Page 209 of Property of Whiskey

“Wren believes knocking is optional.”

“Smart kid.”

“She gets it from me.”

“Definitely your mother.”

I laugh.

Twila starts pulling off her shirt.

I stop laughing.

“Jesus.”

“What?”

“You give a man warning.”

“You’ve seen me naked.”

“Still deserves preparation.”

She tosses the shirt at my face.

I catch it automatically.

Then stand there holding it like a fucking idiot because it smells like her.

I’m fucked.

She notices. “What? You’re holding my shirt like it proposed.”

I drop the damn thing. “Happy?”

“No.”

“Woman, you ain’t happy unless we’re fighting.” My hand lifts toward her jaw, and I wait until she looks back before letting my fingers touch her. “I like fighting with you.”

Her mouth threatens to move. “Healthy.” She slides both arms around my neck. “Whiskey?”

“Yeah?”

She pinches my side.

I catch her hand before she can do it again.

I smile. “Blondie, first time I watched you throw a woman across a ring, I damn near fell in love.”

Her fingers stop against the back of my neck.

The words hit my own ears about a second too late.

Fuck.

That ain’t what I meant.

Twila just looks at me.