Bourbon Summer (Bourbon Canyon #6)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Tenor

“I made extra.” Mama gestured to the two trays stacked on her countertop while she rinsed dishes at the sink. “Wynter said Ruby likes pasta dishes, so there’s a taco spaghetti bake and chicken linguini. That one was Cruz’s favorite.”

“Thanks.” I gathered the containers, feeling moderately better after Ruby had made this seem like such a normal thing last weekend. Even more, she’d sounded almost envious.

Yeah, I could cook for myself. I could cook for Mama too. But she missed taking care of a brood of kids. She hated making small dishes. Preparing a feast and portioning it out for various kids delighted her.

Since I lived alone, I didn’t chow through her gifts as quickly. I had a nice stash. Something Katrina had thrown in my face. You’re pathetic, Tenor. You thought you could hide that from me?

My throat burned. Ruby had acted fascinated by my collection. Had she just been placating me? She still needed me to show her ex up.

Mama hung a dish towel up. “Ruby at your place?”

I nodded. I’d followed her home from the distillery last night. I’d appreciated her bare legs in a maroon skirt. The one she’d worn before had been longer. The ballet flats she’d paired with it had given her a sexy librarian look.

She’d been tired, and I had fed her some of Mama’s enchiladas and ensured she got to bed. In the guest room.

One night in my bed and I’d become a man obsessed, hankering for another hit. I’d gone to sleep alone, looking forward to spending a day with her. Anxious as hell about doing what I normally do any other night, only with Ruby as a witness.

“How are things going?” Mama asked quietly.

“Good,” I said, full of sincerity. “She’s unexpected.”

“I’ll say.” Mama’s smile was fond. “She’s good for you. I was in the grocery store yesterday and Wilna asked me if it was true.”

Wilna worked at one of the churches and she ran the annual bachelor auction fundraiser. She’d suspended it last year due to diminishing returns, but she continued to hound me and Teller, insisting our participation would bring back the bids. “Did you send her my sympathies that I can’t be one of her bachelors?”

“I did, in fact.” Mama chuckled. “Poor Teller.”

“You don’t sound that sad for him.”

A mischievous glint shone in her doe-brown eyes. “Might be good for him.”

“Depends who buys him.”

“He can donate a weekend of work.”

“You know that’s not why anyone will bid. He’d probably make it a month to really drive up bids.” Women wouldn’t be bidding on his handyman skills.

Her smile said she knew exactly that. Mama wasn’t pushy about her kids settling down, but she wanted us to. She would be sad when Ruby and I parted ways after the wedding.

It didn’t have to be like that . . .

No.

But what if . . .

I didn’t work with what-ifs. Distilling and ranching were well-researched sciences. Financials were exact. Ruby had been nothing but unpredictable since the night I kissed her.

For now, she needed me. There was no reason to wait around after and find out what about me repelled her.

Teller entered the house. He spotted the pans I was holding and looked around.

“They’re in the freezer,” Mama said.

Teller grinned. “Thanks, Mama.” He nudged my shoulder. “Want to invite your girlfriend to a barbecue tomorrow? Tate’s got some brisket smoking.”

My family had been having barbecues my entire life, and I always looked forward to them. Lately, our gatherings had a hint of bitter with the sweet. My sisters had all found the love of their lives. Tate and Scarlett still acted like newlyweds.

“I’ll ask her.” With Cruz and Lane, Teller and I didn’t stand out as the bachelors of the group. Now, they didn’t think I was single. Pretending for a month was one thing, but being around them together for a family gathering—that was different. That was too close to real.

I didn’t look forward to seeing firsthand what I would be missing when Ruby and I fake broke up.

Ruby

Tenor had insisted on cooking—roast and fried potatoes—likely to prove he could after he had shared that he’d been criticized for subsisting on his mom’s food. Growing up eating plain pasta meals and heat-n-serve food, I gave zero fucks if he subsisted solely on Mae’s meals. I would too if I could.

After we finished eating, I didn’t let him ban me from the kitchen to help clean up. We worked alongside each other, casually chatting about what he’d done that day. Tenor and his brothers had worked cattle, something to do with vaccinations for the calves.

