20. Lindee
LINDEE
“I’m nervous.”
The smooth, almost hypnotic sound from the tires against the asphalt of the highway fills the truck’s cabin.
It’s the kind of white noise that usually calms me—lulling me to sleep or into a trance-like state—but today, all it’s doing is grating on my nerves.
Like the hum of a mosquito that won’t go away.
I fumble with my phone in my hands, unlocking it and absentmindedly pulling up the email again.
Okay, maybe it’s not quite as absent-minded as I would like to think.
After almost a week of staring at it—reading and re-reading it every chance I got—I can pretty much recite it word for word at this point.
Committing it to memory doesn’t change the fact that I still can’t wrap my brain around it being real.
I’m a finalist for the SLOSH most original cocktail at CocktailCon.
“No reason to be,” Brandt says, casually lifting one shoulder.
Easy for him to say. Southern Brothers and their beers have won awards at this event time and time again. As a historic brand, Tennessee Trouble has never qualified.
“Yes, there is,” I argue. “It’s a big category. God only knows how many submissions.”
“Hundreds.”
I whip my head to my left, glaring at Brandt. That answer is not making it any better.
“Narrowed down to ten finalists,” he continues, glancing over long enough to wink and smirk at me. “I looked it up. Top three are awarded, but even if you don’t make one of those, it’s a finalist, and one of the top ten drinks. Pretty big deal.”
“And that’s why I’m nervous.” I laugh, trying to get some of this squirrelly energy out of me. “But I’m excited for a weekend away in Nashville.”
Brandt reaches over, squeezing my hand for a quick second before returning it to the wheel. “Would be better if all your siblings weren’t tagging along.”
That is also a damn good point. Just the two of us escaping for an adventure would have been a lot of fun. Three days of music, food, dancing, and a spirits convention all while pretending we’re a real couple? Yes, please.
Except it’s not just the two of us. Along this same stretch of highway are two other vehicles carrying my siblings.
Kyra and Davis are somewhere ahead of us, speeding along in the convertible Davis rented for the weekend.
A few miles behind us—I think—is Rylan’s SUV containing him, Declan, and Mikayla.
While there is a part of me that is dying to be a fly on the wall in that SUV, another much larger part is thankful I’m not. You couldn’t pay me to have to spend four hours sharing a small, inescapable place with Mikayla and Declan.
Rylan is a saint.
“I don’t disagree, but…they’re excited. Kyra has this whole plan to live stream from the event and all these things she wants to do while we’re there.
And Mikayla has that deal she’s trying to land, so she’s working on setting up a meeting while in town.
I don’t think we’ll see too much of her. And my parents—”
“Your parents?”
I nod. Did he really think they weren’t coming?
“Yeah, they changed their flight back from Napa to Nashville instead of Knoxville so they could come.”
Brandt nods, keeping his eyes glued to the road. “Maybe I’ll actually get a chance to get to know Bonnie and Rick a little better then.”
I smile, my insides twirling at how easily he says their names.
“They were sad that they didn’t get more time with you at the Spring Fling.
That’s not the best of events to really spend chatting with them.
The four of us might have taken over, but Bonnie and Rick are still who everyone associates the brand with. ”
“After you win this weekend, it’ll be you.”
“Ha!”
“I mean it.”
I twist in my seat, trying to face him. “Brandt, I wanna win. I know that’s the kind of thing one shouldn’t say out loud. But I do. I want it. Because if I win…then maybe I have a chance of people taking me seriously.”
“Lindee, regardless of what happens this weekend, you have proven yourself. Wink & Shine is enough to prove that.”
“But—”
“Not buts.”
His voice is hard, serious, but still full of a softness that I know is meant for me. He places his hand on my thigh, giving it a squeeze. I expect him to take it back—replace it on the wheel—same as he did a second ago, but he leaves it. Holding on like it’s his prize possession.
“I understand why you feel like that. And I know I added fuel to that fire. I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself for that.
But you are brilliant. And an absolutely incredible distiller.
Your family should be so fucking proud of you.
And folks like Jerome and Brenda Cochran should be worshipping the ground you walk on. ”
Well…hell…
I don’t know how to respond. Thank you doesn’t seem big enough. The other three words floating around in my head are too big. Especially since I still haven’t worked up the guts to ask him if he sees a future in us.
Maybe I can do that this weekend.
“Thank you,” I whisper, still wishing I had something better. Something with more umph.
