that could make me orgasm the fastest—within minutes, usually.

A small vibration thrums on my nightstand. And as much as it’s an asshole move, I slowly flip over my phone to read the awaiting text. I shouldn’t have looked.

Hawk’s eyes bulge wide when he sees what’s in my hand, and he moves up quickly to a kneeling position. “You’re hurting my ego a bit here, Hadley, if you’re texting someone right now,” he says, even-tempered, rubbing his hand across his bare shoulder.

I close one eye and try to ease being caught out. Giving him a flirty smile, I tell him the truth. “I’m stressed out about the weekend. It isn’t you.”

He tries to play hurt or annoyed, but a small smile quirks his lips. “This type of thing is supposed to be fun. Ease your stress, not add to it.”

He’s right. So what am I doing?I sit up, dropping my phone on the bed, pulling my legs away from him, knees toward my chest. “My mind got away from me, and then I didn’t want to fake it.”

Standing from the bed, his charming expression peeks out just as he pulls his navy-blue T-shirt back on. When it covers his broad chest,Fiascoin bold white letters reminds me of where we are, and then the lettersFDjust below it. This started as easy and fun. I never planned for much beyond that. I didn’t want more. Still don’t. It’s one of the more mature things that happened in my thirties—recognizing sex for what it is and what it isn’t.

“Do I need to call for some backup?” he asks, caging his arms around me.

I scrunch my nose. “I don’t think that’s it, handsome.”

Having a threesome with the fire chief and the new recruit was initially a joke. I said it out loud, and like some kind of sexual manifestation, it happened. In no way, shape, or form am I complaining. Sex is never anything more than fun for me—a natural need. An exchange between two people, and in that case, three. It’s the best kind of distraction. But like most of the things that’ve been good in my life, it’s run its course. This time, probably for longer than it should have.

I flirt with a lot of people, and I’ve known Nicholas Hawkins for years. He’s older, which is like catnip for me. And he’s a bit of a hero, running into fire-filled buildings and rescuing people. Fiasco gossips had a field day over the young fire chief when he’d been officially appointed to his role just under a decade ago. Hawk’s brother kept being re-elected as governor, which meant he was usually invited to events and parties that my father threw over the years. One hot afternoon, he got fed up with me pushing the bell on my roof deck that connected to the fire station, and I suggested that we fuck around and find out.

The way that stunned him felt good. I needed to shift my attention to something attainable. And then, by some miracle from the goddesses, he and another intensely attractive fireman were taking turns making me orgasm after a fire alarm malfunctioned at Midnight Proof.

And I got greedy. And a little selfish. The chaos of the past year had me barely sleeping, even with the late-night hours from Midnight Proof. Calling Hawk has been an easy distraction.

My phone buzzes again, and I glance at the name on the screen and the curt message below it. One of the reasons why a distraction was necessary.

DADDY FOXX

The best man's speech is mine.

Hawk laces up his boot and says, “How about we pick this up later tonight?”

I focus on typing back my message and mumble, “Okay.”

HADLEY

I’m the best friend. It’s mine.

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