by Lexi Ryan
“Oh, hey.” I save my spreadsheet, close the program, and stand, wiping my hands on my jeans. “You got my message, I take it.”
He studies me. “I decided I’d rather talk in person. I hope you don’t mind.”
I nod. He’s right. Better to do this face to face. “I feel awful about Saturday.”
He drags a hand over his face. “You and me both,” he murmurs, stepping into my office. That’s when I see it. The bruise around his left eye. From Brayden’s right hook.
“Oh, no. Look at you. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I owe you the apology. I typically read situations better than that, and I read you all wrong.” He searches my face. “I promise I’m not some brute who forces himself on women.”
“No. Of course you’re not.” I walk toward him, my shoulders tense. “When I dove out of the car like that, it wasn’t because of you or anything you’d done.”
Swallowing, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. I nearly pull away from the intimacy of the gesture, but the vulnerability in his eyes keeps me still. A bolt of regret slices through me. “Then what was it?”
“Things were just moving too fast, and I . . .” I glance over his shoulder and realize we have an audience.
Austin is lounging against the wall between Brayden’s office and mine, toying with his phone. I take Jason’s hand and gently urge him farther inside so I can close the door. When it clicks closed behind him, I say, “I panicked.”
“I’m sorry. About moving too fast. I shouldn’t have . . . I mean . . .” He grimaces. “I swear I’m usually better at this.” His lips tilt into a lopsided smile. “You’re just so beautiful, and I’m scared I screwed up my chance by moving too fast. Frankly, I was relieved when I got your message that you wanted to talk.”
His chance? I step back, just out of his reach. “I like you, Jason. You seem like a really nice guy, and I’m sorry if Saturday night gave you the wrong idea. I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Oh?”
“I have a four-year-old son.” I wait for him to withdraw. Mention of a kid does the trick most of the time.
He turns up his palms. “So you’re not allowed to date?”
“Dating is negotiable, but I’m not interested in a relationship that would lead to a meet-the-kid moment. Not yet, at least.” I shrug. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t like you or that I wouldn’t enjoy spending time with you, but my son is my priority.”
“You’re sure this isn’t about Brayden?”
I blink. “No. Not at all.” Why would he think that? “He’s my boss and my friend.”
He arches a brow. “I heard you moved in with him.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “He offered Noah and me a place to stay temporarily. But it’s a completely platonic arrangement.” He just gives me massages, offers to get me off any time I want, and lets me sleep in his bed. Maybe we’re not dating, but I’d definitely categorize our relationship as complicated. “We aren’t involved romantically.”
He grunts. “Does Brayden know that?”
“Saturday wasn’t about him.” The words slip out before I recognize them for what they are: a lie. Saturday was too much about Brayden. My mood. The tequila. Trying to lose myself in Jason. It was about my past and my identity, and how I’ll never be the kind of woman I’d need to be to belong with Brayden Jackson. It was about hearing from his own mouth that he thinks I’m broken. Even knowing he didn’t quite mean what I first thought doesn’t change how much that word hurt. Broken. I shake my head. I don’t want a relationship anyway—not with anyone, and especially not with my boss. So why does it hurt so damn much to know I can’t have it? “Brayden is just a friend. He can be protective, but there’s nothing more between us.”
“Does that mean you’ll go out with me this weekend? Casual. No expectations.” He smiles slowly and gives me a once-over that should make my toes curl. Instead, it makes me think of Brayden and the way he watches me at home when he thinks I don’t notice. The way he sets my body on fire. The way it shouldn’t.
Maybe that’s why I say, “My son’s staying with his nana tomorrow night.”
He grins. “It’s a date.”
Brayden
The giggly blonde picks up the darkest beer of The Jackson 5 flight and swishes it in the glass. “So this one’s the IPA?”
I try not to wince, but it’s the third time I’ve been through the list—which is also written on the board in front of the glasses. “That’s the porter.” I’ve been stuck at this table with three giggling college girls for ten minutes, and while I don’t mind answering questions about our beers, I get the distinct impression they’re all playing the ditz to keep my attention. Does that actually work? Are there guys out there who prefer women who hide their brains?
She tosses her hair and dips her chin so she can look at me through her long lashes. “How do you know so much about beer?”
I clear my throat and try not to sound like a dick when I say, “It’s my job.”
Behind the bar, I catch Levi biting back a laugh, but the asshole doesn’t do a damn thing to save me from these handsy girls who pulled me over the second I walked out of the back.
Her two friends lean closer, and one says, “You’re, like, so smart.”
“Older guys are so sexy,” the brunette says.
Ouch. I try not to wince. I don’t think of myself as the older guy, but compared to a bunch of college girls, I guess I am. Hell, compared to Molly, I kind of am.
She fell asleep in my bed last night, drifted off as I rubbed the knots out of her tight muscles. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her up. I know she doesn’t sleep enough, so I pulled the blankets over her and went to the guest bathroom to take a hot shower. I closed my eyes under the spray and let myself think about her as I took my cock in my hand. I thought about the heat in her eyes when I told her I’d be happy to get her off. Thought about the way her breath hitched as I toyed with the sensitive spots on her hand. But as my orgasm came closer and I gripped myself harder, my mind slid to the night in my hotel room when her body was mine to explore and my ears filled with the soft moans slipping from those perfect pink lips.
