Page 162 of Property of Whiskey

“You don’t have to trust Whiskey because he wants you to.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“But?”

“No but.”

That surprises me.

Sophie shrugs. “Trust what he proves.”

Becki taps her bottle lightly against the bar. “That part.”

I look toward Whiskey again.

He catches me.

Raises one eyebrow.

I look away too late.

Sophie sees.

“Yeah.”

“Stop.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

Becki laughs and pats my arm. “Welcome to Hell.”

Then Whiskey’s phone rings.

He checks the screen, and his whole face changes before he even answers.

Wren.

I know without seeing the name.

My phone should be in my pocket. It ain’t. Whiskey still has it somewhere from the kidnapping portion of this relationship.

I remember that and immediately get pissed off again.

“Hey, baby.” Everything about his voice softens. The clubhouse keeps moving around him. He doesn’t. “Yeah.”

He listens, then shakes his head. “No, Glamaw ain’t burning supper.”

From somewhere near the bar, Holler mutters, “Debatable.”

Whiskey gives him the finger without looking away from the call. Then his face changes. “What?” He turns slightly away from the room.

The smile leaves mine.

“What do you mean he came back?”