Page 263 of Property of Whiskey

“Good.”

“Menace.”

“Your menace.”

My head lifts.

She glances over her shoulder.

Realizes what she said.

Her eyes widen just slightly.

“Interesting,” I say.

“Don’t.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

I pull out carefully, deal with the condom, tie it off, and drop it into the little trash can beside the utility shelf.

Twila fixes her panties and drags her shorts back over her hips.

I’m still fastening my jeans when somebody pounds on the storage-room door.

We both freeze.

I close my eyes.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

A voice calls, “Twister?”

Not Daddy.

Thank Christ.

“You’re up for photos in ten.”

Twila clears her throat.

“Got it.”

Footsteps move away.

I look at her.

She starts laughing.

“This keeps happening to us.”

I buckle my belt. “Difference is, this time we beat the interruption.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”