Page 29 of American Hellhound
“Ah. You listen.” He sounded approving.
“I try to, despite what my mother would tell you.”
“Hmm.” He chuckled, low in his throat. “So that’s what it is.”
“Whatwhatis?”
“The reason you’re standing in this nasty-ass house accepting drinks from nasty-ass strangers. You’ve gotmommyissues.”
“I do not–”
“I’ll admit, I prefer daddy issues. Those usually work more in my favor. But hey, I’ll take what I can get.” He shot her another of those sharp, wolfish grins.
She sighed. “You just called yourself nasty-ass.”
He shrugged.
“Are you always this charming?”
His eyes danced, bright with candle flame. “No. Never.”
“Well don’t I feel special,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“You should.”
Her stomach gave a strange leap; that swooping, wondering sensation at the top of a hill on a roller coaster. She shook it off and lifted the bottle to her lips. The smell of the stuff was overpowering. “Bottoms up, I guess,” she said, and took a sip.
Huge mistake.
The burn was immediate, flooding her mouth, clogging her throat, shooting up into her sinuses. She felt her eyes bug comically, and couldn’t stop the distressed sound that built in her throat.
Ghost was laughing. “Spit it out,” he said. “Don’t choke on the shit.”
To her complete mortification, she did as he suggested, and spit whiskey all over the floor. And the toes of her boots. She let her head hang a moment afterward, gulping air through her mouth in the vain hope it would cool her tongue. It wason fire.
She coughed…and coughed…and coughed. And finally wiped her mouth and chin on her sleeve – which didn’t work so well, since the jacket was leather – and dabbed around her eyes, sure her mascara had smudged in the whole embarrassing process.
Ghost was still laughing.
“Oh my God.” Her voice came out ragged. “How do you drink that awful shit?”
“Frequently,” he said, still chuckling. “And usually with ice.”
“Ugh.” She swiped at her mouth again and brushed her hair back, too ashamed to make eye contact. “Too bad the floor won’t open up and swallow me,” she tried to joke, and felt, to her horror, the faint sting of tears behind her eyes.
No. She would not lose her cool in front of this man. No way, no how.
“Hey,” he said, tone gentling. “Hey, look.”
She blinked a few times, making sure her expression was locked down before she met his gaze.
His expression was unexpectedly kind. “Every single person who’s ever tasted whiskey does that the first time. Even me. Everybody.” He tilted his head, thinking. “I mean, maybe not Chuck Norris…”
“Yeah, but that’s Chuck Norris.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled. “Thanks.” And shoved the bottle toward him. “Please take this back.”
