Don't Go Away Mad (Burgers and Brew Crüe Book 2)

by Lacey Black

  Not now.

  Not later.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  ***

  The walk-through is great. I can see every emotion on Jameson’s face as he shows us around. For a man who hides behind attitude and a pissed-off demeanor, it’s pretty fucking cool to witness. After a brief tour and a chat with the construction manager, Derek, we head back over to the bar to finish our owners’ meeting.

  “So, now that we don’t have little ears around us, are you going to tell us why you reeked of too much perfume and sex this morning?” Isaac asks, catching my attention.

  “What?” I ask, glancing at Walker, who just grins.

  “Our boy stumbled into Sugar Rush this morning in yesterday’s clothes, like he hadn’t slept a wink last night,” Walker confirms.

  “Are we fucking gossiping now?” Jameson grumbles, taking a seat at the table.

  “You thought because Lizard was there, we would forget all about that?” Isaac asks with a hearty laugh.

  “Hoped,” Jameson mumbles, reaching for a glass of water already on the table.

  I hold up my hand. “Wait, I have to go grab the food. Don’t say another word until I get back,” I add, practically running back to the kitchen to get the four burgers I prepared and left under the heat lamp before our tour. As soon as I’m back, I say, “Go.”

  “What’s to talk about? Is that what we do now? Sit around and gossip about who’s getting laid and who’s not?” Jameson gripes, taking the plate I offer. “No, this one has pickles,” he adds with a gag.

  I hand the plate with pickles to Walker as he replies, “I’m getting laid, just so we’re clear.” He gives us all a big cheeky grin, and as if he conjured her up from his imagination, Mallory walks into the room and heads for the bar. She glances over her shoulder and finds my friend’s eyes firmly locked on her ass. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so damn happy for my friend. He deserves someone like Mallory and Lizzie in his life.

  “Me too,” Isaac mumbles, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.

  “You’re what?” I ask, pulled back to our conversation.

  Again, he moves in his chair. “I’m, uh, getting laid.”

  My eyebrows arch sky-high.

  “Seriously? Since when?” Jameson asks right before taking a huge bite of his burger.

  “Well, since Savannah and I ran into each other a few weeks ago.” Isaac doesn’t meet our eyes, and I have to swallow my groan.

  “Savannah? Really?” Jameson asks, apparently unable to filter his own comment.

  “Yes, Savannah. What do you all have against her anyway?” he demands, glancing around the table. It’s not that we have something against her, per se, it’s that their happiness is always short-lived. They’ve dated off and on for a few years, and each time it ends the same. Isaac jumping in with both feet and Savannah stomping all over his heart.

  “Nothing,” Walk insists, trying to smooth everything over. “Maybe it’ll stick this time,” he adds lamely, mostly because we all know it won’t.

  Isaac nods once and turns his attention back to Jameson. “You okay with that?”

  Jameson, not one to pull punches, replies, “Whatever, dude. It’s your life.”

  “Yes, it is.” Isaac takes a bite and glances over at our tattooed friend. “So, are you going to tell us what happened with you last night?”

  Jameson groans. “Why? You need the juicy details, Numbers?”

  “No, definitely not, but we’re all curious. You haven’t seen anyone since Amie,” Isaac replies.

  We all catch the way Jameson averts his eyes, a flush of guilt crossing his features.

  Shit.

  “Amie?” Walker asks. “Where’d you run into her?” he asks without judgment.

  “Her front door,” Jameson answers with a laugh.

  Jameson and Amie have been…friends for years. Hell, who am I kidding? They’re fuck buddies, and it seems to work for them. She’s got a reputation of getting around, which doesn’t seem to bother my friend. When either of them has a particular itch to scratch, they hook up. It’s been going on for years, though we can’t seem to understand why. She’s whiny and annoying when she’s in here, hanging all over any guy she can. Probably to get Jameson’s attention, but he never seems to mind.

  “So, let me get this straight. You can screw Amie, who has been seeing you and half the town for years, but I can’t date Savannah?” Isaac asks, unable to mask his annoyance.

