Page 91 of Fairground

Regan’s playful smirk softens as she lets out a breath. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing there for her,” I say, my frustration spilling out in waves. “I told her last weekend. I’m here. I want her. Everything she loves is here—hell,I’mhere, dammit. But it’s her career. And she loves working in politics. It's a big break for her. I can’t blame her for considering it or even taking it. I guess if she does, we could make it work. It’s only a few hours’ drive away, and we have the brewery there that I could help out with.”

“Well, what if she wins the mayoral race?” Regan asks.

I shake my head, the knot in my chest tightening. “She didn’t even know if she’d stay for that. That job in Charlotte pays almost seventy-five percent more than what the mayor of thistiny town makes. That kind of money is hard to turn down, especially when she’s worked her ass off for it.”

Regan glances at the clock on the wall. “And the results are announced on TV in the next thirty minutes?”

“Yeah.” I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answers that I’m too afraid to face. Spoiler: it doesn’t. "I should have backed out of the race."

“No. You absolutely shouldn’t have backed out,” Regan says firmly. "You said yourself you wouldn’t because you didn’t want her to feel like you were handing the job to her. You know how much pride she has. She wouldn’t want that. She’d want to win this on her own.”

I drop my head back, closing my eyes. “If she wins, she might leave. If she loses, she might leave. There’s no scenario where I know for sure that she’s staying. And it’s killing me.”

The door creaks open behind me, and I crack one eye open to see my older brother Lawson strolling in casually. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants, a rare choice for the guy who runs our sales and marketing and is usually dressed in his denim jeans and button up uniform, rushing to catch his next flight. He grabs a chair from the corner of Colt’s office, spins it around backward, and straddles it, resting his arms on the back.

“Did you see who’s leading in the polls?” he asks casually, like it’s just another day and not the day where Rae's going to either break or make my heart.

“No,” I groan, already regretting asking. “Who?”

“Rae.”

Her name is like a hit and a caress all at once, and I groan again, louder this time. Just hearing it makes my chest ache and my cock twitch.

Colt chuckles, shaking his head. “Cash is heart-sick over her. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s downright entertaining.”

“Because she’s the one,” I grumble out.

Regan pushes a shot glass toward Lawson with a sly grin. “Since Cash won’t taste his own formulation, you should. Tell us what you think. It's the one you built that new, holiday campaign for. Hits the shelves at the end of the month.”

Lawson picks up the glass, turning it between his fingers like he’s studying it. Then he knocks it back in one smooth motion, his eyes widening as the flavor hits his palette.

“Shit, that’s good. Cherries?”

I groan again, the sound more tortured than before. “Stop talking about cherries.”

Lawson chuckles, setting the empty glass down with a thud. “You’ve got it bad, little brother. Real bad.”

I don’t respond. Because yeah, I do. And the worst part? I’d let Rae break me a hundred times over if it meant keeping her in my life.

Thirty minutes. Thirty freaking minutes until the results are announced. And all I can do is sit here, spiraling over something I can’t control. For once, I've opened my heart to a woman, seen a future beyond my selfish present and now she might leave me behind.

Before I can get anymore into my self-loathing, the door bursts open and I smell her sweet scent. That unmistakable mix of dark humor and wild cherries hits me, wrapping around my senses like a lasso. I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s her, but when I do, my breath stills anyway, and all fear over the future is dispelled.

Regan's boots hit the floor with a thud as she straightens in her chair, but I’m already transfixed, watching Rae storm toward the desk like a damn goddess on a mission. Her thighs—strong, smooth, and sinful—are hugged by those tight Wrangler jeans that make her ass look so good I’d gladly bury my face in it for eternity. Her hips sway just enough to make my cock twitch in anticipation of her sitting on me, and her white T-shirt, stretched thin over her chest, shows enough bounce to have me swallowing hard, thinking about sucking on those nipples.

She doesn’t say a word as Colt pours her a shot ofmywhiskey—hell, her whiskey, the one I spent months crafting with her in mind, into a glass, the soft trickles serenading her movements.

He slides it across the desk without a word, and she snatches it up, knocking it back like it’s nothing. Her eyes lock on mine as she sets the glass down with a sharp clink and then she’s on top of me. Straddling my lap, she plants herself firmly, her thighs gripping either side of me like they belong there—and fuck, they do. My hands shoot to her hips, gripping her tight as I stare into those stormy, green eyes that I could lose myself in forever.

Her hands skim up my neck, her fingers curling behind it as she tugs my face toward hers. I barely have time to breathe before her lips are on mine, parting, demanding, and then—holy hell—she’s pouring that shot straight into my mouth from hers.

I taste it on her tongue and in my throat, that deep, smoky flavor that Colt’s whiskey is known for, kissed with the sweetness ofher. It’s better than I ever could have imagined, rich and intoxicating, and it hits different coming from her mouth. My grip tightens on her hips as my free hand slides into her hair, tugging her head back roughly to deepen the kiss.

“You’re always surprising me,” I whisper against her whiskey soaked lips.

Her gasp fuels me, and I take the kiss further, harder, like I’m trying to rip the cherries straight from her soul. Because that’s what Rae does to me—makes me want to consume her whole, devour every piece of her until there’s nothing left.

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