Love Is the Drug by K. E. Saxon Page A

“ Because , if we don’t, they’ll make something up—and you know it’ll be a lot worse than what it really was. Even as bad as it really was. Besides, do you want your clients to be dragged into the rumor mill?” She lifted her hand and emphasized each of her next words with a karate chop to the air. “I-know-I-don’t.”
    He sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about it—get the story straight, like you said. But not tonight.” Tonight he was getting laid. He strode the rest of the way around the truck and swept past her, opened the Vette’s door and jumped inside. The engine was revving and he was already pulling out when she ran around the front and leapt, head first, inside. “What the HELL!” He slammed on his breaks and her legs and hips, which were still hanging over the top of the car door, slid toward the passenger side windshield. Her cheek slammed against his knuckles, which were crowning the black knob of the stick shift.
    “Owww!!” She somehow managed to hoist herself the rest of the way into his car while he released his grip and shook his stinging hand.
    “Are you alright?” he asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “Well then, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
    She shrugged. She didn’t look at him, instead keeping her eyes focused forward, and she was rubbing her cheek. “I’m going with you, of course.” She did look at him then. “I’ll be glued to your side until our stories agree. Because no way am I braving the town’s gossips all on my own.”
    Jason’s jaw clenched so tight he almost cracked a tooth. “All. Right.” He pulled back into the space and cut the engine. “But not here. Inside.” He reached across her and pressed the button to the glove box and the lid fell open. He reached inside and brought out the flask of Jamison’s he kept there for just such occasions, slammed the lid shut, and then swung the door of the Vette open and stepped out. “Let’s get this over with.”
    He was still going to Dallas. After what they were about to talk about, he’d be in serious need of some tension relief. In fact, it’d better be a marathon.
    * * *
    Jason barely allowed Julie time to settle on the couch before he asked her point blank, “Do you believe I tried to give your sister a roofie or attempted to rape her?” He aimed a precision-drill gaze at her, deliberately putting enough torque behind it to make her innards churn, the same as his were now.
    “ I think…I think you were very young—both of you were—and things just got out of hand.” She lightly rubbed the bridge of her nose before swiping a heavy blade of hair back behind her ear. With a sigh, she said, “If you’re asking me if I believe you to be a rapist—clearly, I don’t. I assure you, no matter that it was your dad’s dream to own this property, if I did believe that, there is no way I would have—”
    “How do you know?” Jason took a step toward her and dropped his hands to his hips.
    Julie’s head jerked back a bit. “Because…because, well, once a rapist always a rapist, right? I mean—at least until they’re put in jail. Well—maybe even then…I don’t know—”
    “Spit it out, Julie. Stop stalling.”
    “Okay! Uhmm— ahem— my sister’s publicist has kept tabs on you.”
    Every muscle in Jason’s body went rigid. His eyes narrowed as he watched her fidget, brushing a finger across her lower lip. Did they know about his real father? Specifically—and much more importantly— what he had been?
    “ You’re a model citizen, by the way,” she said. “Well, except for the…uhmm…the speeding tickets.” Her gaze slid to the flask of whiskey, half hanging from his right pocket. “How about a drink?” Her speech was rushed, a bit breathless. And then she bolted to her feet, saying, “I’ll just get us a couple of glasses,” before hustling toward the kitchen.
    Oh, no you don’t. He followed her. “What do you mean, ‘my sister’s publicist kept tabs on you’,—are you