  “Yes, and do you know why?” Jameson replies, giving Isaac his full attention. “Because what Amie and I do is just that. Sex. We fuck and go about our lives. But you and Savannah are like gasoline and water. You don’t mix. Every time she comes back, you jump in with both feet, only to find out she’s not really in the same fucking pool as you. She uses you, but you refuse to see it.”

  Walker and I stare at each other from across the table, both of us afraid to take a breath. Jameson’s not wrong. At all. The problem is Isaac is too obsessed with Savannah to see how she treats him. The last time they dated was for about four months, and she broke it off with him when something newer and shinier came along. We hate it. We hate seeing the sadness in his eyes, because Isaac is a good man and doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. All he wants in life is to belong, to have someone to love. Has since his dad walked out on them when he was a kid. This thing with Savannah is like a merry-go-round ride that you can’t get off. Round and round they go, until the ride breaks down again.

  “Well, I guess you’re entitled to your opinion,” Isaac finally replies curtly.

  “So, basically, what I’m getting out of this,” Walker starts, looking for a redirect, “is Jasper is the only one not getting laid.”

  “Leave me alone. I’m not a project.”

  “All I’m saying is you could be, you know,” Walker states, shoveling fries into his mouth.

  “Ahhh, yes, the woman across the street,” Isaac teases, smirking at me.

  “Shut up, assholes,” I grumble. “That shit isn’t happening. I’m not into her. Period.”

  “She asked about you earlier,” Walker adds.

  My ears perk up and my eyes automatically move to the windows at the front of the bar. “She did?”

  All three of my friends—or should I say former friends after this little stunt—are sitting there smiling at me.

  Assholes.

  I walked right into that one.

  ***

  I’ve been done with work for an hour, but I can’t seem to make myself leave. Not because I don’t trust Ross, the dinner shift chef, who works three nights a week for me. Because when I was near the windows earlier, I noticed lights still on in the bakery, even though she was long closed.

  I need to stay away.

  So, I busied myself in my office and tried not to be a shadow on the wall in the kitchen. I really do trust Ross. In fact, he’s the only one I feel comfortable enough to turn over my grill to a few nights a week. In the beginning, I didn’t trust anyone. I worked them all, seven days a week, lunch and dinner. I thrived on it, really, but the guys wouldn’t let me burn myself out. We hired Ross after the first year to work three nights a week, giving me the small reprieve they insisted I needed. It does hold merit, though I’ll never tell them that.

  Twice since he arrived, I casually strolled up to the front of the restaurant under the guise of checking things out. You know, making sure the servers were doing their jobs and the hostess was ready. Things I did not need to check on. Our staff is top-notch. Yet, while I was up there, I was able to see the small bakery across the street.

  The lights had been on in her kitchen.

  For the third time, I move from my office, this time heading for the bar. At least over there, the hostess won’t wonder why the hell I’m up front again, and since Walker doesn’t work on Monday nights, I won’t have to worry about him giving me shit for spying on our neighbor. As I approach the window, I peer through the gap of a beer sign and find the business across
the street the same as I left it thirty minutes ago. Lights are on in the kitchen.

  I make a rash decision and return to the kitchen. “Hey, you mind if I use a corner of that grill?” I ask Ross as I wash my hands.

  “Not at all, boss,” he replies, making sure I have enough room to work.

  I press two fresh patties and drop them on the grill top, seasoning them with my own special blend. I drop two big handfuls of cut fries into the grease and grab my spatula. As the hamburgers cook, I add four strips of applewood bacon to the grill and grab an avocado. I cut it easily, securing the unused strips in a container and toss it in the fridge.

  Once I flip the patties, I prepare the bun. First, it’s toasted, then the top half smothered in mayo. Grabbing two slices of aged cheddar, I lay them on the meat to melt, while placing the slivers of avocado on the top bun with the mayo. When the patties are cooked, I place two slices of bacon on top of each and place them on a bun, before adding the top. I have two perfect Strip and Go Naked Burgers.

