I’m a smart woman. My mind is always moving. I can think of at least a handful of things at once, balance about a dozen more, and then plan all the little details in between. The devil’s always in the details. Or maybe my devil is in crisp black suit pants and white shirt with the top two buttons forgotten, and a square jawline that always looked like it’s a bite away from cracking molars. My devil is a Kentucky bourbon boy but, goddesses, he’s always looked like a man. The kind of man that isn’t simply handsome. No, he’s downright beautiful. My devil makes bourbon, rides horses, and makes
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