Page 252 of Property of Whiskey

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Disgusting.”

“You liked my hand on your ass at the clubhouse.”

“Different.”

“How?”

“Wasn’t in front of half of town.”

“Exactly why I liked it.”

She shoves me. I catch her wrists out of reflex, then immediately loosen my hold. Twila looks up at me, sweaty and flushed, lip swollen, blonde hair wrecked from the match.

Fuck me.

“I thought you were learning not to control me.”

“I am.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Didn’t stop your match.”

That shuts her up.

I release her wrists completely. “Wanted to.”

“I know.”

“Wanted to climb into that ring when she busted your mouth.”

“I know.”

“Didn’t.”

“No.”

“I even let Captain Paramedic put his hands on you.”

Her mouth threatens to smile. “You survived.”

“Barely.”

“That was very mature.”

“Don’t insult me.”

She laughs.

I step closer. “But I ain’t promising shit about liking another man putting his hands on you.”

“Jealous?”

I look her dead in the eye. “Violently.”

She inhales. “Possessive bastard.”