Chapter 2
Dylan
Lauren Scott doesn’t look like she needs or wants my help.
Her adorable little nose is wrinkled up and it’s probable she’s debating telling me to jump off the side of the mountain.
I fight the urge to grin. Now this is the kind of woman that would be fun as hell to poke at. The kind who eye rolls on the regular, has a sharp wit, and knows her own mind. She’s also freaking gorgeous, with curves that won’t quit.
That ridiculous sweater she’s wearing is straining over two perfect breasts, and her waist nips in before flaring out in full hips that are perfect for holding onto. I haven’t seen her ass yet, but I have high hopes it’s very generous.
Not my normal type of woman I date, but then again, I haven’t been dating.
What I’ve been doing is stumbling in and out of strange women’s bedrooms that I meet on dating apps for several years, and it’s getting old.
I’ve had hookups that have ranged from fun to mildly unsatisfying to awkward to what-the-actual-fuck-was-that.
It’s getting old.
Or I’m getting old.
Maybe both.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about sex. I’m here to clear my head and focus on getting ready for our new rye launch.
And yet…
I like Lauren’s vibe already.
She doesn’t answer my question.
Instead she says, "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be at your distillery marketing bourbon? This feels like prime booze season with holiday gatherings and gift giving and people desperate to get drunk when forced to do both of those things."
She’s right. It is a busy season. Holiday sales plus planning for Q2.
Q1 is already on lockdown planning wise.
But I’ve been going nonstop for three years.
It was either this or go to Vegas with some friends or message a woman in town for a hookup.
Neither sounded appealing. I’m a social guy but even I might be officially in need of a break from people.
"Taking a few days off from selling bourbon, actually." I lean against the counter. "It's been a long year, and I needed somewhere quiet to decompress. Chance offered me this place for the weekend."
"Well, Jolene offered it to me first."
Now I do grin. She has a stubborn streak. “We’re back to where we started.”
“So what do you suggest?”
"I'm suggesting that maybe there's been a communication breakdown in the Hart-Rivers household and we should just accept that." I pour myself a drink. "Want some? This is a thirty-year bottle."
She bites her plump bottom lip and clearly fights through an internal struggle before saying, "Make it a small one. I'm more of a hot chocolate girl."
I splash some bourbon into the second glass. "There's nothing wrong with hot chocolate. If you’re seven."
Lauren rolls her eyes.
Score one point for me. I knew she was an eye roller.
“You shouldn’t even be drinking that because you’re going to have to drive back down the mountain and find yourself a hotel,” she says.
Handing her the glass, our fingers brush. There's definitely a spark there—the kind that has nothing to do with the flames in the gas fireplace and everything to do with the way Lauren sucks in a breath and yanks her arm back, the bourbon sloshing in the glass.
"So," I say. “Why exactly would I do that?"
Outside, I can hear the wind picking up, and the first fat snowflakes are starting to drift past the windows. I have no desire to go back out in the cold or relinquish my relaxing weekend in a cabin for a boxy hotel.
“Because I was here first.”
“But who got the all-clear to stay here first?” I pick up my phone and scroll through my texts. “Here. November thirtieth, Chance said I could stay this weekend.” I’m bluffing. The text is actually dated December fourth.
So I fudged a few days. Given her expression, she can’t compete.
“Hmm. I’m almost positive Jolene told me I could stay this particular weekend waaay back in October.”
She’s lying. “Show me the text then.”
“I didn’t save it.” She lowers her lids and stares into the glass. “I like a clutter-free device.”
We’re both full of shit.
Which makes me like her even more. “We’re even. One point for me for proof of the offer, one point for you for getting here first.”
Lauren takes another tiny sip of her bourbon and then shudders a little when it goes down her throat. "I suppose we could flip a coin. Winner gets the cabin, loser drives back down the mountain and finds somewhere else to stay."
"In this weather?" I gesture toward the window where the snow is already starting to stick to the glass. "I don't think so."
“Scared of a little snow?”
“No. Uh-uh. You’re not going to trick me into leaving by appealing to my male ego.” I’m more amused than annoyed.
“Damn,” she murmurs. “I really thought that would work.” She gestures to me, hand waving up and down my body. “You seem like you have a big…ego.”
That makes me chuckle. “It’s healthy, let’s put it that way.
” I glance out the window again. In the mere minutes we’ve been talking the branches are already covered in a dusting of snow.
“I’m not letting you drive anywhere in this weather either.
Neither of us are leaving tonight. Hell, we’re lucky we both got here when we did. ”
Lauren makes a big show out of going over to the window and peering out at the weather.
