Whiskey & Honey
(A Country Road Novel)
Copyright © 2016 by Andrea Johnston
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Cover design by Uplifting Designs
Editing by Kristina Circelli of Red Road Editing
Interior design by Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats
ISBN: 978-0-9966309-2-4
First Edition
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
From the author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books
For my husband.
Thank you for showing me true and unconditional love.
I felt it deep in my bones the minute she walked through the door.
What “it” is, I’m not quite sure. When the door opened I felt a shift in the atmosphere. As if someone lit a fire that burned only in my soul. My attention caught, I was bamboozled. This girl, no more than five feet tall, managed to drown out the sounds around me without even noticing I was in the same establishment.
Handling the large wooden door of Country Road as if it weighed no more than a feather, she seemed both determined and frightened as she walked through. Tossing her hair, the color of the most violent fire, over her shoulder, straightening her back and tilting her chin up in determination, I enjoyed the view as her hips swayed in perfect tempo to the drum solo coming from the speakers and she walked across the room. The way her jeans complement every curve, she not only has my mouth feeling like the Sahara Desert but my dick has suddenly awoken from its recent hibernation.
It isn’t either of those things that have me ignoring my friends though. No, it’s something about the fierce way she has made her entrance yet not made eye contact or smiled at a single person as she made her way to the bar. Even from here, without so much as speaking a word, I can tell that she is something special. A woman made up of layers and layers of intrigue. Someone who I have to know.
“Dude, are you even listening?”
“I don’t think he’s heard a single word any of us said since she walked in. His dick is obviously in charge tonight.”
I hear those assholes; I just don’t have anything to contribute to whatever debate they’re having. Besides, Owen is right. Somehow my normal level-headed self seems to have left the room and my previously mentioned dick is in charge tonight.
All of our lives I’ve been the logical and straight-laced one in this group. Suddenly a sassy redhead has taken all of my logic and tossed it aside. I’m acting like a pubescent teen. The problem is, I’m quite a few years from being a teen, and even when I was, I never had this reaction to a woman.
Nope. I, Bentley James Sullivan, am the good guy. The guy who approaches life with a plan and never does a single thing without one. Hell, I even plan spontaneity. Yeah, I teeter on the edge of boring.
I take another drink of my beer as I turn to Owen. “Kiss my ass. I heard you, and for your information, Iron Man always wins.”
Without a second thought I return my attention to the beauty who has garnered all of my interest. She’s made her way to a stool at the bar and is waiving her arms around as if she’s the conductor of an orchestra. I can tell from the expression of the bartender, also my sister Ashton, that whoever has her this fired up should stay clear of her.
The only time her hands still is when she grabs the shot glass my sister has placed in front of her. From where I’m sitting I can see that she doesn’t even shudder as she takes the shot of dark and beautiful whiskey. I don’t care what anyone says, there’s something fascinating about a woman who drinks whiskey. Just the thought makes me smile.
“Why don’t you just go over and talk to her, Ben?”
I shoot a look at Jameson over my beer bottle as I drain it. My best friend since, well forever, he knows I’m not the “hook up in a bar” kind of guy. But, I won’t deny this girl has sparked a little something. Something familiar tugs at me, but I can’t place it.
“Nah, I’ll pass,” I say unconvincingly. I really want to go over to this girl and tell her the fucker who made her this upset isn’t worth it.
I’m not psychic, but honestly what else could have her this upset?
The reality is, guys are dicks and the only person who could make a woman this upset.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re not all assholes, but the reality of it all is we screw up.
All the fucking time.
I sit here with three variations of the asshole to good guy makeup in front of me. The four of us have been best friends since high school, more like brothers than anything else. When I accepted a college scholarship that took me more than three hundred miles away from home, I assumed we’d grow apart, that I would grow apart from the four of them. I was wrong.
Owen Butler and Landon Montgomery are two of the coolest and most loyal friends a guy could ask for. We’ve had each other’s backs through a lot of dumb shit, and not only managed to stay friends but we’ve never screwed each other over either.
Jameson Strauss is like a brother to me. When we were kids we were convinced we were some sort of dynamic duo considering my middle name was close to his first name. Only the reality is that my middle name is a family name and he was named after his dad’s favorite whiskey. Regardless, we didn’t care and thought it made us pretty bad ass.
Jameson is the best person I know and gives to others without a second thought. I would trust him with my life. Of course, he’s also a bit of a slut and has probably screwed half the women in this town, but he’s not a bad guy. Sure, a few have declared their undying love and begged him to do the same. For the most part he’s managed to come out of each encounter unscathed and unattached.
