Guilty as Charged

by Harlow James

  I shake my head, frustrated for the seventeenth time today. “I need to use the restroom.”

  “Well, what would you like to drink? I can grab you something from the bar while you’re in there and meet you right back here. All I’m asking for is a little bit of your time.” His tone softens with me, replaced with a slight plea as he stares.

  “Water is fine.” I twist away from him and head back inside, intent on using the restroom, but then something in me decides against it. Instead, I spy a discrete exit up ahead and waste no time scurrying toward it, never bothering to look back as I plan my escape. As I shove open the door, greeted by the slightly humid air of the night again, I find my car in the parking lot and slide inside to flee the shackles of a life I don’t want any part of and race toward any place that isn’t here.

  I sigh into the welcoming silence as the only sound I can hear is the traffic moving around me while I drive further and further away from the country club. But it’s a far cry from the meaningless conversations and fake people I left behind.

  As the wheels of my car spin beneath me and I feel the tension leave my body, I pass by a warehouse that is lit up with nightlife. Large steel doors are propped open and bright light peeks out from under them along with the sounds of laughter and music. The sign on the top of the building proudly displaying Gibson Brewery catches my eye, and the noise coming from within makes my ears perk up as I slow down at the stop light. Those people sound like they’re having fun, not biting their tongues, or playing a part in a show they want nothing to do with.

  Without thinking, I move my car into the turn lane and signal to turn into the parking lot once the light turns green. I quickly find an open parking space, grab my purse, and head inside where merriment rings out loud and groups of people have sectioned off around high-top tables in the huge space that boasts a country feel.

  Giant steel barrels line the back wall through windows behind a long bar, housing hundreds of gallons of beer, I presume. Shuffle board tables are positioned in one corner, and several board games are scattered about among the picnic tables in the middle of the floor.

  I look around and realize I’ve never been in a brewery before, and as my eyes move around, I spot an empty seat at the bar and beeline straight for it.

  “Hey, there. How are you this evening?” A short blonde woman comes up to me as I get comfortable on my stool, wiping her hands on a towel hanging from her hip.

  “In need of alcohol,” I answer, which grants me a knowing smile from her.

  “Then you came to the right place,” she says in that southern drawl that makes me think she’s a little more country than most of us here closer to the city. “What can I get you?”

  “Well, I’ve never been here before, and I’m not a huge beer connoisseur. What would you recommend?”

  She turns around and grabs a wooden plank with five small circles in it, then small shot glasses and plops them with ease into each space. “I would do a sampler then, so you can taste a variety.”

  “When did this place open?” I ask as my head spins around the room again.

  “Just a few weeks ago. This is a tasting room that Wyatt Gibson, the owner, wanted to open closer to the city. Gibson Brewery is actually stationed a few hours from here at the Gibson Ranch. Have you heard of it?”

  I shake my head. “Afraid not. But I think a place like this will do well in a town like Newberry.”

  “That’s what we’re counting on.” She nods and then points me in the direction of the menu, where what seems like a mile-long list of beers are written out in multicolored chalk.

  “The list goes from lightest to darkest beer, so I would recommend starting at the top, especially if you’re not too keen on beer. Unless something pops out at you.”

  I read through and agree that the top five would probably be best, so she takes my tray, fills up each sampler glass from the taps that are installed in the wall behind the bar, and then carefully places the wooden plank back in front of me.

  “Here you go. Just let me know if you need anything else. I’m Kelsea.” She places a small strip of white paper in front of me, which I’m assuming is my bill, and then scurries off to help another customer.

  “Thank you!” I call after her as she waves me off with a charming smile and greets the newest person at the bar.

  I lift the first glass to my nose and smell it, a pale blonde ale that reminds me of Coors Light and take a sip, pleased that this beer actually has more flavor than one of America’s favorite drinking beers. I continue along the line of samples, taking a sip of each for good measure when a familiar voice hits my ears from behind, sending off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.

  “Didn’t take you for a beer drinker, Princess.”

  And when I turn around to confirm the owner of the voice, his smug grin flashes back at me, along with a glimmer in those gold eyes I’m beginning to feel could hypnotize me.

  I feel my legs start to shake as I take in his appearance. He looks very similar to how I vaguely remember him the night I ran into him at The Jameson. Black jeans encase the muscular legs I know he’s hiding beneath, a white shirt clings to his well-defined torso, and a black baseball cap sits backwards on his head, all giving him that signature bad boy look I’m beginning to realize I’m a big fan of.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything. I mean, I’ve had beer before. But I’ve never been to a place like this,” I reply as I wave my hand out.

  He chuckles and then stares down at me while I wait for him to speak again, his eyes moving back and forth between mine. After the way he’s behaved toward me this week, I’m not sure how to take him or why he even came over to say hello in the first place.

  “Is that all I get from you today? A laugh? Well, I guess it’s better than the silent treatment.” I twist back around and grab one of my samples, throwing back the remaining liquid in the glass.

