“But there’s a way to enjoy yourself without all the guilt,” he says. “A way to let go a little without losing control.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah?”
He leans in, voice dipping lower. “Yeah.” He taps his fingers against the bar. “It helps if you’ve got the right partner. Someone you trust, who’s got your back even if you were truly gone. Someone who’d take care of you, make sure nothing bad happened. No judgment. Just care.”
There he goes again with thepartnercomments.
Something warm spreads through me.
Hex stands, moving behind the bar, and pulls down a dark, unlabeled bottle.
“Bourbon isn’t about drinking to get drunk,” he says, pouring two fingers into each glass. “It’s about appreciation. Being in it. Savoring it.”
“Are we talking about partners still or alcohol?” I ask with a coy smile.
His lips twitch. “Both.”
He slides one of the glasses toward me, the amber liquid catching the light. Then he moves back around and takes the stool beside me once more.
A shiver stirs in me and works its way down my spine. The goose bumps raise on my bare arms.
Hex swirls his glass, watching the liquid spiral. “Drinking like this… it’s about patience. You don’t rush it. You don’t just take what you can get and move on. You let it breathe, take your time with it. Feel every part of it.”
I arch a brow. “And what happens if you just throw it back?”
“You miss everything that makes it worth drinking in the first place.” And with a careful tilt, the rim meets his lips, his eyes never leaving mine.
I wrap my fingers around my glass, pulse kicking up between my ears. I lift the bourbon, breathing in caramel and vanilla, followed by something darker. Richer.
Hex watches me with that same patient intensity in his eyes he had at the gun range. There’s no hint of nerves. No smile. Just stillness. Quiet observation. Like nothing I do could rattle him.
Meanwhile, I’m barely holding it together.
I take a drawn-out sip. The warmth rolls over my tongue, settling deep in my chest like liquid fire. I can’t take my eyes off this man.
“So what’s next?” I ask, my voice coming out softer than I intended.
With a knowing quirk of his lips, he continues, “Second lesson: you pair it right.” He gestures at the food spread between us. “A good bourbon with the right meal? It changes everything.”
I pick up a bite of pork, chewing thoughtfully. He’s right. The smoky sweetness blends with the lingering warmth of the bourbon, deepening it.
Hex watches me, his gaze flicking to my mouth, and I swear his brown eyes darken.
“You get it now?” he asks with a smooth candor.
I swallow, chasing it with another small sip, and nod.
“I think I do. But…” I look at him through my lashes. “Tell me again aboutfeeling every part of it.”
Before I can set my glass flush to the counter his hand brushes mine, catching my wrist gently, and setting the glass down for me. He keeps hold of me as he turns on the stool to face me. His knees bump against mine beneath the bar.
Leaning in, there’s heat in his eyes, but control in every movement. Like he’s not rushing this. Like he’s about to savor it.
His other hand slides to my waist, fingers skimming just under the edge of my shirt. He doesn’t pull me forward. He coaxes, guiding me off the stool with the barest pressure of his fingertips, like I might spook if he asks for too much.
I go willingly.
The heels of my boots hit the floor. Hex stays seated, knees bracketing my hips as I step between them. His chest lifts in a long, measured breath, as if steadying something dangerous inside him. Then his mouth finds mine.
