Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,58
my way to being fired-up. Then I realized I’d been CCd on the emails. I’d gotten a reminder alert this morning as well.
The blonde who frequented my steamy shower sessions stood in place and cast me a smile so wide, I nearly forgot my agitation. She’d dressed more casually than usual, with a flowy top that made me think of lemonade, but upon closer inspection, was yellow flowers. Her jeans hugged her hips, which meant they’d also fit snugly across her ass, although I doubted she’d react well to me asking her to do a spin so I could confirm.
Add in her loose blonde waves, and she looked like the embodiment of sunshine.
“Mr. York. So glad you could join us.” Really? We were there again? A clear sign there was no genuine forgiveness, the smile all for show. “Guess it’s time to finish up our lunch and get on with the whiskey tasting.” She gestured me over to the table as though she hadn’t ignored my presence for three days.
Ah. The game was afoot. Sherlock Holmes, I was not, but this mystery was easy enough to solve. I hadn’t been invited to the lunch portion of the meeting, as it didn’t pertain to the soccer complex.
I gritted my teeth in an approximation of a smile. If I made a scene, it’d come off as unprofessional and give Penelope not only the edge, but also the satisfaction of proving her point about the golf game. Several times over the past few days I’d assured myself she’d blown it out of proportion. The angry bursts of heat pumping through my veins argued otherwise.
My competitive side roared to the surface, drowning out their insistence Penelope might have had a point.
I strode over to the table, choosing the seat to her right. “I bet you think you’re mighty clever.”
Blue eyes met mine, the fire inside of them giving me the all-clear to engage in combat. “I don’t think or hope. I know.” She condescendingly patted my arm. “It’s called confidence, sweety.”
A carnal zing whorled into the bluster of fury, the cocktail so intoxicating, the strongest whiskey in the world wouldn’t stand a chance.
Lying in wait wasn’t my usual tactic, but I’d tried most everything else in my arsenal. Evidently, she’d meant what she’d promised about not holding back. If she thought I’d been giving it my all, she was sorely mistaken.
First, I’d be the charming Home Run King. After we’d sent everyone else on their merry way, I’d show her I could beat her at her own game. “Do you recall how you once mentioned guys assume you can’t keep up, and then you drink them under the table?”
Hesitance crept into her posture as she only twisted halfway toward me. “This is a work function. I’d never risk—”
“After the meeting. Stick around, so we can test your theory. I’m sure I can outdrink you, any time, any day. Especially when it comes to whiskey.” Now to finish baiting the hook.
“A man’s drink.”
The tight line of her jaw meant I’d struck the nerve I’d been aiming for.
“It’s a good thing you weren’t here in time to fill up on all the delicious food,” Penelope said, out of the side of her mouth. “Because after I win our side-competition I’m going to make you eat those words.”
During the tasting, I’d remained uber professional, save the instant after my first sip of Dos Hermanos Whiskey and muttered, “Holy shit, that’s good.”
Dark and full-bodied, with a hint of smoky sweetness, it was a step above top shelf. Everyone agreed and, save one mention of Chase Blakely that had me gripping my cup too tightly, the meeting went down as smooth as the hops.
Once the ink was dry on the contract between the Serranos and the Pythons, Penelope and I had moved to a tiny wooden table.
We alternated shots. I’d insisted on ladies first, keeping up the fine line of poking and appeasing the best. Note to self: don’t say that aloud. I have a feeling Penelope would not appreciate being called the beast.
The two shot glasses on the center of the table separated until there were four and then six or seven. My stomach bottomed out when Penelope waved Luciana forward. She was serving as the official pourer and judge, to ensure everything was measured and equal and administer a sobriety level test if necessary.
How can she possibly handle another shot?
One eyebrow arched along with the finger Penelope lifted. “Unless you’re calling uncle,” she said, and I blinked