Read Blended (Redemption #1) for Free Online Page B

slightly bitter flavor of a 10-year aged rye whiskey. Once I arrive at my building’s lobby, I walk out after greeting the third-shift security in all-black suits. Instead of taking the car with Jacobs, I walk the two blocks to my most beloved place in Chicago—Blended—where I’m greeted by name upon arrival. I’m shown back to a spot next to the oversized fireplace and ask a librarian for a neat WhistlePig straight rye whiskey. Blended has proven to be my saving grace in the last two months since it opened; it’s provided me with a peace of mind every time I walk through the doors. It’s home.
    She’s back a few minutes later with a tumbler designed by Rikke Hagen filled with two fingers of amber. I thank her before breathing in the aged liquor, taking a sip, and sinking a little farther into the seat. It’s a Monday night and Labor Day weekend, so the crowd is light this evening, just how I prefer it.
    I choose to stay invisible although everyone knows me, and if they don’t yet then they shortly will because I’ll soon be gracing the cover of one of the most popular magazines in the nation. I may not be looking forward to the undue attention, but I’m pleased with my accomplishments that have ultimately led me to getting the cover. Regardless of the recognition that this may bring, I’d prefer to remain unseen.

I’ve been in Chicago for just over a week since Labor Day, and I have yet to get laid. How pathetic am I? It’s an early Sunday night, and I cannot stay in this apartment for one more minute, regardless of how beautiful it is. I need to get out of this building and find myself an easy lay or simply be someone’s easy piece.
    I doll myself up after a hot shower, spending more time on my hair and makeup than usual before I walk into the foyer and call out to Lo, who is huddled up on her couch with Owen. “I’m heading out for a few hours. Please don’t wait up if I’m not back. I’ll see you later.”
    “Have fun, Hads. Make sure that he wears a condom,” she jokes.
    “I’d never go without one. Bye!”
    I leave the confines of what quickly seems to be becoming my very own anti-sex prison cell. Hell, even the straight men in prison get more dick than I have this last week—which is none.
    I’m antsy as I walk out of her building and hail a cab, telling the driver to take me to Blended, the whiskey library that Owen told me about last week. I’ve been job searching like it’s the one thing I need to breathe and I haven’t taken time out to just explore Chicago’s treasures on my own. The only thing that I’ve left the apartment for is yoga and whiskey. I’ve been to the park a couple of times in the morning—before there are too many people around—to practice yoga in the slightly humid summer air. I’m not yet acclimated to these northern summers. I’m used to the dry heat of the desert, but I’m adapting.
    The cabbie pulls up to the address, and I hand him some cash before getting out and walking through the front door. The place has a low buzz of noise; it seems to be more of a place to relax and truly savor the whiskey than a place that hosts wild events and drunken loons. The lights are dimmed, and there’s music playing over the speakers, but it’s not loud enough for me to figure out what song is on. There are large pieces of comfortable furniture—sofas, wingback chairs, coffee tables, and seating nooks—around the open room. Wooden beams soar overhead as they stretch from one side of the room to the other. A massive fireplace sits in the center of the far wall, which is currently surrounded by people drinking; some are even smoking cigars. How do they not get fined for that shit?
    I walk up to the bar and take in the two walls of shelves in front of me that are filled with hundreds of bottles of beautifully aged amber liquid. I glance to my left and see a petite woman sliding a wooden ladder across another set of shelves before climbing up it as if she was going to