Page 15 of Driving Whiskey Wild
Dixie pushed to her feet. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, and then we can go over your other ideas. We kind of got sidetracked.”
After Dixie was out of earshot, Bullet pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and tried his best not to sound like an arrogant ass. “I didn’t mean to put you down, and I won’t make that mistake again. You have my word, lollipop. I’m a hard-ass, but I’m not intentionally a dick.”
She lowered her gaze, her face a mask of contemplation.
He bent so his face was lower than hers and looked up at her, earning a sweet smile, which soothed the ache in his heart from accidentally hurting her. “Let me rephrase that to something more lollipop appropriate.”
She smiled again, and this time it was warm and genuine and gave him hope that she’d forgive his comment.
“I’m tough and crass. Some might say I’m not easy to like,” he said apologetically. “We’re from totally different worlds, and I’ll never be a collared-shirt yuppie, but I’d never in a million years try to hurt you.”
“I believe you,” she said softly.
“Think you can bear with me? Help me learn to keep my fucking mouth shut?”
“Bear with you? Yes. Help you keep your mouth shut?” She shook her head, laughing softly. “What time are you picking me up tonight?”
He leaned forward, his lips grazing hers. She inhaled a ragged breath, and he whispered, “Seven thirty.”
“No motorcycle.”
“No motorcycle,” he agreed.
“No Tinkerbell.”
“No Tink. Yet.” He pressed his lips to hers, vowing to never accidentally hurt her again and hoping he could figure out how to lead with his fucking heart, because he knew better than anyone that being given a second chance was the gift of a lifetime.
Chapter Six
“WHAT DO YOU wear on a date with a Bullet train?” Isabel’s teasing voice rose from Finlay’s laptop, which was sitting on her bed.
Finlay stood at the threshold of her closet Friday evening, hands on hips, trying to figure out just that.
“He needs a target,” Isabel said. “So I’m thinking crotchless panties are a must.”
“Izzy!” Finlay laughed, though she blushed a red streak.
“What? It seems like the right thing for a Bullet train.”
“No, just no. Please be serious. I’m so nervous. Something sexy but not too sexy?” Finlay suggested. “After the kisses we shared, I don’t want him to think I’ll just give it up, you know? But I also don’t want him to think I won’t ever give it up.”
“I’ve got it!” Isabel waved her hands, her hazel eyes wide with amusement. “You need one of those light-up T-shirts that has two big yellow traffic lights, one on each boob. That will give him the message don’t stop, but don’t speed through. Just take it nice and slow.”
Finlay rolled her eyes. “That’s really helpful. Do you know how nervous I am?”
“I think the fact that I had to hear about you changing your lingerie four times gave me a pretty good idea of how nervous you are. I’m glad you went with the white lace, though. That’s totally you, and I think even badass Brutus would wonder what other sexy secrets you were keeping if he found edible underwear on the first date.”
“He’s not going to find white lace, either!”
“Penny’s there,” Isabel said matter-of-factly. She lifted her dark hair into an updo and sucked in her cheeks. “Do you think I should start eating healthier so I can look like those ridiculously skinny models who eat air for dinner?”
“What? No! And what did you say about Penny?”
“She’s there. Three, two, one…”
There was a knock at Finlay’s door. “You did not call her!”
“Okay, let’s go with that. Answer your door, please.”
“I don’t need Penny pressuring me tonight!” She stalked out of the bedroom and answered the door.
“Hey, sis. Nice outfit. Are you going for the June Cleaver look?” Penny walked right past her, carrying an armful of clothes, an enormous bag slung over her shoulder. “Where’s Iz?”
“Bedroom.” Finlay followed her down the hall. “What’s wrong with my bathrobe?”
“Nothing if it’s 1950 or you’re eighty-two years old with a dusty cootie and hangnails.”
“I hate you right now,” Finlay said as she followed Penny into the bedroom. “What are you two, anyway? Plot bunnies, secretly scheming behind my back?”
“Hey, Iz.” Penny blew a kiss toward the laptop and tossed the clothes on the bed. She set her bag on the floor and said, “We are your saviors. Now, take off that boner killer bathrobe and let’s see if we can find an outfit that might incite some boob-touching action.”