Brandt doesn’t reply. He simply squeezes my thigh again, this time in a few rapid, quick successions. Three, to be exact. Just like the three little words pinballing through my brain.
Don’t say it, Lindee…
Before I can change the subject, Brandt slides his hand to my inner thigh and wiggles his little finger. The one that is now pressing right up against the crotch of my pants. I have no idea if that is just a reflex, or a move he’s making on purpose.
Until he does it again.
That was definitely on purpose.
I shift, trying to line myself up with the thick piece of fabric where the seams all meet. If he’s going to try and be a tease, I’m going to take advantage of it.
“Can I help you?”
“Nope.” Brandt pops the p, a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth, his eyes staying straight forward the entire time.
Suuuuure. I buy that as quickly as I’d snap up oceanfront property in Arizona.
I open my mouth, ready to throw back some witty, flirty comment that I haven’t come up with yet, but my phone cuts me off.
I look down, ready to silence it so that we can continue our moment, but my older sister’s face on the screen tells me I shouldn’t.
I know her, and she’s going to call over and over again until I pick up.
And it’s not like I can tell her I was in the bathroom.
“Hey,” I answer, throwing Brandt a look and mouthing sorry.
He shrugs, like it doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t bother moving his hand either, pinky finger still toying with my jeans.
“Where are you?” Mikayla asks, sounding borderline panicked. The inside of the car must be a lot of fun right now.
“Ummm…on I-40?”
Brandt snickers, adding another finger into the mix, brushing and tapping against me. I widen my stance, trying to give him more room, but I’m limited thanks to the center console.
“No shit.” I hear more snicking through the phone, the boys finding my smart-ass response amusing. At least someone does. “Where on forty?”
“Errr…” I look out the window, trying to see if there’s a mile marker or something for me to reference. There isn’t.
“Lind…”
“I’m looking for a mile marker,” I snap, just as Brandt presses against the seam, hitting me dead center.
He’s upped the ante, using more than just his smaller digits. Now it’s a full-on hand assault. Brushing has turned to rubbing and tapping into strategically applied pressure.
Fuck me.
It feels so fucking good. My pulse skitters, making my breath hitch and stealing all my attention. This isn’t a tease anymore—it’s torture. It’s just enough contact to get me going, to make my insides heat and crave more, but it’s not enough to satisfy. Not even close.
I suck in a hard breath, trying to keep my concentration. But that’s not easy when all the blood is rushing to your groin. To a small area that is screaming the name of the man to your left. The very one who knows exactly what to do to make you lose control.
“We just passed Silver Point,” Mikayla offers as help.
“Oh, we passed that a while ago,” I say, my breathing heavy.
Brandt presses harder into me, hitting my clit dead-on. I bite back a moan. The last thing I want to do is to have to explain that to my sister.
“Are you okay?” she asks. Shit… “You sound…”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, the words rushed as Brandt moves to the button of my jeans. “We’re coming up on Buffalo Valley.”
“Oh, you’re way ahead of us.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Absolutely not,” Brandt mutters. I can tell by his lopsided smile that he knew I wasn’t talking to him. That doesn’t stop him though.
Flicking the button of my jeans open in a move that is beyond impressive considering he’s driving and hasn’t drifted one bit, he moves inside my pants, toying with the hem of my panties.
I suck in another breath, the anticipation of him moving lower running through me.
A shiver rips down my spine, a tingly feeling forming in my lower belly.
I’m aching for his touch at this point. I’ll do anything.
“Well, I thought we were caravanning,” Mikayla comments, breaking my trance.
Shit, forgot about her for a second.
“We are.”
Running a finger just underneath the lace, Brandt breaches the hem, slipping his hand along my smooth skin. His calloused fingers are rough on my skin, adding even more to my already heightened state. I want him to touch me. So bad I can taste it.
My desire is only fodder for his torture though. He can tell he has me not only all worked up, but distracted from the call with my sister. He’s enjoying it too. The air is thick with his power over me, the ticking time bomb inside me counting down with each passing second until he touches me.
“Not if you’re that far ahead.”
Ugh, Mikayla…
“Well…yipp!” Brandt finds my wetness, dragging his finger through it like frosting in a bowl. I let out a noise I don’t recognize, overwhelmed by the feel of him.
“Did you just…yip?” my sister asks.
Shit, she heard that.
I try to regain my composure, ready to tell her no. That she’s hearing things. But Brandt is having none of it.