Just One Night(55)
longing to be her friend would be reciprocal. He should have known that wanting
her to confide in him would likely be a two-way street.
“ROON is everything to me,” he said, finally opting for the direct, honest
approach.
Something sad flitted across her face, but her smile never slipped. “Doesn’t look
that way to me.”
It was too close to something his mother might say, and his shoulders
automatically tensed. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that everyone who’s tasted your whisky thinks it’s up there with the best
they’ve had, and yet hardly anyone has tasted it.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I’m tweaking it.”
“Bullshit. You’re hiding.”
He wanted to slam the wall down. To get up and leave before she could go there.
But she already had. And oddly, he didn’t want the wall down. Not with Riley.
“I want to get it right,” he said, meeting her eyes. I have to get it right.
Her fingers found his forearm, just briefly, and although the touch was far more
sisterly than the darkest part of him wanted, it calmed him.
“You don’t have anything to prove, Sam. Not to us McKennas anyway.”
He knew she was right.
He also knew that he wasn’t a McKenna. He was always aware of that. He was
a Compton, and Comptons didn’t do success easily.
“You wanna get out of here?” he heard himself ask. “There’s a hole-in-the-wall
whisky bar over on Tenth.”
She gave a little shrug. “Sure. But no more copping a feel like you did out on the
field.”
“I know not to what you refer,” he said, standing to pull back her chair, a little
surprised that she’d mentioned it.
Maybe she wasn’t playing games after all. And if she wasn’t … did that mean she
was done with him?
The thought was more depressing than he cared to admit.
“Let’s just say Liam’s hugs don’t feel at all like that,” she said, giving him a
meaningful look.
Sam waited for the old familiar tug of guilt at the mention of his best friend’s name,
and it came, fast and sure. But interestingly enough, that long-ago promise he
had made to Liam not to touch his sister felt a lot less important than the promises
he wanted to make to Riley.
What sort of fresh hell have I gotten myself into?
“I got confused,” he said finally, deciding to keep these in a joking place. “I thought
for a second you were actually attractive.”
Riley clucked as she tucked her arm in his companionably. “Happens all the time.
Lucky for us, there’s nothing like a failed sex experiment to send two people to a
permanent friend zone.”
Fuck the friend zone, Sam thought as he held the door open for her. It wasn’t
enough.
Friendship would never be enough. Not with Riley.
Chapter Fourteen
Riley liked Sam.
Somehow she’d forgotten that in recent weeks. They’d been so busy trying to get
into each other’s pants, or stay out of each other’s pants, that she’d pushed aside
the basic fact that beneath the simmering physical attraction, they were friends.
“Try this one,” he said, pushing a small tumbler toward her. “Tell me what you
smell.”
She sniffed. “Horse butt.”
“Leather, good. What else?”
She rolled her eyes and tried again. “Vanilla?”
He took the glass from her hand and gave it a sniff. “Nope. That’s almond you’re
getting.”
“You’re worse than a wine snob,” Riley said, grabbing the glass and taking a tiny
sip. Sam knew the bartender, which meant they’d tasted at least a dozen different
whiskies. The pours were tiny, so she wasn’t drunk—just a sip or two of each—
but there was a distinct warmth developing low in her belly.
Riley tried to tell herself it was the alcohol, but she knew it wasn’t just the whisky.
It was Sam and the way he looked in his layered T-shirts and perfect-fitting jeans
and messy man hair. It was the way his eyes lit up when he talked about stills
and casks, and the way he managed to make the word fermentation sound sexy.
It was the way he’d taken her to this run-down hole-in-the-wall, with its beat-up
wood bar and slightly crotchety staff and worn bar stools. There was no foie gras,
no weird berry compote, no fancy cocktails … just whisky, and a handful of pub-
food options if you wanted them.
It was completely different from anyplace she’d been with a man in the past
several years, and she loved it.
“Whisky has just as many nuances as wine, just not as many varietals,” Sam said,
taking the glass back from her. He tilted it, watching the way the amber liquid slid