Page 341 of Property of Whiskey

“You really love me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“Don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

I think about her in a wrestling ring before any of this got complicated. About blood at her mouth and that stubborn look she gave me every time I told her to stay out of something.

“Somewhere between you biting me and not stealing my bike. Woman, first time I watched you wrestle, I damn near fell in love.”

She points at me. “You said that already.”

“Still true.”

Then she looks at me differently. No badge. No Deputy Dix. No Twister smile. No joke waiting between us in case things get too close.

Just Twila.

Open in a way she almost never lets herself be.

“I love you too.”

For a moment, I forget every word I’ve ever learned.

She keeps going before I can embarrass myself.

“You controlling, kidnapping, irritating son of a bitch.”

I grin. “Former kidnapper.”

I slide my hands around her waist and pull only after she leans into me.

She comes willingly. Her forehead rests against mine. For a few seconds, we just breathe together while the clubhouse keeps moving around us, phones ringing and boots crossing old tile like the world didn’t just rearrange itself beside a booking desk.

Then Twila says, “I got one condition.”

“Course you do.”

“You don’t ever lock me down again because you’re scared.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Unless you’re trying to get me naked.” Her eyes narrow.

“You’d like that?” I ask. “For me to cuff you?”

“Just clarifying.” She kisses me. Soft. Somehow those are getting more dangerous than the rough ones.

I let it happen because apparently I’m embracing bad judgment now.

When we separate, Twila glances over my shoulder. “Everybody’s watching.”