“How ’bout you?” he asked, hanging a dish towel up.

I wiped off the island. He’d revealed that he ate at the island instead of the table most of the time, so I’d insisted we sit there. “I sent myself some post ideas for the fall.” Waking up in a cabin by the mountains filled me with all sorts of inspiration. “Junie sent me some images. I made some edits for her.” I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m brainstorming what to do when she’s done with her tour.”

“Fewer pictures?”

I nodded. “It’ll be more important than ever to keep her connected with her audience. We’ll work on making her seem like she’s around when she’s not around, you know.”

“I’m actually glad I don’t know.”

I chuckled. “Exactly. I would not want her life. Then I called my mom.”

“She doing okay?”

“Better than okay.” I folded my arms and leaned against the counter opposite him. I’d much rather be chatting Tenor up in his house than trying to get free drinks at the bar. “She finished her hiking trip with Dave—Daniel. This one’s Daniel.”

“This one?”

I pursed my lips. “Mom’s a player.”

His brows shot up. “Not how I expected you to describe her.”

“I think she’s always been hung up on my dad, but one of the good things he did when he was younger was not lead her on.” I fiddled with the end of a lock of hair that had slipped free. “He said he wasn’t ready to settle down, but he’d work to give her child support and take me for a weekend a month.”

“You’re not close with him?”

“Yes and no. We have a decent relationship, but I made the mistake of crying to him when I got dumped for the first time.” I held in my wince. First time. Tenor would wish he could take back that smoldering kiss last weekend. “He said I should quit feeling sorry for myself. ‘Suck it up and move on, kiddo.’” I mimicked Dad’s rough voice.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, it didn’t feel so good at the time. I think he thought the guy probably had a point when he said that I should broaden my horizons so we had more interests in common.”

“No, the guy was an idiot.”

“Some people just don’t work out.” I didn’t want to defend the men who’d shattered my hopes and insulted me a little in the process, but we just hadn’t been compatible. That was what it came down to. I just wished they’d have told me right away. That particular ex had sulked for two months before he’d finally broken up with me.

I should’ve dumped him after a month.

“My dad told me to suck it up once.” Tenor got a faraway look in his eye. “After... After my last breakup felt like a long line of failures with me as the common denominator,” he finished, using my description.

“Ouch.”

“Nah, it wasn’t quite like that. He mostly meant that I had to come to terms with the reason for the breakup, which was that she didn’t like me for who I really was. He told me to own it. Own everything about me, and that’s what I did.”

“Your dad was a smart man.” I’d never known Darin Bailey, but someone like Mae wouldn’t put up with a douche.

“He was.” Tenor gripped the edge of the island. “He encouraged me to wait before I built this place. To make it something I wanted versus a knee-jerk reaction to Katrina’s words.”

“Katrina?”

His jaw turned to stone. “My last ex. She moved away shortly after we broke up.”

His tone said it all. It was her who’d convinced him he wasn’t what women wanted. It was her who’d made him take himself off the market. What a damn tragedy. I hated her.

“I say it’s time to spite our exes and do our totally uncool hobbies.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “No judgment.”

“No judgment, Warhammer.”

I ducked into the guest room and grabbed my book. I slipped the fake cover off before I left the room. I’d stopped at a bookstore and bought a sci-fi romance with something close enough to space marines. It hadn’t been easy to find. I had ordered two online just in case.

By the time I returned to the main area, he was laying out a measuring mat I’d seen my dad’s grandma use for sewing. He paused when he saw me, his gaze flitting over his items.

I brandished my book with the abs on the cover with one hand and waved my phone with the other. “Should I admit to how badly I want to scroll through all the cocktail recipes ever served at Copper Summit and see if we can come up with some signature specials just for the wedding?” The more I thought about the idea, the higher my excitement crept. “If Wynter goes for it. Anyway, that’s my wild Saturday night. Cocktails and Orks. I’m actually stoked about it.”

