Page 45 of On the Rocks

The guys snickered while PJ turned a bright red. “No,” he answered quickly. “I get plenty of sex. Forfree.”

“Right,” Eli said. “And Noah is celibate.”

“Hey, don’t drag the innocent bystander into this,” I said, chuckling as I checked off another barrel before sending it down the line.

“I don’t, nor would I ever, pay for sex,” PJ insisted again. When no one answered with more than a lifted brow, he threw his hands up in the air before letting them hit his thighs with a slap and a groan. “You guys suck.”

We all laughed at that, me ruffling his hair before telling him we were just teasing. He was the youngest, just like a little brother to us, and we couldn’t help it. He didn’t seem appeased, but he got back to work, each of us falling into the groove as Eli rambled on about whathewould buy if he had stupid money.

They didn’t ask me what I would do, and I was glad for it. I probably would have lost a few of my man points if I told them the truth. All I’d want is a modest house, big enough for my family and my horse. I’d want to spend our time traveling or farming or building memories together, never working another day in my life and making it so my wife wouldn’t have to, either. Not unless shewantedto.

That thought was still in my mind when Ruby Grace’s barrel stopped at my feet.

I stared at the cursive loops of her name on the gold plate, tracing them a little longer than necessary before I checked the box next to her name and sent the barrel on. My eyes followed it halfway to the buyer’s tent, pulse picking up speed at the thought of talking to her tonight.

It made no sense. I didn’t know what I expected to get out of any of it. She was getting married — in less than five weeks, no less. I had nothing to offer her that she didn’t already have and she couldn’t give me a single thing more than what she already had.

And yet, there was some part of me that desired her, that needed her in whatever way I could get her.

I didn’t really give a fuck if it was right or wrong.

I was still analyzing it all, trying to pinpoint what it was about that girl that got under my skin, when the rest of the guys and I retreated to the staff tent to freshen up before the opening speech from Patrick Scooter. In less than an hour, the entire Scooter estate would be littered with people from Stratford and the surrounding area. It was the biggest party of the year, a time when no matter where you lived or how much money you made, you got to come together with the rich and the fabulous and drink the same whiskey as them. For one night, our town was united — though everyone would likely still stay in their little circles.

The band was already playing when I emerged from the staff tent, dressed in my good blue jeans and white, button-up shirt. I left the top button unfastened, rolled the sleeves up to just under my elbows, and topped the whole look off with my best cowboy boots and my favorite cowboy hat. It was a Stetson, made of premium wool that matched the dark mocha brown of my boots, and before it was mine, it had been my father’s.

Gus had me running around, greeting the barrel buyers I’d worked with throughout the season, making sure they knew where their barrel was to take home after the event and getting them set up in the VIP area with whatever they needed. I’d take pictures of them with their barrels, introduce them to the rest of the barrel raising team as well as the scientists behind the creation of their unique whiskey, and answer any questions they had before moving on to the next.

Thiswas my element.

I knew whiskey. I knew Scooter Whiskey. I knew the barrel raising process, the science behind our whiskey, what we could and what wecouldn’ttell the buyers about the product they’d paid top dollar for. I knew how to charm a crowd, how to impress someone and make them feel good about blowing all that money, and how to represent our company the same way my father had.

What Ididn’tknow was what to do when Ruby Grace walked into the VIP tent hanging on her fiancé’s arm.

I knew he was Anthony without needing an introduction. He justlookedlike a politician — all navy suit, complete with tie and pocket square, dress shoes shined to perfection, hair styled in an immaculate wave like one you’d see on the red carpet at a Hollywood award show. He carried himself with a mixture of arrogance and confidence, a balance not many men could pull off. He was both welcoming and threatening all at once, and I found myself hating him before I even had reason to.

Maybe it was because of the girl he held by the waist.

A small crew of cameras and microphones followed them around, staying back just enough to give them space while capturing every interaction they had. I assumed it was something he was doing while running for office, some sort of propaganda. Anthony seemed to shine with those cameras on him.

Ruby Grace seemed to want to disappear.

She didn’t even notice me, not with Anthony toting her around from group to group, a politician’s smile on his face while she wore a more subdued smile of her own. I watched her for a long while, and I noticed she did nothing more than shake the hand of whomever they were talking to before Anthony would take over, commanding all the attention, leading the conversation.

She was a sidekick, a wallflower, and it made absolutely no sense to me.

If he would let her speak, she’d steal the show. It would behereveryone wanted to know. It would be Ruby Grace who would light up the room with her smile, knock men on their asses with the modest yet somehow classically sexy emerald dress she wore. The collar was high, the sleeves covering her shoulders and upper arms, but the hem of the skirt cut just above her knees, showing her deadliest weapons — those killer legs.

But it wasn’t just the way she dressed, or her body, or her smile or her fire-red hair. It was her passionate and giving heart, her quick and witty banter, herintelligencethat made her stand out.

No one would know that, though. Not if he never let her speak.

I tore my eyes away from her long enough to toast a glass of whiskey with two buyers I’d met in the winter. They had traveled all the way from California to pick up their barrel and spend a week in Tennessee. The barrel they’d selected had high notes of vanilla and nutmeg, giving it a holiday feel that captured their hearts since they had visited during Christmas break when they bought it. The whiskey warmed its way down my throat, settling in my stomach along with the dozen other ounces of whiskey I’d tried when welcoming our guests.

It was a perk of the job, and right now, it was also the liquid courage I needed.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeland. I’ll be around if you need anything at all.” I shook their hands, offering a tip of my hat before I excused myself.

And then I made a beeline for Ruby Grace.