  “The silent treatment?” His head tilts to the side and then his brow furrows.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure which is worse. That or the animosity you’ve been so gracious to show me since we bumped into each other.”

  “I only reserve all of my animosity for you, Princess,” he jokes, but that confession makes me curious.

  “Why? I don’t get why you act like that toward me. And quite frankly, I’m sick of it.” That anger from before comes back to the forefront as I find a clear culprit standing in front of me. “Did I do something to you back in high school I’m not aware of or something?”

  He huffs before taking the vacant seat beside me, holding his soda in his hand. “Not intentionally. But I’m guessing you put two and two together about how we know each other.”

  “Actually, Ally did. She remembered you saying something that night at The Jameson, alluding to the fact we went to school together. We looked you up in the yearbook. Seems you’ve changed quite a bit since then.”

  “I think everyone has. I’m not the same person I was back then at all.”

  “Well, neither am I,” I declare as Javier spins in his seat so he’s facing me. “So whatever it is that I did or didn’t do, maybe you could consider your own experiences and see that they pertain to me too.”

  He pulls his drink to his lips as his eyes narrow. “There’s no way you and I have ever experienced the same things in life, Princess.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know that we come from two completely different worlds,” he counters.

  “Does that mean you have to be an ass to me then? Because that’s not a good enough reason. If you want me to leave the class, just say so, Javi. You want me to leave the brewery right now, let me know. But deep down, I don’t think that’s the truth.”

  “Oh, really? Then what’s the truth?” He sits up taller on his stool, staring me down.

  I take a deep breath and figure what do I have to lose at this point? My day and night have both been shit, but Javier has had a tongue-lashing
coming for a while. “I think my presence stirs something up in you that makes you feel some sort of way, whether that’s transporting you back in time to a point in your youth you want to forget, or now by making you feel the need to keep me at arm’s length to protect yourself from actually caring about someone. I know you don’t just teach that self-defense class for the hell of it. I know that you picking me up on the side of the road and rescuing me from the rain is because you have a heart somewhere in that hollow chest you try to convince everyone you have. There has to be a reason why you take your job so seriously, why you encourage us each week to channel the reason why we showed up. I just can’t figure out what it is.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Fine. But stop taking out your issues on me. I think if you’d take the time to get to know me, you might actually find that you and I aren’t that different.”

  He huffs and then drains the rest of his soda, licking his lips as he sets his glass down on the table. “What are you even doing here tonight, Sydney? Shouldn’t you be at the country club with a sweater tied around your shoulders or at some fundraiser for underprivileged kids to make you feel better about the gobs of money your family has?”

  “Wow. That’s what you think of me, huh? That everything comes down to money?”

  “I know that money makes a world of difference between two people and how they think.”

  “Well, get ready for a lesson in privilege, Javi. I’m here tonight because I escaped the Chamber of Commerce meeting at the country club because my father is trying to set me up with a man he thinks I should marry.” His eyebrows pop up but I keep going. “He’s adamant that because our families run in the same circle, we’d be perfect for each other. Did you know that he also almost forbade me from training at your gym too?”

  “It’s Andre’s gym,” he corrects me.

  I wave my hand through the air, realizing the beer is taking affect now. “Well, you work there, so it’s your gym for the sake of the argument. He thought his security team was more qualified to teach me how to defend myself. He means well, but I also feel like he doesn’t trust me to make decisions for myself.”

  “That’s …”

  “It’s bullshit, right? I’m twenty-eight years old and survived law school, yet somehow my father thinks I’m incompetent.” I laugh as Javi studies the table for a minute. Then those gold eyes lock back on me and I see a determination in them that’s he’s rarely shown me before. “The person I was back in high school? Well, you might think you knew who I was—the perfect student, cheerleader, class president, and valedictorian—but deep down I was a nervous wreck, always afraid of letting him down, making him regret taking me in, not living up to his expectations …”

  Javi narrows his eyes at me again, but he stays silent.

  “So you might think that I had this perfect life, but believe me. Nothing about it has been perfect. Are you telling me that you can’t even relate to not wanting to let your parent down?”

  I feel the rush of warm air leave his mouth and hit my knee as I sit with my legs crossed on the stool, waiting for him to respond.

  “Actually I do,” he mumbles, but then speaks up the second time. “I’m sorry for judging you. I guess you never really know what’s going on behind the scenes of somebody else’s life, do you?”

  I sit there, dumbfounded that this arrogant and cynical man I’ve grown to know the past few weeks just gave me an apology.

  “And no, you didn’t ever do anything in particular to me in high school. I just really hated all of those kids you hung out with and what you all represented.”

  I actually laugh a bit before I take a sip of my beer. “I hated them too. Those kids were pricks, and legitimately thought they were better than everyone else. The only reason I hung out with them is because of my parents. They were friends with their parents and that was the expectation.”

  “I see.”