He let out a soft, relieved chuckle. “Talk to Wynter. I think it’s a good idea, and if word spreads, I think we’d pick up more events.”

Finally, he resumed what he was doing. On top of the mat, he placed a cup of water and two pieces of paper. One of the standing lamps from his room loomed at his side.

A tiny but hulking figure of a space marine sat in front of him. More were off to his side in another black plastic container. He dug out small paint bottles of black, white, and gold from the container he’d set on the chair next to him. He shook each bottle as he laid them out.

I tucked my phone in my pocket and hugged my book to my chest. “Mind if I watch for a while?”

“It’ll be boring.”

“Right now, it looks fascinating.” I dropped into a chair at the end of the table.

“Tell you what, I’ll explain my process, and after you read for a while, we’ll talk about that.”

“That might get awkward. My space marines have sex.”

He chuckled, deep and pleasing. “Then I’m definitely holding tight to my terms.”

Since I liked when he was playful and open with me, I set my book on the table. “Deal.”

“All right.” He adjusted the light to shine above his shoulder and onto the miniature. I picked up a paintbrush with short, narrow bristles. “There are a lot of details. I’ve already washed these, and I’m going to paint on a base layer. But since I thin the paint a little, it’ll be about two or three coats. Then I’ll paint the details. The platform is last and it has a textured paint.”

“You do all the models one at a time?”

“It takes some time. I have to wait for all the layers to dry, but I enjoy the process. I’ll have a video playing or an audiobook.”

“What do you listen to?”

That earned me another sidelong look. “Warhammer.”

I laughed. “That’s cool though. You can consume it in different forms. Books, games, art.”

He paused dabbing blue paint on the paper. “A lot of people would think it’s a triple waste of time.”

“How many of them would spend an entire Sunday watching football? Or is it Monday? Both?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy.” He swiped his brush across the base.

I spectated through the painting of one figurine. By the time he was done, the marine’s uniform had gold embellishments and the weapons it carried were black.

I ducked down to squint at the finished product. “So much definition. Do you 3D print these?”

“Some people do. But a lot of places that host games prefer that sets are purchased through them instead of bringing homemade ones. I like to support the game shops anyway.” He dug out another figure.

The longer I was around Tenor, the clearer it was how much terrible behavior I’d tolerated in my dating life. Not just in the treatment I’d accepted from my partners but with them as people . Tenor was thoughtful and generous.

If I watched him much longer, I’d crawl onto his lap and tell him to paint me. But he hadn’t made a move on me. “I’m going to read.”

He caught my hand and stroked his thumb along my skin, then let it go. Tingles spread from where he’d touched me, up my arm and down my spine.

“Remember to take notes,” he said in a low voice.

The banter. Those moments he touched me like he couldn’t make himself stop. I’d take all this with me after the wedding. Grinning, I sank into the corner of his couch and tackled the cocktail menus from the tasting bar I had emailed to myself. I started a new email to myself with thoughts and ideas to send to Wynter. Once I was tired of typing, I picked up my paperback. Most of my job was on a screen, and I treasured getting lost in a paperback.

Shortly after I started reading, Tenor went into the kitchen. He brought me a rocks glass with a finger of bourbon.

I smiled my thanks. “Bourbon and romance novels?”

He held up his glass. “Bourbon and Warhammer.”

I grinned and took a drink. Mm. Copper Summit Gold. He was spoiling me with the best. I would not settle for less again.

I’d read through a good chunk of the book when he took my phone off the end table. Surprised but intrigued, I didn’t stop him as he stood back and snapped a picture. Then he kneeled next to me and showed me the image. I looked relaxed. Happy. He gently took the book out of my hands.

“Time to live up to your end of the bargain.”

“Well, there’s this human woman—” My smile caught. Oh no. The story was super steamy. The love interests had gotten physical within three chapters. It hadn’t even been intimacy. That was still developing. They’d just been down and dirty. How much had Tenor been joking about wanting to swap stories? “And she meets this space marine,” I continued weakly. “He rescues her actually, um, by buying her from an intergalactic sex auction. Only he has to, like, actually use her as his sex slave to get them both out safely.”

