Bourbon Bliss: Bootleg Springs Book Four

by Kingsley, Claire

  “The point is, I’m not made for intimacy,” I said. “I don’t understand it, or how to return it. Especially the physical kind.”

  “One asshole kid who slept with you and broke up with you right after doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, June Bug. It means he was garbage.”

  “He’s not the only one.”

  Cassidy’s eyebrows shot upward. “What?”

  “I’ve dated other men since high school,” I said. “Twice, I’ve had a relationship progress to the point of sleeping together. Both times they broke up with me afterward.”

  “Hold on. First of all, I didn’t know you’d slept with anyone besides Hank. Why didn’t you tell me? And second, what do you mean they broke up with you afterward? Do you mean right after?”

  “To answer your second question, in one case it was the next day. The other was a few days later, but essentially the same thing. To answer your first, I don’t know why I kept it from you. I felt very rejected when those men ended our relationships. Especially because I knew why they had done it.”

  “And why was that?”

  I looked down at my hands. “Because I’m ill-equipped for an intimate physical relationship.”

  “You think they dumped you because you were bad at sex?” she whisper-yelled.

  “That’s an oversimplification, but yes. It’s not that I’m uneducated in the act itself. I understand how it works. But forging a proper intimate physical relationship is beyond my capabilities.”

  “Juney, that’s not true. You don’t think like other people, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have an intimate relationship with someone.”

  “What if it does?”

  Her back straightened and I recognized her expression—her Deputy Tucker face. Equal parts authoritative and stubborn. “It doesn’t. It just means you need to find someone who understands the way you work.”

  Tears stung my eyes. I almost never cried, but this hurt deep enough to elicit a response from my tear ducts. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

  “Okay, let’s back up. Tell me what happened with George.”

  “We’d had a nice evening together. And when the time came, I gave him no reason to believe I didn’t want to be with him. I’d resigned myself to it, because our relationship had naturally progressed to a point where intercourse seemed appropriate. Or it would have if I was normal.”

  “Stop with the not normal shit, Juney.”

  I ignored her comment and kept talking. “It was physically enjoyable at first. But I was anxious. As he got closer to his climax, all I could think was that this was going to be the end.”

  “You really have that lodged deep in your brain, don’t you?” Cassidy asked. “The idea that once you sleep with a guy, they’re going to leave you.”

  “Past experience is the best predictor of future behavior,” I said.

  “Yeah, if you kept dating jackasses. But you didn’t.”

  “No. I didn’t date anyone.”

  “Because you didn’t want to get hurt?”

  I thought about that. Was that why I’d withdrawn? I’d never craved human companionship in the way most people seemed to. My sister had insisted I learn to socialize with others and she’d always put a lot of effort into keeping me an active member of society. But my natural tendency had never been to seek out relationships with members of the opposite sex.

  Until George.

  “Yes, but that’s another oversimplification. It wasn’t just a desire to avoid emotional pain. I learned from my dating experiences that I’m not like other women. I don’t have whatever it is that makes them want to connect with a mate and bond with them. I don’t know how to form a pair-bond, Cassidy.”

  “I’m reading between the lines a little bit here, so correct me if I’m wrong,” Cassidy said. “But after you slept with George, did you assume he’d break up with you, so you walked out on him first?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “June, you are the most straightforward, no-bullshit person I know. Don’t give me that in a manner of speaking crap. Did you leave because you thought you needed to break up with him before he could break up with you, or not?”

  “Yes. That’s what I did.”

  The tears came now, as if I had no control over my emotions. Cassidy wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. I allowed it. In fact, I welcomed it. The solace of my sister’s arms as I cried was extremely comforting.

  “You can fix this, you know,” Cassidy said when I’d stopped sobbing.

  “No, I can’t.”

  She pulled away and pushed my now-messy hair back from my face. “Of course you can. Just go talk to him.”

  “I can’t fix what I am, Cassidy. He’s passionate and full of emotion. He needs someone who can nurture that. Not a June Bot.”

  “You stop that right now,” she said. “You’re not a robot, and fuck Misty Lynn forever for calling you that. Fuck anyone who’s ever said it.”

  “They’re right,” I said. “You just don’t see it because you’re my sister.”

  “No, I see that she’s wrong because I’m your sister. Because I know you. You’re not emotionless. You just don’t know how to process what you’re feeling. Hell, most people don’t know how to process what they’re feeling, they’re just not as logical about it as you are.”

  “Regardless, the root of the problem isn’t fixable.” The tears started to build again. “I don’t know how to be what he needs. And he deserves better than that.”

  Cassidy sighed. “I’m telling you, right here, right now, that you’re wrong. But if you don’t believe me, at least consider this. Maybe he should get to make that call. Why do you get to decide what he deserves? You wouldn’t want someone making that decision for you.”

  I leaned back against the couch. I was essentially pouting at this point, which was very unlike me. But it was easier if I shut George out and hid behind my shortcomings. A lot easier than facing them. But Cassidy had always made me face my shortcomings head-on.

  “Maybe.”

