There are so many bottles, Faust Darling could host a party for the entire fanbase that crowds Sky Arena every game day.
Seriously.
There’s… a lot. Five rows of cabinets, all full size, stretching to the ceiling.
I stop, then turn to look over my shoulder.
And he’s there, framed by the dim light of the entrance hall.
Rightthere.
So close I can feel his heat at my back.
So close I can see the stubble on his jaw.
“You don’t drink.” It comes out like an accusation and that’s not what I meant, and maybe he does, but I’ve never seen it.
He tilts his head. “I don’t?”
“Do you?” I counter.
He shakes his head once, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t smile.
“Then why…” I gesture toward the cabinets that have stalled my inspection of his house.
“Gifts.”
I turn to face him fully then. What the fuck? “What do you mean,gifts?”
His dark eyes seem to spark as he lifts his brows. “Is that your mocking voice? Does it just stay the same for everyone? Because that did not sound like me at all. Too American.”
My heart flutters inside my chest. He seems genuinely amused, and amusing Faust Darling feels like a triumph.
“Tell me who gave you these.” I have to look away from him, because he’s so damn hot and collected andtall,and…Stop it, Neve.
“They give me bottles as gag gifts. Everyone in my world knows I don’t drink.” He adds the last sentence quietly.
“But isn’t that expensive? For your gift givers?”
He huffs a low laugh. “Yeah. One bottle of whiskey up there is worth half a grand.”
“What a waste.”
“I use it for cooking, or…” He trails off.
I can’t help it. I glance at him again. “Or what? Plying women with liquor before you fuck them?”
His gaze narrows. “No, Neve. Never that.” Then he stalks past me into the kitchen, as if I’ve actually offended him.
I follow along as he flips on lights, then starts getting out silver bowls, flour and sugar and chocolate chips and more from the walk-in pantry, along with milk and eggs and butter from theenormous stainless steel fridge. It has a water and ice dispenser on the outside that makes me envious. The inside of this place must have been renovated at some point. As an American ice lover, that is my dream fridge. The thought reminds me of my own less-than-ideal refrigerator at the apartment, which makes me think of Cyn.
Shit.
I plop down on one of the stools at the long, marble island, and pull my phone from my trouser pocket, where I put it when I was taking off my boots.
I’ll give you your time together ;)
I send the text, then set my phone face down on the island, noting how clean and streak-free it is.