  Don’t think about how much you’d like to strip and go naked with a certain woman…

  I secure each hamburger with a healthy amount of fries into a Styrofoam container, clean up my mess, and grab my keys. Once my office light is off, I holler, “See you later,” to Ross and head out the back door.

  The temperature is brisk and bites my cheeks as I make my way to my car and fire it up. Of course she starts right away, growling with horsepower and ready to run. Unfortunately, she’s not going to stretch her legs yet. Instead, I drive from the lot and to the street out front, pulling to a stop in front of Sugar Rush.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper to no one.

  I should pull away and head home, but that’s not what I do. Pulling my keys from the ignition, I hop out of my car, two burgers in hand. I consider knocking on the back door, but I noticed it’s not lit the best back there and don’t want to scare her. With that in mind, I raise my hand and tap my fist on the glass entrance loud enough to catch her attention.

  It only takes a second for her to peek around the doorway between the kitchen and front room, a look of question on her beautiful face. I hold up my hand in greeting, and a smile quickly follows. Lyndee is hesitant but makes her way to the front door and releases the lock. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she greets, offering me a small grin, her delicate hand holding the handle.

  “Yeah, sorry about stopping by unannounced, but I saw the lights and I…” My words trail off, whatever thought I was about to say getting jumbled in my brain. All I see is the way the light reflects off her hair like a halo. Her brown eyes are bright, almost like chocolate embers of fire. And her face, there’s a smudge of flour across her cheek and nose I want to wipe off.

  With my tongue.

  She looks at me expectantly, waiting on me to pull my head out of my ass and finish my sentence. This is when I should definitely walk away. My mind is all over the damn place, just like it’s been since I found out who was opening this place one week ago today. Hand her the food and go. It’s the only way to save my sanity.

  But that’s not what happens. Words I shouldn’t say come out of my mouth.

  “I brought dinner. May I come in?”

  Chapter Ten

  Lyndee

  I step aside, allowing Jasper to slip by me. I catch a hint of his sandalwood scent mixed with grease and cheese, which surprisingly, I seem to like. Of course, the smell could also be coming from the Styrofoam containers in his hand, and considering the way my stomach responds noisily, I’d say it likes the aroma too.

  Jasper doesn’t call me on my blatant hunger, fortunately, just moves to the kitchen. “Where’s Dustin?”

  “He went home. Today was a long day for him, and he was tired.”

  “I made him a burger,” he adds, setting the two containers down on the end of the large island and pushing one in my direction.

  “He was cooking a frozen pizza when I left to come back here,” I tell him, not reaching for the food, even though it smells like absolute heaven.

  Jasper’s wide eyes meet mine. “Frozen pizza?” he shudders, making a big display of his disgust.

  I roll my eyes and pop open the lid of the container in front of me. “We can’t all be world-class chefs,” I tease, my mouth watering as I gaze at the fresh fries and gooey cheeseburger.

  Jasper snorts. “Uhh, we graduated from the same school, Lyn.”

  I wave him off, taking a fry and popping it into my mouth. “Yes, but we had our eyes set out on two different types of cooking. I’m a baker, and all that other stuff was just fluff. Your fries are amazing,” I state, sliding a second between my lips.

  “We cut them ourselves and it’s my own blend of seasonings,” he confirms, leaning a hip against the island, the smallest smile playing on his lips as he watches me eat. Usually, I’d be embarrassed to be the focus of someone’s scrutiny like this, but I know Jasper. He likes to watch you eat. He wants to witness every expression, every moment someone enjoys his food. And he’s just cocky enough to know they’ll enjoy it. Always has been, always will be.

  “You don’t make your own pizzas?” he asks, clearly unable to get past the quick Tombstone meal.

  I shrug. “I’ve made homemade before, but frozen wins hands down when you’re under a time crunch.”

  Jasper stares at me as I eat another fry. “I suppose I can understand that, but nothing beats homemade anything.”

  “You’re right,” I agree, picking up the burger and examining the toppings. “Is that avocado?”

