"We're not having this conversation," I replied.
She clasped her hands under her chin. "It seems that we are."
I leaned forward, lowered my voice. "And yet conversation is the reason you stomped out of my house in the middle of the night, swearing up and down you'd never be back."
"Hmm." She arched an eyebrow up as if granting me a point in this match. "Perhaps I should go to your house, lube up my preferred vibrator, and take matters into my own hands. I'm sure I'd learn a lesson from that." Another arched eyebrow. "Or perhaps the lesson would be yours."
I gathered the inventory, pushed away from the bar. "You're welcome to do that, Brooke, but you should think of it as tonight's appetizer. You'll get the main course when it's good and ready for you."
* * *
I heldout for ninety-three minutes.
It would've been longer if Nate hadn't spilled a full tray of whiskey shots on my jeans and boots, but I could live with ninety-three minutes. It was enough time for Brooke to simmer down or boil over, and I was prepared for either version of her.
I wasn't prepared to find her curled up on my bed with Butterscotch tucked in beside her, fully dressed and fast asleep. Her hair was everywhere, mouth open, arms tucked inside the body of her sweater, one shoe on, one off. For an unreasonably beautiful woman, she slept like a blacked-out teenager.
Leaning against the doorframe, I watched her longer than I should have. My clothes were wet and reeked of whiskey—and everything else at the tavern. My body was exhausted from sixteen solid hours of work and my head ached from the hours I needed to catch up on distillery business. But I went on watching while she slept with my dog until watching wasn't enough. Until I had to touch her.
I pushed away from the door and stood by the bed. "Are you tired from being angry all the time? Or angry because you're so damn tired? Which one is it, Bam?" I tucked her hair over her ear, dragged the strands between my fingers. "And how can I make it better?"
Even as the words passed my lips, I knew I didn't mean them. I didn't want to help. Truly, I didn't want that trouble in my life. Helping people wasn't my thing. This town was packed to the gills with nosy neighbors who lived to help each other, one pot roast and diaper drive at a time. That wasn't me. It wasn't my place.
But Brooke was asleep in my bed. She came to me in that storm of a mood and she let it drop long enough to curl up with my dog, put her head down, and close her eyes. She came to me. She asked for me, albeit in her supremely fucked-up way. She needed me.
I stayed there longer than I should have, rubbing her hair between my fingers and studying this open, unpracticed version of her. Eventually, I stepped away to discard my liquor- and grease-scented clothes. I thought about showering the day away, but more than anything, I wanted to know how it felt to sleep beside Brooke. I pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt and slipped into the bed behind her. It took a bit of finagling with the blankets to get her underneath them without waking her and Butterscotch, but I managed. She must've been absolutely exhausted.
"Sleep well, Bam." I kissed her shoulder over her shirt and retreated to my side of the bed. A soft canine snore huffed out. "You too, Scotchie."
Chapter Seventeen
Brooke
Drawdown: the percentage loss from a fund’s highest value to its lowest over a given timeframe.
I wokeup to a tongue on my face.
I wasn't opposed to oral wake-up calls, but face licking wasn't my preferred form of oral. Call me particular, but I also preferred that tongue to belong to a human being rather than a dog.
"Good morning to you too," I said to Butterscotch. "What the hell am I doing here?"
"Scotchie," JJ whisper-yelled from the other room. "Leave her alone."
"It's fine, she's awake," I called back. I sat up and crossed my legs, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Blinking, I ran my hands through my hair and spotted the hazy outline of JJ in the doorway. "What happened? Why is it"—I glanced at the clock—"oh my god, why am I here at six in the morning?"
"You fell asleep." He wagged a spatula at me. "I let you stay asleep."
"Why the hell would you do that?" I cried. "I came here for a dick appointment, not a sleepover."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "You were out cold. Sorry, but I'm not fucking you while you're unconscious."
"It sounds like you want me to congratulate you for that. I'm not going to." I drove my fingers through my hair again, groaning. "Did it not occur to you that I needed to get home? That people might be looking for me?"
He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Stared at me. Waiting a long damn time to say, "Your phone is plugged in on the other side of the bed. If anyone was looking for you, they would've called. No?"
"Maybe I had to work," I continued.
"In the middle of the night, Brooke?"