She tosses her thick dark hair over her shoulder.
“The driveway is covered,” she acknowledges.
“It looks slippery.” Then she goes on her tiptoes and leans forward to gaze to the left. “It’s a beautiful view though.”
It is a beautiful view.
Because now I know exactly what her ass looks like and it’s a damn fine ass.
Full, high, with a delicious bounce when she drops back onto her heels.
An image of Lauren naked with my hand on her backside pops into my head.
I can’t control it. It’s just suddenly there and it’s fucking tormenting me. My mouth goes dry.
"We're both adults who can share a space for one night without it being weird,” she says. "Strictly platonically, of course."
Then she turns and catches me staring at her ass.
Her jaw drops.
I shrug, because what the hell can I say? I have no doubt my appreciation is written all over my face.
"Of course," I agree easily, though platonic might be easier said than done. "I should probably warn you that I have very strong opinions about thermostat settings."
"And I should probably warn you that I have strong opinions about everything.”
That makes me laugh. I take another sip of Pappy. “I also sleep walk.”
“I’ll lock my door. But you should know, I talk to myself when I'm writing. And sometimes I sing. Loudly."
“I snore.” I’ve had more women complain to me about that than possibly anything else I’ve ever done in my entire life. Which hardly seems fair since I’m asleep while I’m doing it.
“You’re sleeping upstairs. It will be fine. If you can handle watching me eat break and bake store bought cookies without baking them first.”
“You just break it?”
She nods. “And eat it. Raw.”
“Raw has its own appeal.” And yes, I’m aware of how that sounds. “Are they chocolate chip?”
“Sugar. I also brought frosting in case I decide to bake them after breaking them. And marshmallows for my hot chocolate.”
“I think I can handle it. Are they in Christmas shapes?” I’m restraining myself from being really dirty. I have to remember that Lauren is a friend of Jolene’s. Not one of my hookups from the latest dating app I’ve downloaded.
We’re here together by coincidence, not lust.
Which suddenly feels very unfair.
“Well, technically, they’re round. You break them off from the log. But with snowmen in red inside standard dough.”
“That sounds charming as hell. Are you hungry? I brought a couple of steaks to throw on the grill.”
“Feed me and you’ve made a friend for life.”
Lauren steps the few feet back over to me in the kitchen and hands me her glass. “Top me off.”
“My pleasure.” I turn and set her glass down. I lift the bourbon bottle.
“To be honest with you, I don’t get the hype around this stuff,” she says. “It tastes like burnt caramel and poor decisions.”
I almost drop the bottle, which set me back two grand. “What? You’re joking, right? Do you know how much this costs?”
Lauren shrugs. “A fool and his money…”
But her eyes are sparkling. She’s goading me.
I’ve poured her another two fingers and I have every intention of giving it to her. But I still want to tease her a little. And further express my horror because I actually think she’s serious about not liking the taste. “Do I need to educate your tongue before I give this to you?”
“Educate my tongue? Are you for real?”
“I keep it very real when I talk about bourbon. It does not taste like burnt caramel. You have to let it rest in the back of your throat before you swallow.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What the fuck?”
I actually start laughing. “I’m sorry. That didn’t sound right.” I cap the bourbon bottle and hand her the glass. “Just do what I tell you to do. Take a very small sip and let it roll over your tongue. Then rest it on the back of your tongue. And swallow.”
“That didn’t sound any better than what you said before.”
“Trust me.”
“Why would I trust you? I just met you.”
I’m fighting a smile again. “Beautiful and smart. You’re the full package.”
“Don’t push it,” she says. But she does take a sip and attempts to hold it in her mouth but she starts to cough and swallows. Her eyes are watering. “Nope. No. Jesus.” She pats her chest.
“Do you have any chocolate with you?”
“Do I have any chocolate? That’s like asking if a baby has a pacifier. I never leave home without chocolate.”
“Eat a piece and we’ll try again. Chocolate can really draw out the flavors of the bourbon.”
“Did I sign up for a free bourbon tasting class? Is that what this is?” Lauren shakes her head in amusement.
“You’re the one who asked to be topped off when you know you don’t even like it.”
“That is a problem I have. Fine. I’ll go get the chocolate.” She turns to rifle through some bags on the kitchen counter.
Resolutely, I head back to the front door to collect my overnight bag and my groceries so that I won’t check out her ass again.
Outside, the snow continues to fall, and I can't shake a feeling of…excitement, maybe? Or hell, downright giddiness. I’ve been so bored and exhausted lately. Stuck in the grind. Lauren intrigues me.
And I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a very, very bad thing.
I guess I'm about to find out.