“Your favorite drink is beer. Obviously.”
“And yours is . . .”
“Blackjack Babe Hefeweizen. But if that’s not available, I like my whiskey.” I hold up my glass.
“You like to play guitar. If you hauled that thing around the world with you, I imagine you must really like music. Do you write your own?”
“I used to, but not anymore. I’ll still play for you, though.”
“Of course you will. Because you’re a sweet, thoughtful boyfriend.”
“When did we fall in love?”
Stevie considers this for a minute, pushing out her already generous lips. God, I want ’em around my cock. Girl sucks dick like a champ.
If I don’t stop fantasizing about fucking Stevie’s every orifice, I’m gonna give myself a raging case of blue balls. Which cannot happen, considering I’m about to have dinner with my family for the first time since I fled the farm in disgrace.
“It wasn’t love at first sight,” Stevie says. “But it did happen fast. At this point in my life, I know what I want. Hank, you’re it.”
Glancing at what’s left of my whiskey, I grin. If we’re going with truths . . .
“I also happen to like older women.”
She scoffs. “Wait, for real?”
“Since I met you, yeah.” And maybe that’s why Aspen fell so flat. All the girls there were . . . girls. Not women. Not like this woman, who knows her mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.
“How old are you?”
“Just turned thirty.”
“Damn. I’m a cougar who robs cradles.” She lifts her eyebrows as she sips. “I kinda dig it.”
“Whatever, it’s only ten years. But yeah, if the age difference turns you on, then I dig it too. So we fell in love in . . . Nashville. Music City. We danced all day at Honky Tonks, split some hot chicken at Hattie’s, and as we were washing it down with an ice-cold beer at your brewery, I fell for you. Hard.”
Stevie’s nodding again, her face glowing with a wide smile. “I like it. I like it a lot. Think your family will buy it?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Stevie crosses her legs. “Tell me about them.”
This time it’s my stomach that twists. As much as I’m excited to see my family again, I’m dreading what is sure to be an awkward conversation with Samuel and Emma.
“My family’s great. You’re gonna love ’em, same as they’ll love you. There’s Mama, who likes to be called June. Beau’s the oldest. Then there’s his wife, Annabel, and their baby girl, Maisie. Samuel’s next up. You know all about him and Emma. I’m Beauregard number three, and Rhett is number four. My sister Milly is the baby. You’ll know which one she is right away—she’s fuckin’ intense. She’s Blue Mountain’s event planner, so she’ll be kept busy this weekend.”
“There’s a lot of y’all,” Stevie says, blinking.
“You have no idea,” I groan. “I apologize in advance for how loud it gets. Everyone’s gonna be all up in our business, asking completely inappropriate questions, and I apologize for that too.”
“That’s all right. We have a good story to tell.”
I run a hand over my jaw. “You have siblings?”
“I do.” She sips the last of her cocktail. “A younger brother. We’re close, but he lives in Charlotte with his wife and kids, so I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like.”
“Don’t tell me your parents named him, like, David Bowie or something.”
“Bon Jovi, actually.”
I widen my eyes. “Seriously?”
Stevie cackles. “God, you’re easy to fuck with. Of course my parents didn’t name my brother Bon Jovi. His name is Philip.”
“Right. So a brother named Philip and parents . . .”
“Who live in Knoxville, where I’m originally from. My dad is a professor at the University of Tennessee’s medical school, and my mom stayed home to raise us. Peter and Jeannie.”
“Peter and Jeannie. Have I met them?”
She nods. “You did, when you came to visit me. I was hesitant at first, but my mom said I wouldn’t shut up about you, and you really wanted to meet them, so . . .we had dinner at their house. They adored you.”
“Wow, I really do move fast.”
“I’m your teacher, remember? And I taught you to trust your gut and go after what you want.”
“Gotcha.” I set my empty glass on the side table between our chairs and put my hands on my thighs, arms akimbo. “Anything else?”
Stevie shakes the ice in her glass, draining the last drop of whiskey sour. I smile. She clearly enjoyed the cocktail, but I think I’m enjoying her enjoyment even more.
“Just so we’re clear”—she sets the glass down next to mine—“you don’t expect me to wait on you or anything, do you? As your girlfriend?”
I make a face. “What? No, absolutely not. Why? Is that what you think a girlfriend should do?”
“I used to.” She checks her watch. This time, it takes some real self-control not to keep digging. I’m getting the feeling her experience with men has been downright awful. “What about Samuel and Emma?”