Th
en there’s me. The relationship guy. I’ve had two girlfriends in my twenty-nine years. Well, two real girlfriends. Stolen kisses on the playground and the occasional hand-holding in middle school don’t count.
“Ben, why are you staring at…”
Before Owen can finish his sentence, Jameson spills his beer.
“What’s your problem, J? That was a rookie move,” Landon says as he starts wiping at the spilled beer with his hand.
“Sorry, I thought there was a bee or something. I just jumped.”
All three of us look at Jameson like he’s crazy. Unfazed by our confusion, he signals for a waitress to come over to our table with a towel.
“Hey, Beth, sorry about the mess,” Jameson says, offering this poor girl a smile that is a little predatory. I can tell from her reaction to him that there’s a little history there but not in a bad way.
“Beth, this is Ben. Ben, this is Beth.”
“Hey there, Ben. You look familiar, have I served you before?”
“Nah, Bethy, Ben’s been gone from home for a hundred years. I think the last time he was in here we had fake IDs. He probably looks familiar because he’s Ashton’s brother.”
Bethy? Good God, he’s laying it on thick.
“Oh, Bentley. Ashton was just telling me that you were moving back. Does she know you’re here? You should go say hi to her; she’s just at the bar talking to…”
“So anyway, thanks for cleaning up. Looks like you’re busy. We don’t want to keep you.”
This poor girl, Jameson doesn’t even let her finish a sentence before he’s sending her off.
“Hey, Ben, why don’t you just take that twenty and go grab us another round? I’ve got a little spill here in my lap or I’d do it myself.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I grab the money and head to the bar. I already know I’m screwed.
“He’s a fucking douchebag and you should have let me cut his balls off when you first found that profile.”
That’s my bestie for you. Ashton Sullivan is always the girl I want in my corner, especially when my dickhead of a boyfriend tells me that he was only online dating to find us the “perfect fit.” Call me naïve, but at first I had no idea what he was trying to say. Fit? For what? Then I realized he meant for sex. He acted like he was doing me a favor by dating other women.
“Ash, really? You wouldn’t actually cut off his penis so just stop.”
“Balls. His motherfucking balls, Piper. And for you? Yes, I would. Tony Dominguez would be walking around town sans balls if I had my way. Now drink this water and I’ll get you another shot. We’ve got boot camp tomorrow morning and, while I fully support your plan to get shit-faced, you need to hydrate,” Ash dictates as she slides a water my way and makes her way to the end of the bar to help a customer.
I cannot believe this is my life. I’m a good person. I recycle, minimize my swearing, only drink on the weekends, and use my blinker! If using my blinker doesn’t just scream, “I’m a good person!” I don’t know what does. Fucking Tony Dominguez. He’s screwed me up so bad I’m not only swearing but drinking on a weeknight. So what if I’m not actually working right now, that’s beside the point.
My phone indicates another text message, which should be followed by the phone ringing in 3, 2, 1 … there it is. I hit the ignore button before Luke Bryan can even ask me to shake it for him. Showing my phone whose boss, I flip it the bird before I suck down the water Ashton gave me so I can have that promised shot.
A threesome. Screw him. When he told me he wanted to spice it up a little in the bedroom, I figured we’d go to the adult store – three towns over – and pick up something together. No, his idea of “spice” was dating other women to find us the “perfect fit.”
I’m not a prude. I’m not. I may be a little conservative but I’m also open-minded. I just don’t like to share and I also don’t want to sex up a lady. Sure, I think women are great and can appreciate an attractive woman as much as the next person. It’s just that, well, I just like penis. A lot.
I also liked Tony. All six-foot, sexy, and Spanish-speaking Tony Dominguez.
Last night was like any other second Tuesday of the month. I was snuggled up on the couch in my coziest pajamas getting ready to pay bills while Tony was at his weekly basketball game. Unfortunately – or fortunately depending on how you spin it – I hadn’t charged my laptop so I grabbed Tony’s. Imagine my surprise when I opened the top to find him still logged in to HookingUp.com. He wasn’t even trying to find a “perfect fit” on something sweet and kind dot com. Nope, hooking up. Fucker.
“Fuck off!” I mutter as I tap the ignore button on the screen as the alerts of another string of text messages begin. I already know what they say. “It’s not what you think. I love you. We can work this out. Why are you being so stubborn? You really need to get over it. Fuck this Piper. I’m sorry.” On and on again. It’s been this way since about fifteen minutes after I found the website.