  We sit there in silence as I finish my beer and Javier looks anywhere but at me. The bustle of the brewery echoes around us as customers come and go and trays of glasses are filled and stocked.

  Not sure of how to move past my little declaration, I decide to change the subject. “You come here a lot?” I finally ask.

  Javi shrugs. “Not really, but it just opened a few weeks ago. The guy who owns it is the brother of my boss, so I try to support the family.”

  “The Gibson family?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Forrest gave me a job when …” he trails off and then rubs his palms on his jeans.

  “When what?” I feel like he was about to say something and he caught himself.

  “When I needed one,” he finishes. “So I try to repay the favor in any way I can. A lot of the guys that also work for Gibson Construction like to come in here on Fridays after work and relax with a few beers.”

  “I feel like any alcoholic beverage is necessary at the end of the week,” I tease. “But why aren’t you drinking then?” I point to his empty soda glass.

  “I don’t drink and then drive. Ever.” His tone is stark as he declares his stance with a passion that twists my stomach. His voice can be so authoritative sometimes that it makes me yearn to hear him boss me around behind closed doors.

  “That’s admirable.”

  “No, it’s smart. And technically the right thing to do.”

  “So if you’re not here for the beer, why even come? Shouldn’t you be at home working on your house? That’s what you told me you typically do in your spare time.”

  The corner of his mouth tips up in recollection. “That’s my plan for tomorrow. I need a break though too, just like anyone else, Sydney.”

  “Fair enough. So what project are you planning on completing tomorrow?”

  “Laying the tile that we bought earlier this week.” I don’t miss his use of the pronoun we. It almost makes it sound like we’re a couple, even though I know that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

  “I can’t even imagine how hard that is. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  Javier laughs at me. “Yeah, I can’t imagine you’re used to getting your hands dirty, Princess.”

  I squint at him as he enjoys teasing me. And in that moment, I want to prove him wrong so badly that a blaze ignites in my body. “Then teach me.”

  He tilts his head at me curiously. “Teach you?”

  “Yeah,” I declare confidently. “If you think I can’t handle it, then teach me and let me prove you wrong.”

  He scoffs. “Sure. I can always use free entertainment. When?”

  I look around the brewery that’s hopping with people all around us, but right now the only person I’m interested in talking to more is Javier. I don’t have anywhere else to be tonight since I ran out on my prior commitment, so that boldness I found earlier continues to grow. “How about now?”

  “Now? Aren’t you up past your bedtime? Won’t your dad be mad if you’re out too late?”

  I stand up from my stool and land between his legs that are open as he’s seated in front of me. Our eyes bounce back and forth between one another as I find the courage to push him more—and in turn, I’m pushing myself to fight for what I want.

  “Are you afraid that I might show you up, Javi? That I can lay tile better than you?” I arch one eyebrow as a smug look crosses his features.

  “No one is better at laying tile than me, Princess,” he replies as he grabs his wallet from his back pocket, throws a twenty on the table, and then stands so he’s taller than me. And as his eyes veer down at me and my body comes alive, lightening shooting through my limbs from how close he is and how good he smells, all I’m thinking is whether we’re actually talking about laying tile, or something else.

  “Then prove it.”

  Chapter 14

  Javier

  I glance back in the rearview mirror of my truck to check if Sydney is still following me, even though a part of me wishes she weren’t.

  What the fuck was I thinking inviti
ng her back to my house? Or Andre and Selena’s house really …

  The girl is gonna take one look at the deconstructed guesthouse and wonder what the hell she’s doing spending time in a place like this. Although, she is aware that the place is under construction. But still, I’m sure it’s a far cry from the opulence she’s used to being surround by, especially in that complex I know she lives in.

  As I turn down the gravel drive way that leads to the back of the property, I hope that Selena and Andre are preoccupied with the television or they went to sleep early so they don’t see the second set of headlights following me in. It’s a little after nine now, and even though I was exhausted and ready to call it a day before I saw Sydney at the brewery, my adrenaline is running so hot right now, there’s no way I’d be able to go to sleep even after she leaves.

  The echo of our car doors slamming makes me cringe as I watch Sydney look around her. Andre’s property is a little over an acre and full of mature trees. The moonlight peeks through the branches, illuminating the rocky ground beneath our feet just as the porch light clicks on from our movement.

  “This place is so cute,” she murmurs as I flick my head toward the door of the guesthouse and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. There’s no going back now, Javi. She’s fucking here. Let’s just hope she’s not judgmental and can understand the place is still a work in progress.

  “Come on in.” I hold open the door for her as she steps inside and I flick the light switch to my right. The ceiling fan turns on in the living room, which lights up the entire open concept living area and the kitchen to the left of us.

  “Wow.” Sydney looks awestruck as she steps in and moves straight for the couch, lowering her purse on the cushions before twisting her head around, admiring the paint, molding, and fixtures I’ve installed so far. “You did this all yourself?” Her eyes find mine again as I stuff my hands in my pockets, uncomfortable with her praise.