The release in the shower didn’t feel like much of a release, not with the knowledge that she was still in my bed. Between thoughts of her and sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, it took me longer than usual to fall asleep.
“What are you doing tonight?” the brunette says, pulling my thoughts away from Molly—not that they’ve strayed far from her all day. “Maybe you should come to our place.”
“We’re roommates,” the other two say in giggling unison. All three girls lean in.
Behind the bar, Levi bites his knuckle. I can practically feel Shay’s eyes burning holes through my back from down the bar. And I know Carter and Jake are around here somewhere too. We just wrapped up a board meeting to discuss potential investors for the new bottling plant. I’m not counting on Ralston coming back around—I’m not sure if I even want him to.
I’d rather my siblings not witness my pathetic attempts to let these girls down gently. I’m going to take so much shit for this later. “I’m sorry, ladies. I’m busy.”
“Brayden?”
I turn from the trio and have to blink when I see the blonde standing three feet behind me. The worried pucker between her whiskey eyes, the dimple in her right cheek. It’s like looking at a picture from my past.
“Hi,” she whispers.
I blink again, then shake my head and half expect her to disappear entirely. But she’s still standing there, as real as anything after ten years.
I consider my ability to prepare for the unexpected one of my biggest strengths. I always have a plan B and keep my cool when things don’t go as expected—because nine times out of ten, they don’t.
But I wasn’t prepared for this. Sara was nowhere on my radar for tonight or any night, and the whole world slides out from beneath my feet as I take in the woman in front of me.
“Are you going to say anything?” she asks.
I open my mouth then close it again, unsure there are any words for what I’m feeling right now.
Good to see you?
Where the hell have you been?
Do you know how badly you fucked me up?
“You always said you were going to open this place.” She tugs on a lock of hair—an old nervous habit I remember well—and looks around. “It looks like your dreams are coming true.”
I’m vaguely aware of someone coming to stand at my side. When I force myself to pull my gaze off Sara, I see Shay standing next to me. She looks down her nose at Sara with a curl of her lip that tells me she’s biting back the instinct to pick her up and toss her into the snow.
“Hey, Shay.”
Shay’s eyes are cold. “What are you doing here?” Maybe I should be glad she’s asking the questions I can’t seem to get out, but I’m not. I wish we weren’t here at all. I wish I could deal with this—with Sara—alone, somewhere there aren’t dozens of people shamelessly eavesdropping.
Sara has the good sense to lower her eyes. “This is a bad time. I should have . . .” Her gaze flicks to the door before coming back to me. “Can we talk?”
“He’s busy,” Shay says, my little sister acting like my fucking bodyguard. Fantastic.
I shoot her a look that tells her to back off. Shay rolls her eyes but walks away to give us space.
“Not right now, of course,” Sara says. “I know you probably need . . . to think about it. But can we? Maybe have dinner next week or something?” She fishes a business card from her purse and hands it to me. “I have a new number.”
I grunt. No shit.
“You don’t have to decide now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see my face again, but I would really like the chance to talk.” She swallows. “To explain.”
Molly
Shay rushes into my office, wide-eyed and flushed. “We have a situation up front.”
“What kind of situation?” Jake asks, already standing to jump in. I was wrapping up for the day when Jake and Ava stopped by my office to say hi.
Shay shakes her head. “Not with the bar. Sara Jeffers is here. For Brayden.”
That name means nothing to me, but judging by the way Jake’s jaw drops, I’m guessing she’s someone from their past. From Brayden’s past.
Ava frowns. “The Sara?”
Sometimes I forget that Ava’s been an honorary Jackson since she was a kid. She grew up next door to them and knows the ins and outs of their family history like her own. “Does someone want to fill me in?” I ask.
“Sara is Brayden’s ex,” Jake says softly.
I frown, and a memory clicks into place. The night Brayden came to New York, his bartender friend said something about him getting over Sara. “So his ex-girlfriend is here. Why are you all acting like someone died?” I don’t mean to be insensitive. I’m sure it might be awkward for him to see her again, but Brayden’s an adult. Surely a gorgeous, successful guy like him has plenty of ex-girlfriends.
Shay, Jake, and Ava all exchange a long look that tells me there’s so much more to the story than the Jackson siblings are telling.
Shay folds her arms, then turns to me. “Molly, wanna do me a favor and head to the taproom?”
Ava’s grin is a little evil. “Oh, I like where you’re going with this, Shay.”
Brayden
Sara’s changed her number, but mine is the same as it’s always been. I wish she’d have thought to use it and warn me. My brand-new tasting room is the last place I want to deal with the shock of seeing her again. Especially tonight with all my family around. I would have prepared for this. I would have told her not to come here, where there are too many people who think they need to protect me.
One second, I’m staring at Sara, trying to decide how to respond to her frank invitation that we reconnect, and the next, Molly is wrapping an arm around my waist and grinning up at me like we’re lovers. “Hey, you. Everything okay?”