  “Well that’s something. I’ll take it for now.” She patted my knee and turned toward the kitchen. “Hey Mama, we have ourselves a situation out here. One that’s going to require some special treatment.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means we’re getting you drunk tonight, Juney. That’s what.”

  23

  George

  My phone buzzing on my nightstand woke me with a start. I sucked in a quick breath and grabbed it. It was Gibson. Why in the hell was Gibson Bodine texting me in the middle of the night? It was one in the damn morning.

  Gibson: you might want to come down to the Lookout

  Me: what’s going on?

  Gibson: kinda have to see this for yourself

  He sent me a photo. The light was dim, and I was still trying to wake up. It was hard to tell what I was looking at. I squinted at the screen.

  Wait. Was that June?

  Me: Be right there.

  I threw on some sweats and a t-shirt, stepped into my shoes, and didn’t bother grabbing a coat. I regretted that half-awake decision the second I stepped outside into the cold night. Despite the fact that it was early spring, it was still freezing. But I wasn’t going to pause to take care of my bodily needs. I was a big guy. Muscle would keep me warm.

  Noise spilled out into the parking lot at the Lookout. Music and voices carried, even with the door shut. I went inside, and sure enough, there she was, just like the picture Gibson had sent.

  June stood on a table in the middle of the bar, drunk as a fish in a barrel of whiskey. She teetered to one side, then the other, like she might fall right over. But she took a breath, held out her arms, and stayed standing—to a chorus of cheers and clapping from the crowd gathered around her.

  What in the hell was she doing?

  Her voice rose above the din. “All right, y’all, ready for the next one?”

  More cheers. Fists, beer b
ottles, and mason jars raised in the air.

  “Okay.” She held out her hands, motioning for quiet, although she already had the rapt attention of everyone in here. “Simon says—”

  The crowd collectively gasped.

  “Rub your stomach in a circle and pat your head.”

  Everyone standing around her table attempted to do what she’d said. Most appeared too drunk to manage it. A pair of old ladies burst into laughter as they stumbled into a man with a barrel chest wearing a Bootleg Cock Spurs t-shirt. A girl about June’s age laughed so hard she had to sit down. An older lady I remembered as being called Granny Louisa was the steadiest on her feet, and she giggled as she rubbed her stomach and patted her head.

  Front and center, leaning into each other like they might fall otherwise, were Cassidy and Nadine Tucker.

  I knew who I had to thank for tonight’s shenanigans. I glanced around for Sheriff Tucker or Bowie Bodine, but I didn’t see either of them. Maybe the girls had given them the slip tonight.

  June clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Simon says stop. Y’all are terrible at that. Okay, listen up. Jump on one leg.”

  A guy with a trucker hat on backwards was the only one to jump. Everyone else pointed and yelled for him to be out. He slunk off to a table and sat down with a few other dejected players.

  “Simon says…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Touch your knees.”

  Everyone did what she said. Her speech wasn’t slurring much but I could tell by the glassy look in her eyes and the way she swayed that she was three sheets to the wind. That, and the fact that I doubted sober-June would be standing on a table in a bar leading Simon Says.

  “Simon says stop. Simon says turn in a circle.”

  That one proved to be the undoing of several tipsy players, including Cassidy Tucker. Turned out Bowie was here. He appeared out of nowhere to grab a wildly spinning Cassidy and guide her out of the way before she could collide with anyone.

  I spotted Gibson by the bar. Gave him a chin tip in thanks. He returned it.

  “Simon says stop,” June said through a fit of laughter. Her eyes met mine and her smile disappeared. “Hey everybody, look who’s here. It’s GT Thompson.”

  Her use of my initials hit me hard. Drunk or not, she was sending me a message. Trying to shut me out.

  Too bad for her, I wasn’t having it.

  I marched over to her table, through a crowd of people trying to say hi. Ignoring the greetings and pats on the back—at least she hadn’t said Simon says attack George—I put my hands on my hips.

  “Hey, you.”

  She mimicked my stance, resting her hands on her hips. “Hey, yourself.”

  “What are you doing up there?”

  “We’re playing a game,” she said. “And you’re interrupting.”

  The crowd of tipsy Bootleggers started to turn on me. I heard a few boos. I needed to tread carefully. They might have been playing a kids’ game, but I knew how quickly this town could start a brawl. I didn’t want to be at the center of one.

  “All right, then, carry on.”

  She scrunched up her nose and glared at me. “I will. Simon says reach for the sky.”

  I raised my hands in the air along with everyone else.

  “Simon says put them down. Run to the bar and back.”

  No one took the bait.

  “Simon says…” She leaned to the side. I reached out to catch her, but she kept her feet. “Simon says you all win. Go take a shot.”

  Cheers rose up behind me and someone put their hand on my arm. I looked down to see Nadine Tucker give me a quick smile before ducking behind me.

  “Good boy,” she said.

  June was still standing, her eyelids heavy.

  “Come on down from there before you fall.”

  She waved me off. “I’ve got it.”

  “You don’t got it.”

