Blended (Redemption #1) by Sasha Brümmer Read Free Book Online

retrieve a book. Instead, she comes back down with a bottle of whiskey.
    The petite bartender . . . uh . . . librarian snaps me from my thoughts before I’ve noticed that I’m next to be served. “Bourbon, rye, Tennessee, Canadian, Scotch, or Irish?” she asks, and I look at her wide-eyed.
    “That’s how you greet people here?” I ask, recalling her saying the same thing a little louder when I first walked in.
    She cracks a smile, yet I feel as if she’s mocking me. “It sure is. What will it be?”
    “Macallan 10-Year. Straight up and neat.”
    She raises her brows at me, her smile seeming to be the slightest bit more genuine as she turns away from me. I’m sure she’s used to pricks coming in here acting like they know a thing or two about whiskey. She comes back and places a gorgeous tumbler in front of me. “I’ll hold onto your card,” she says as I pull it out of my purse and hand it to her. “Take a seat wherever you want and you can either come up here to grab a drink or ask one of the librarians to bring you something.”
    “Great, thank you.”
    “Oh, if you actually like the place and if you’d like to make this a regular spot for yourself then come by and chat with me. We offer a private membership, which requires approval from the owner. It’s like a library card—you get to try out the most expensive bottles a few times a year. We also hold socials for the members, and every once in a while someone gets to add the stamp of the Macallan 64-Year to his or her list. Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll grab you an application.”
    “That’s great, thank you,” I say before walking away to find a seat, surprised by the detail involved in this space. I take a seat in front of the all-brick fireplace that is burning real wooden logs instead of the conventional gas alternative, inhibiting the campfire smell that the Scottish single malts provide.
    After a few minutes of glancing around the place, I swirl the amber liquor around the glass. I love the vibe that this place gives off. It doesn’t feel ostentatious even though they own the most expensive whiskey in the world beside many others that I have seen gracing their shelves.
    I feel welcomed here as if it’s a place that I’ve visited hundreds of times before. I shift in the seat and get a bit more comfortable before pulling out my phone and calling up my Kindle application to read some sappy know-it-all romance novel that has barely been holding my interest. Okay, that’s another lie, but I won’t admit to my fixation of fictional characters to just anyone.
    I don’t notice the time passing until my second tumbler is empty and I stand to stretch out my legs, which are stiff after sitting still for so long. I look up and out toward the large windows; the street lights are on outside and it’s now completely dark with very few people walking past. I hadn’t realized that I was so absorbed in this book. So much for finding someone to ride tonight.
    “That must be an interesting novel,” a deep, dark voice says as I sit back down to read again, hoping that one of the librarians will come by so I can order another Macallan.
    I glance up with a small smile on my face before it falls once I lock eyes with the man sitting diagonally from me.
    “Oh.”
    “Ah, so she does recognize me.”
    It’s the man from Stafford’s. The one who probably still has my thong hostage. I feel an odd vibe shift between us, so much so that I’m a bit uncomfortable with the way he’s looking at me.
    “I suppose I do. Did you grace my thong with your come yet?” I enjoy shocking men with my mouth—in more ways than one.
    His lips rise up in one corner, “No, I have personal rules when it comes to women. It’s a trophy of a non-sexual encounter that left me lightheaded.”
    “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
    “Speaking of words,” he says, nodding toward my phone, “what are you reading?”
    I glance down at the sex scene