Instinct alone has my arm snaking around her waist in return, but what the hell? “Everything’s fine.” With the exception of last night’s massage in my bed, Molly doesn’t stand this close to me or touch me beyond the occasional brush of a hand—not since that one night. But right now, she’s pressing against me like . . .
I catch sight of Shay standing at the edge of the crowd, a satisfied smirk on her face, and I realize exactly what Molly is doing.
God save me from meddling sisters.
Sara’s gaze shifts between me and Molly and back, her face growing paler with each pass. “Oh. Are you two . . . ?”
I let the question hang there for a beat too long. Did she think I’d wait for her? Ten years and not a fucking word, and she’s shocked to see another woman at my side?
The fact that I nearly did wait ten years only pisses me off more, but Molly either doesn’t notice the tension in my body or she ignores it. She leans into me, so close I can smell her strawberry shampoo and feel her every curve. “I’m Molly,” she says, extending a hand to Sara. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met?”
Sara’s gaze flicks between us again. “I’m . . . Sara?” The sight of Molly has her off balance. I flash a glare to Shay before stepping away from Molly. Shay might have led her to believe this would help, but I’m not interested in playing games.
Molly tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and looks up at me suggestively as she nestles closer into my side. It’s sexy, and the look combined with the feel of her pressed against me might turn me on if it weren’t so damn calculated. And if my ex wasn’t standing in front of me looking for all the world like she wants another chance. “Is this the ex-girlfriend you told me about?” Molly asks. “The masseuse?”
There’s not a doubt in my mind that Molly used that word deliberately.
The jab works, and Sara winces but tries to smile at me when she says, “Just let me know if we can talk.” She turns and rushes out the door.
I watch her climb into a sedan in the parking lot and have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to feel. Relieved? Disappointed? The only emotion I’m sure of right now is confusion and frustration.
I set my jaw as I turn to Molly. “What was that?”
“Shay said she was your evil ex and we needed to save you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.” My head’s a mess. I need to get out of here.
Molly bows her head, chastened. “Sorry. I . . .” She shakes her head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t blame her,” Jake calls from behind the taproom bar, where he’s stepped in to fill orders. It’s getting busier in here by the minute. Thirsty Thursday, indeed. “We told her to intervene.”
I don’t need any of them intervening. “Call me if you need me, Levi,” I say. I ignore the rest of my siblings and their curious stares, and head out the door to my car.
The cold bite of the winter air is more than welcome, and I don’t even care that my coat is in my office. Maybe the cold will help me think straight, help me process this. Sara is back. Sara wants to talk to me.
Shay should have known better than to send Molly in like some fake girlfriend. If she had given it any thought, she’d have known I’d hate the idea, but she wasn’t thinking about what I want, only how she could protect me.
“Brayden, stop,” Molly calls.
“Why?” I ask, spinning around, but my anger melts when I see Molly’s face. She feels like shit about this.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Seriously, Brayden. I should have stayed out of it.”
“You should have.” I exhale heavily and roll my shoulders back. “But it probably doesn’t matter anyway.”
“It does, though,” she says. She takes me by the hand and drags me to the side of the building, out of sight of the road and the tasting room windows. “We’re roomies, and I really, really don’t want you pissed at me.”
“I’ll get over it.” I release a breath. “I don’t blame you for
Shay’s games. You didn’t know.”
“It’s not all on Shay. I realized Sara was the one you told me about last night, and I didn’t like it. I’m so sorry. Tell me what I can do to fix it.”
“Why didn’t you like it?” Sixty seconds ago, all I wanted was an excuse to leave so I could go home and be alone, but now that Molly’s standing so close, all I want is an excuse to keep her here.
“What?” Her expression changes to an unreadable mask, and she backs up a step and then another until she’s against the building.
I follow and rest my hands above her head, leaning into her as she tilts her face up to meet my eyes. “Why didn’t you like my ex talking to me?”
She swallows, and her cheeks flush pink. With cold, or embarrassment? “I don’t like that she hurt you.”
“I never said she did.”
“You didn’t have to.” She wraps her fingers around my forearm, not pushing me away but locking us in place. “I know you, Brayden. Better than you realize.”
My gaze drops to her mouth and her lips part. The pulse in her neck flutters faster. “I’m not sure you do.” I swallow hard and make myself back away. “I’ll see you at home.”
When I get home, my sister’s car is parked in the driveway, and I realize I’m not done talking about Sara tonight. Even if I want to be.
I park in the garage and come in the side door. Shay meets me in the hallway and hands me a tumbler of amber liquid. I sniff it, and my eyes go wide. “Dad’s?”
She nods. “Seemed appropriate.”
Sara is back and wants to talk to me, and Molly is living with me and falling asleep in my bed. I’d have to agree that tonight’s the perfect night to break out the good stuff.
Dad loved fine bourbon. When he died, we divvied up his collection between the siblings. By some unspoken agreement, we only dig into it on really bad days.
I take a small taste and let the warmth coat my throat and chest. “Thanks.”