  For a second, I debated taking the time to coax her down and help her walk out of here on her own two feet. The last thing I wanted after the other night was any notion that I’d force her to do anything. But I could tell by the way she swayed that she was on the downhill side of drunk, liable to puke or pass out—or both—any minute. I wanted to get her somewhere safe now, not wait until her drunk ass decided to cooperate with me.

  I grabbed her by the waist and tossed her over my shoulder. “Let’s go, June Bug.”

  “Wait, no! We’re playing a game! They’re having fun playing a game with me!”

  “Game’s over, honey,” I said. “Time to go home.”

  “I don’t want to go home.” She beat on my back a few times, her blows only one step shy of useless.

  “I know, but you’re drunk and I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Sure, June Bug, whatever you say.”

  I hauled her outside to my car. If she was going to puke, there wasn’t much I could do about it. My rental was closer than her place, so I went straight there. I’d deal with the ramifications later. For now, I just wanted to get her settled for the night.

  She didn’t puke in the car, but I could tell it was coming as soon as I parked. I got her out before whatever she’d been drinking started to come up.

  “That’s it, honey, let it out.”

  I held her hair back as she doubled over. It was freezing cold, and I was dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and sweats. I shivered while I tried to keep June from tossing up a night’s worth of heavy drinking into her hair.

  She stopped and straightened.

  “You think you’re done?”

  She smoothed down her shirt in what looked like a drunken attempt to regain her dignity. “Yes, I believe so.”

  Wrong. She doubled over again. I shivered in the night air. My teeth started chattering.

  Finally, she seemed to be done. I led her inside, figuring I’d hose down the path to the front door tomorrow.

  June looked worse in the light of my cabin. Her hair was matted, bits of it stuck to the sheen of sweat on her forehead. And she had a big, reddish stain across the front of her shirt. I hadn’t noticed it in the dim light of the bar. She looked like someone had thrown a drink on her.

  “What happened?” I asked, pointing to her shirt.

  She tugged on the hem and looked down. “Oh, this? Cassidy drinked a spill on me.”

  “Cassidy spilled a drink on you?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  I looked her up and down. She was a mess. Sticky and dirty. I couldn’t put her to bed like that.

  “Come on, June Bug, you need a shower. Then bedtime.”

  “Where are we?” she asked as I led her to the bathroom.

  “My place. That okay?”

  She stumbled and I kept my hands on her waist to steady her. “No.”

  “No? June, it’s the middle of the night and you’re drunk as all get-out. Do you really want me to drive you home?”

  “I’m a terrible girlfriend,” she said.

  “No, you’re not, and we can talk about this tomorrow after you sober up.”

  “I never get drunk.”

  “You did tonight. You need a shower. Can you do that?”

  I got her into the bathroom, but she just stood there.

  “That depends.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped her lips with her fingertip. “Which shower do I use?”

  “How many do you see?”

  She jabbed her finger at the air in front of her several times. “Three.”

  I sighed. There was no way around this. “I’m going to undress you and help you in, but only so you can get clean, okay?”

  “Why are you so nice to me?”

  I was running out of reasons for that real fast, so I ignored her question and took off her shirt. Beautiful as she was, there was nothing sexy about peeling sticky clothes off a drunk June. She stumbled and almost fell no less than six times.

  Once I got the water running, I hoped she’d step in the shower and at least rinse
off by herself. She could wash her hair properly tomorrow. But she just leaned her hand against the edge of the shower and didn’t get in.

  “June, honey, can you get in the shower please?”

  “George, I think I consumed too much alcohol.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  She didn’t reply. I was losing her. I needed to get her cleaned off and hopefully some water in her before she passed out for the night.

  “Fuck.”

  I stripped off my clothes, willing my stupid dick to calm down. Yes, June was naked, and yes, she looked very good that way. But this was no time for an erection. There was no version of this where I touched June tonight. Not a chance in hell.

  “Get in there, honey.” I stepped in the shower with her. “Turn around, let’s rinse your hair.”

  She stood in front of me and let me run my fingers through her hair, wetting it. Rather than risk her sleeping with puke or the remnants of whatever Cassidy had spilled in her hair, I washed it for her. Her head leaned back as I massaged her scalp.

  That hard-on of mine was going absolutely nowhere, which made me feel like a giant asshole.

  I rinsed her off and thankfully she took the initiative to wash the rest of herself. I stood back and turned to the side to give her what privacy I could.

  Goddamn, she was beautiful. Her wet hair hung down her back and water ran over her soft curves. She was on the tall side for a woman, but little next to me. Most people were. I stole quick glances at her as she washed herself off, admiring the tapering of her waist. The curve of her hips. And that ass. Damn, that ass.

  She stumbled and I caught her, which reminded me how drunk she was. Even though her naked wet body was now plastered against mine.

  “Why are we naked?”

  I groaned. “Bedtime, June Bug. Now.”

  She didn’t protest. Her eyes were heavy and she leaned into me. I practically had to drag her out of the shower. As quickly as I could, I toweled her off. Her hair was still wet but I had to leave it. She needed to lie down.