  “It is. Try it before you knock it,” he instructs, watching me intently as I bring the burger to my mouth.

  “I’ve had avocado before,” I retort with a clip to my tongue. “I was just looking at what was on here.”

  He just smirks, as if he’s enjoying getting me all riled up. “Avocado, bacon, and mayo. Oh, and cheddar cheese.”

  My mouth waters, but to be honest, it would probably do that without knowing what was on the burger. I’m so darn hungry, chastising myself for not hanging around and stealing a slice or two of Dustin’s pizza. I take a tentative bite, enjoying the hell out of the savory explosion of bacon mixed with mayonnaise. “Wow, this is delicious,” I mumble with a mouth full.

  The smile he gives me spreads slow across his lips, my body reacting immediately. Heat floods my core, a sharp tingle between my legs, like I was shot with Cupid’s lust-tipped arrow. “Isn’t it?”

  I point to the other container, and as soon as I can get words out past the mangled meat and bun in my mouth, ask, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  Jasper snorts, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Classy lady,” he mocks, causing me to roll my eyes. “And I brought this for Dustin.”

  Once I swallow, I reply, “He’s already eaten. You might as well have it, so it doesn’t go to waste.”

  He seems a little uncertain, and maybe even a touch uncomfortable. “Oh, I wasn’t going to stay. Just dropping off food.”

  “Well, you don’t have to stay, I guess. You can take it with you, but something this good shouldn’t be wasted,” I state, wishing my heart wouldn’t beat a little harder at the thought of him leaving.

  “I don’t have to go,” he replies quickly, reaching for the food container and opening the lid. His mouth opens but doesn’t say anything. Instead, Jasper shovels a handful of fries into his mouth, as if they could keep him from saying whatever was on the tip of his tongue.

  We stand in silence, both eating our food and stealing glances of the other without getting caught. Of course, every time I look his way out of the corner of my eye, he busts me, and I can feel his occasional gaze on me like a caress.

  “So, tell me what you’ve been up to since college,” I finally say when my burger is almost halfway done.

  Jasper clears his throat. “Well, after graduation, I went to Cleveland and worked at a restaurant there. I started as a sous-chef for an abysmal man who barely knew the difference between braising and
broiling. On top of that, he smelled like meat, but not the kind he was preparing. It was like he rubbed it in his armpits every morning and forgot to shower.”

  My face must show how incredibly horrifying his words are, because he laughs when his eyes meet mine.

  “True story. I dealt with his incompetence and lack of personal hygiene for a couple of months before I had to do something. Renaldo’s had a ton of potential, but the customers just weren’t returning the way they should have been. The food was subpar and overpriced. I went to Renaldo one night and told him if he made me head chef, I’d double his profits by the end of the year, or he could fire me. He gave me six months to help turn around his restaurant, and if I did it, he’d rewrite my contract and include profit sharing. It was really a no-brainer for him.”

  “Cocky,” I blurt out, wiping a smear of mayo off my lip.

  He just gives me that arrogant grin. The one I know and expect to slide so effortlessly across his face. “You know it.”

  “And did it work?”

  “Three months. He doubled his profits in three months and had reservations booked up almost two months in advance.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing,” I reply, proud of a young Jasper to be able to walk into a kitchen and turn it around within such a short amount of time.

  He lifts a shoulder. “It was. I only stayed through the end of that year, though.”

  “You did?” I was surprised by this revelation. If Jasper was offered a new contract, including profit sharing, why on earth would he leave before he was able to take advantage of it?

  He nods. “Sure did. Believe it or not, some of the staff didn’t like me much. Several tried to overthrow me,” he replies with a chuckle.

  I try to cover my laugh with a cough, but he doesn’t buy it.

  “It’s okay, you can laugh. Their coup didn’t work. I would have stayed, making their lives miserable as long as possible, but I was offered another job just down the street. I helped Renaldo’s, and then turned around and worked for his biggest competitor,” he states matter-of-factly.

  “Really?” I ask, the food I’m chewing suddenly stuck in my throat.