Just One Night(56)

along the side of the glass. “That’s part of what I’d like to change. I’m all for

bourbon being bourbon, and Irish whisky being Irish whisky, plus rye and all the

rest of them, but there’s room for something modern. Something new that tastes

good without having all the rules.”

“And that’s what you’re doing?” she prodded, keeping her voice soothing but not

condescending, as though talking to a skittish colt. He was weird when it came to

his accomplishments with ROON. As though he didn’t know how to accept praise

or success.

Or, and this was haunting, as though he didn’t deserve it.

As expected, his mouth pressed into a firm line. “ROON doesn’t fit into any of the

classic whisky profiles. It’s whisky, sure, but it’s not distilled in bourbon country,

so it can’t be bourbon. It’s not from Scotland, so it can’t be Scotch—”

She interrupted his barrage of things his product wasn’t. “So what is it? What’s

your vision?”

He lifted a shoulder. Took another sip of whatever it was his bartender friend had

poured. “Making something for the average but discerning drinker, I guess.

Something without pretense. In the same way the wine world is slowly accepting

bottles with screw tops, I want the whisky world to accept something that’s simply

whisky. No subtype needed. Just ROON whisky. No judgment if you want to drink

it neat, or in a Manhattan, or with f**king prune juice. I can’t stand those liquor

connoisseurs who jump down your throat for adding an ice cube to a fifteen-year-

old whatever. Fuck that. Drink what tastes good.”

As a reward for him speaking bluntly for once, she told him the unvarnished truth.

He needed a little positive reinforcement. “You know, if we weren’t so solidly in

the friend zone these days, I’d tell you that your passion about your company is

kind of sexy.”

Sam didn’t miss a beat at the flirtatious turn. “Sweetie, if we weren’t so solidly in

the friend zone, we’d be drinking my whisky na**d in bed, not someone else’s

whisky in a bar.”

Riley’s mouth went dry, and she reached for her water glass, wondering just how

inappropriate it would be to dump it over her head in an effort to keep from

jumping his bones in public.

His tone had been flippant, but the mental image he’d created had all of her

nerves tingling.

This wasn’t going according to plan. She was supposed to have a couple of

casual buddy-buddy beers with him and the rest of the gang and then head home

with nothing more than a cuff on the shoulder and a “thanks for the favor.”

Instead she’d left with him. Alone.

She hadn’t checked her phone since they’d left the Irish pub, because she knew

what she’d find there. A slew of text messages from her friends, ranging from pep

talk to lecture.

Julie: Go get some already.

Grace: The tiger stalks her prey—go get him. PS: I know you’re new at this, but

you know not to forget the condom. Right?

Emma: Code Red! This was not the plan …

And it was Emma’s text that she was dreading the most because she knew that

out of the four of them, Emma was the most rational about this kind of thing. Once

upon a time, that dubious honor had gone to Grace, but then Grace had gone

and snared a jet-setting ladies’ man, and her loins and brain had turned to sex-

addled mush.

A transition that had Riley simmering with jealousy.

She wanted that kind of hormone-driven awareness. Wanted the glow of morning

sex and the soreness of rough sex and the soul satisfaction of meaningful sex.

All of which she was pretty sure were simmering just beneath the surface of the

man next to her.

The question was how to get beneath the layers of resistance. And God knew

she wasn’t up for another rejection.

“I should go,” she said quietly.

“Wisely avoiding my bait, I see,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes and slid off the stool as she fished some cash out of her

wallet. “Puhlease,” she said. “Even if I wanted to bite, we’d both know the ‘bait’

would get snatched back at the last moment. You talk a good game, but—”

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and for a second she thought he was going

to acknowledge what was between them. But when her eyes flew to his, he

merely nodded in the direction of the money in her hand as he pulled out his own

wallet. “Put that away. I’ve got this.”

She shrugged, knowing Sam well enough to see that it wasn’t up for debate. She

put her wallet away.

“Walk me to the subway?” she asked, not quite ready to see the evening end.