“Pipe, just block him, for shit’s sake.” A shot of whiskey and a beer chaser appear in front of me.
Ashton Sullivan has been my best friend most of my life and tends to be a little bossy when it comes to my relationships. Of course, she’s usually right, and has been my go-to for all the important things in life since we bonded over our love of all things shiny and pink at the tender age of five. Ash has been my protector, my own personal cheerleader, and the strongest shoulder to lean on when life has handed me a crap sandwich.
By the time we were approaching double digits, I was suffering from a severe case of puberty. Unruly hair that was less the dark auburn it is now and more a peach-color, bargain bin glasses, and a pudgy middle section were just the highlights of my awkwardness. Then the day came that Ashton and I found the glory of hair products.
My mom also found a job with good insurance, specifically vision insurance, and new glasses added to my less unfortunate look. Both of these simple things led to more confidence, less name calling, and fewer reasons for Ashton to channel her inner bodyguard.
Then my boobs made a sudden appearance. Any confidence I acquired quickly diminished. I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of a different kind of attention. Attention I didn’t understand and frankly didn’t want. Seeking comfort not only from Ash but from Ben & Jerry, I began to bury my nose in books and pack on the pounds. Truthfully, considering the amount of weight I was carrying, I was spending more time with Ben & Jerry than Ashton.
When we started high school, Ashton found a new level of popularity almost immediately. This wasn’t a surprise to me considering her older brother’s legacy. Bentley Sullivan was four years older than us in school, a senior when we stumbled onto campus as over eager and ill-prepared freshmen. Bentley was as close to a celebrity as we had in Lexington, and when he accepted a scholarship and moved away after graduation, the popularity torch was passed on to Ashton with ease.
As her social calendar filled, it would have been easy for Ashton to cast me aside for her cooler and less awkward friends. She never did. Instead of going to parties after the football games Ash would curl up on the couch with me, a pint of ice cream, and cheesy horror movies. If I’d let her she’d have the term “hos before bros” tattooed on her body.
More alerts of text messages and my phone ringing only add to the latest crap sandwich in my life. I rest my head in my hands as I rub my temples. Why am I such an idiot? And, why haven’t I blocked Tony yet? Probably because I know I’ll talk to him and consider taking him back. Not because I’m a glutton for punishment, but because it’s Tony Dominguez.
He’s not the guy that my teenage dreams … okay maybe my current dreams too … were made of, but he was a close second. When he asked me out I felt special. When we hit our six-month anniversary and he told me he loved me, I thought it was a fairytale come true. I realize he’s less Prince Charming and more of an ogre, but he chose me. That has to mean something, right?
I may also be a smidge sick of being treated like shit and
feel like unleashing that on Tony. You don’t have Ashton Sullivan as your best friend your entire life and some of her not rub off on you. Tony may just deserve the wrath of all the cheaters before him. Just as I have this thought Carrie Underwood comes across the speakers and a smile takes over my face. I don’t think I have it in me to actually cause damage to his car, but I can fantasize about it.
I look up at Ash and wink as I take the shot glass and let the liquid goodness slide down my throat. She just shakes her head at me and walks back to the other end of the bar while she laughs.
I begin peeling the label off my beer as I have the same conversation I have had with myself every time I’m in this position. I don’t need to ask the reasons my boyfriend picker is broken, I know. I’ve always known. Since I was five years old and fell off the swings on the playground and a handsome brown-eyed boy helped me up out of the sand.
Bentley James Sullivan.
The man of my dreams.
My best friend’s brother.
While I’ve only been in two relationships, I consider myself a catch. I’m intelligent, a great conversationalist, a gentleman, and in all honesty I’m good-looking. I keep myself fit and my beard trim. Yes, a beard. My mother would prefer me clean shaven, as did Laurel, my recent though serious ex-girlfriend. I, on the other hand, like the beard. The first thing I did when I walked out of my former place of employment was toss my razor in the garbage.
And then take it out of the garbage, rinse it off, and set it back in the cabinet. That shit was expensive. Plus, I was going from a private school teacher’s salary to a much smaller town’s elementary school teacher’s salary. That’s not even apples to oranges, that’s filet mignon to canned meat. Big difference.
I grabbed Jameson’s twenty and made my way toward the bar. Toward the sexy vixen I was going to charm and hopefully snag a phone number from. Worst case, I’ll strike out, say hi to my sister, and grab a few beers for the guys.
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