Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Oh shit. You didn’t know?” Brody asked.
I shook my head.
“So you planning on stayin’?”
“No comment.”
We were in front of the distillery now, and he stopped and grinned. “I see how you’re playing this. Trying to give me as little information as possible.” Brody crossed his arms, and I didn’t look at the way his T-shirt stretched across his broad chest and muscular arms…or maybe I did. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t tell anyone over at the Buckridge Bugle.”
“Please tell me you just made that up.”
“No, but I really wish I had.”
I couldn’t help laughing, which based on his satisfied expression, made me think that was exactly what he’d hoped for.
“Okay, so what’s the feud about?”
“No comment.”
“Fucking O’Ralleys,” I replied, half serious, half playful. I didn’t know what it was about Brody, but I already liked him.
“Fucking Mitchells,” he countered.
Then we stood there, watching each other, neither of us willing to back down, and damned if it wasn’t kind of fun.
CHAPTER SIX
Brody
I’d met plenty of green-eyed folks in my life, but there was something different about Cohen’s. They were strangely lighter in the center and darkened toward the edges. Although, just as soon as I thought I was obsessed with his eyes, there was that face…that sexy-as-sin stubble.
And his attitude.
Even the way he said fucking O’Ralleys was like his goal was to drive my already-twitching dick crazy.
Something about Cohen simultaneously grated on my nerves and made me want to revisit those lips—which I was thinking about way too much for a straight guy.
Keep your goddamn cool, Brodes, I told myself before saying, “So this is your inner sanctum?”
Jesus fucking Christ, why couldn’t I stop saying inner sanctum? The whole inexperienced, bumbling shit was Walker’s thing, not mine.
Cohen turned back to me, those green eyes catching my attention once again as he winced like he wasn’t sure what to make of my comment either.
I glanced around his space. “Fuck, I’m already jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah, some of your equipment is more up-to-date than ours. Can’t persuade Big Daddy to update shit, so we keep fixing old stills and boilers. I call them ancient. He calls them classics. But I guess the best question I could start with is, what do you know about distilleries? I don’t want to waste your time.”
“I like a Jack and Coke…”
I started to laugh, but his serious expression didn’t let up.
“Oh, damn. Okay. The official tour it is.”
I could tell he was already overwhelmed, and I figured it didn’t just have to do with the distillery.
“How about we start with the tasting room? Looks like it was locked up pretty tight, no broken windows, so hopefully no one’s looted anything.”
I led him through the main warehouse, to a door I assumed went to the tasting room.
Bingo.
Through two windows on the opposite side of the room, the afternoon light flooded into the space. Still decorated with a rustic look, deer antlers hanging on the wall behind the bar, alongside old family photos and various awards and certificates the Mitchells had received for their product.
I opened the hinged part of the bar that let me behind it as Cohen walked around to a nearby stool, where he sat down and made himself comfy.
“You’re making yourself pretty at home here.”
“Same setup as ours, looks like. Not surprising, considering our ancestors started in business together. If it ain’t broke and all… Besides, you visit enough distilleries, you learn they’re all basically set up the same.”
I rifled through the cabinets and storage spaces.
“So…while you’re making yourself at home in my inner sanctum, the other night…”
My cheeks caught fire at the mention. I was fucking glad I wasn’t looking at him right then.
“Oh, that…”
I was relieved when I found a locked cabinet. An excellent excuse to change the subject.
I turned to him. “Hey, mind if I borrow those keys you grabbed to get us in here?”
He fetched the keys and handed them to me, and I opened the cabinet.
“Oh, that is fucking beautiful,” I said, admiring the stash left behind.
As I sorted through the bottles, I decided I could be honest with Cohen about last night without describing how intensely hot the experience had been for me.
“So…there’s this woman I’ve been seeing for the past two years, off and on…then off again…then on again. Then…well, you get the drift. I think I’ve been off and on my horse fewer times than we were—sorry. That sounds a bit too much like I do bad things with my horse.”
“And here I assumed it was an awkward euphemism for barebacking,” he teased with a wink.
“Any rate, Karissa’s her name. And I was smitten, but evidently, every time I thought we were on again, she was off again…or getting off again…with a few other guys, one in particular…Jeffery-Dean. Without getting into it too much, she’s seen me out a few times, and tried to make up one excuse or another for her bad behavior, and at that party—”