“Very well.” A weak smile plays on my lips.

“Can we start out with some food, Billie?” Winter asks. “I’m starving.”

“Whatever you’d like, beautiful. Menus on the wall behind me.”

“We’ll have…” She scans the wall behind Billie with excitement. “An order of chili-cheese fries, fried pickles, and two waters.”

“You got it,” Billie says, bending to grab something from under the counter. He then slides our Macallan bottle across the bar with two rocks glasses. “Ice?”

I shake my head no and grab the bottle, while Winter grabs the glasses. She walks deeper into the bar to find a place for us to sit. I place my hand on her back, mostly to let every fucker in this bar know she’s mine. But also because Winter’s back in this dress is absolutely sinful.

Did I just fucking think she’s mine?!

“Here,” she says, pointing at a booth in the corner. She walks over and slides into one side while I slide into the other.

Everything feels sticky.

I open our bottle of Macallan, inhaling the first earthy bite wafting from the mouth of the bottle. “I’m not one of those assholes who orders his date’s meal, but this isn’t just whiskey. This is liquid gold.” I pour her two fingers and slide the glass in front of her. “Do you like whiskey?”

She nods. “My dad didn’t drink much, but when he did, it was whiskey. To this day, the smell reminds me of him. I’m not extremely familiar with the taste, but if you love it, I’ll drink it. If you eat the food I ordered…”

“I’m not eating that.” I shake my head.

But I will eat your pussy underneath this table.

“You want me to enjoy this whiskey with you? Then you’ll eat the fried foods. Tit for tat, Fox.” Her sexy smile would entice a man with no dick to jerk off.

“Fine. You win. Something that has been happening a little too frequently lately.” I hold my glass up and she does the same. “Here’s to negotiating myself into cardiac arrest.”

She laughs. “Here’s to loosening up and not being such a tight-ass.”

We clink our glasses slowly, keeping our eyes fastened on each other, then bring the rims of our glasses to our lips and sip the smoky, briny liquor.

“Wow,” she says, her cheeks turning pink from the heat of the whiskey. “That is really good.”

“I would never steer you wrong, Grimm.”

Winter takes another sip, sloshing the whiskey gently in her mouth to let the complexity of the flavors swirl on her tongue. I’ll save her the sexual innuendo.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” I say, leaning back against the booth.

“Why did you get mad at me when I mentioned you possibly being enabled by your parents? It was a callous thing to say, I’ll admit. For that, I apologize. But you don’t seem like the kind of man who cares what people say about you.”