“Cock-knockin’ action,” Isabel said with a laugh.
“Oh, yeah, even better. A little hide the handlebar? Smoke the muffler?” Penny dug through the pile and held up a black T-shirt with GOOD GIRLS SIT, BAD BITCHES RIDE emblazoned across the front. “Huh? What do you think? If you go with that, I got you this to give to him.” She picked up an enormous men’s shirt and showed them the back, which had two red and white targets and read, PRESS ’EM HERE ’N’ HANG ON TIGHT.
Isabel fell onto her side laughing.
“What is wrong with you people?” Finlay said as she laughed and yanked the shirt from Penny’s hand. She tossed it on the chair in the corner of the room and said, “No, no, and no. Do you have anything reasonable in here?” She picked up a little black dress that looked like it would fit a seven-year-old. “How can you wear this? You’re five inches taller than me.”
Penny, who looked like Zooey Deschanel with her blue eyes and walnut-brown hair, took after their father. She was tall and lean and about as carefree as a girl could be. She smoothed her hands over her jeans-clad hips and said, “It’s all in the stretch of the material.”
“This thing couldn’t stretch to cover my cooch. How on earth does it cover yours?”
“Try it,” Isabel suggested.
“Yeah, put it on and see.” Penny reached for the tie on Finlay’s robe. “Give me Grandma’s robe. Let’s sex you up.”
As Finlay stripped off her robe, Isabel whistled and cheered and Penny lowered her voice and started singing, “Come on, girl, strip off the robe. That’s it, girl. Show those globes.”
Finlay gave her a deadpan look.
“I liked it,” Isabel said. “It made creative sense.”
“Nice lace, sis.” Penny picked up the black dress and handed it to her. “Now, let’s cover up that innocent lingerie with some sluttiness.”
“Aren’t I supposed to wear the sluttiness underneath the innocence?”
Penny set a hand on her hip and said, “Only if you never want to touch his drive shaft.”
“I feel like a stuffed sausage in this dress.”
“Stuffed sausages are good,” Isabel said. “And you look hot, like take-me-from-behind hot.”
Finlay ripped the dress over her head and tossed it on the bed. “Nope. Not going there.”
“Dark blue shift?” Penny picked up a midnight-blue dress that was almost as small as the black one.
“No.”
“Leather miniskirt?” She plucked it out from beneath the pile. “I’ve got my lace-up fuck-me boots in the car.”
“Leather goes well with a motorcycle,” Isabel said. “And that one is cute!”
“No leather. Why can’t you guys just help me be me, only better?”
Isabel made a kissing noise. “I love you, Finny, and you know I’m only giving you a hard time.”
Penny flopped onto the bed on her side and began picking up each outfit. “It’s our job to try to get you sexed up, no matter how hard you fight it.”
“Why?”
“Because one day you might want to get sexed up and be too embarrassed to ask,” Penny said.
“We know how nervous you are about going out with Bullet,” Isabel added. “We just wanted to lighten the mood.”
“With leather and slut boots?” Finlay flopped onto her back beside Penny. “Why don’t I just wear one of my sundresses?”
Penny’s face appeared over hers. “Because your sister would never leave you hanging, and neither would Izzy. We shopped today and found something we think you’ll love.”
“You shopped?” Finlay turned toward the computer, and Isabel held up her phone.
“FaceTime shopping. We found you the best outfit! Pen took me to Chelsea’s Boutique. Oh my God, Fin, when I move there we are going to spend hours in that shop. Days. We may never leave!”
Finlay’s hopes rose. Isabel and Penny had great taste when they weren’t trying to be too wild. She sat up, and Penny reached into her red bag and withdrew a gift box, complete with a big pink ribbon. Finlay’s throat thickened with emotion. Before their father had died, he’d celebrated each of their milestones with a gift, wrapped up with a big pink bow. The milestones were never things they wanted to celebrate with their father—their first bras, first periods, first kisses—but now they were some of their most cherished moments.