He arched a brow. “Naturally. And what does that entail?”

How far was he going to take this? And why was it so easy for me to push at his limits? I had to hold back. “It’s not like your painting. I can’t show you.”

“I highly doubt that.” He gently lifted the book from my hands and paged through it. His gaze darkened and a muscle in his jaw jumped.

I knew what he was reading. I wanted to sink through the couch.

“‘Sit on my face,’” he began. “‘Put that pussy where I want it the most.’”

My heart thudded. Those words in his deep voice were so much more than what had run through my head when I read them. I was going to burn through the couch. From embarrassment or desire? Yet I didn’t grab the book from him. More, please.

He wasn’t scoffing, but I’d heard all the arguments. I could head them off before he brought up the first one. “I know, I know. It’s not realistic.”

He frowned at me. “How do you mean?”

“Sit on his face? He’d get smothered in real life.”

“That’s the point.”

I opened my mouth. Shut it again. He sounded so certain. “How would you breathe?”

He held my gaze for a moment, then dropped his attention back to the page. “I believe the characters make it through. ‘That’s right. Come hard for me, like a good little wench.’”

“It’s a pet name. Just between the two of them.” I managed to sound normal. My brain was flashing back to last weekend. Now ride your hand and pretend your thumb is my tongue, licking your clit in tight circles.

I squashed a whimper. I was warm and achy. Needy. He was kneeling close to me and reading a sex scene. Out loud.

“That doesn’t explain why you think sitting on his face is unrealistic,” he said.

“Come on,” I scoffed. “He’d suffocate.”

“Guys are willing to take the risk.”

“No, they’re not.” I didn’t have much experience in this area, but what I did have conflicted with the book. “Guys get impatient enough when the girl’s on top and taking too much time. If she’s sitting on him?” I gave him a flat look. I was dying inside, but my certainty was strong. “He’d shove her off before she’s even close.”

Tenor’s gaze narrowed. Then he deliberately slipped my bookmark off the end table and saved the spot I was at. He put the book to the side. “That most certainly should not be the case. Ever.”

A nervous laugh left me and I shrank into the corner of the couch. “Sure.”

“Ruby.” My name gusted out of him. “If only I could show you how wrong you are.”

“It’d be a bad idea.” I had no clue why. It sounded like a fabulous option. He was supposed to show me what I’d been missing. Didn’t that include orgasms that weren’t an inconvenience?

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping from my face to my bare legs curled under me. “A bad idea. Messing around more would muddle things.”

More. Last weekend, we’d messed around. Because of me. He hadn’t wanted me to feel bad, but he also wasn’t looking to end his dry spell with me.

My pride wanted a little something. A tiny sign that said he might be going to bed as full of want and longing as I did, and it wasn’t from the scene he’d been reading. That it was from my presence. It was from the memory of last weekend and how nice it’d been to be kissed with heat and passion. That he couldn’t get over how easy it was to talk me through the fastest, hardest orgasm of my life. A sign that maybe a guy like him would seriously want to be with someone like me, and not just for sex.

I chided myself. Foolish delusions from the boring girl. He’d been more than tolerant after I’d crawled into his bed. He’d also been clear that he wasn’t looking for a real girlfriend or even a fling. Not with me.

“Exactly. Can’t get things confused.” I stretched my legs out on the couch and my hemline rode so far up my thighs my skirt might as well be off.

I wished Tenor was the one taking it off.

Fire simmered in the yellow of his irises, and he raked his gaze down my legs all the way to my toes. Then dipped his head and seemed to gather himself before handing me the book without looking at me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking it from him. The charged air between us was pulsating, but it had an undeniable awkwardness I didn’t like.

He nodded, and without touching his gaze to my body, he rose. An impressive bulge pushed at his zipper. He turned and adjusted his crotch like he couldn’t take one single step otherwise.

I opened my book, unable to resist prodding at the odd tension between us. “I’ll continue taking notes.”

All I got was a grunt and he went back to the table. I continued reading, pleased I wasn’t the only one uncomfortable.