by Lexi Ryan
“You don’t have to make up some meeting just because you don’t want to talk to me,” I say.
He holds my gaze for a long beat, and I feel something. It’s not that desperate need to forget Marcus that I felt when John offered to buy me a drink. It’s something else—a long, slow tug that’s unraveling the knots in my belly and turning them into something better.
When he breaks the connection and drops his gaze to my glass of water, the feeling disappears, as if it was never there to begin with. “If he bugs you again, don’t hesitate to come over, okay?”
Don’t go. “Okay.” I extend a hand. “Nic. My name’s Nic. What’s yours?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry. I’ve got plans in fifteen minutes.”
I frown as he walks away. Just when I might have felt foolish, he looks at me over his shoulder and winks, and I get it. The mating ritual. “You’re funny!” I call after him.
“And you’re drunk.” He grins, and holy hell, the Greek god with the sad eyes and the broad shoulders has a dimple. I’m such a sucker for a dimple.
My smile falls away. Marcus has a dimple too. I thought I’d see that dimple tonight. I imagined stripping out of my wedding gown and watching him smile in appreciation of my body. I’ve been dieting and exercising for months so I could look my best on our special night. All the while, he was fucking my sister.
I’m gonna need more tequila.
Ethan
I cannot take my eyes off the woman at the bar.
She’s not my type—more cuteness than sex appeal with that pert nose and innocent brown eyes. She has an air of innocence. Sweetness. Even her name is cute. Nic. Not Nicole or Nicki-with-an-i. Nic.
She’s probably the kind of woman who’s had the same boyfriend since she was sixteen and has already named her future children. Girls like that should be handled with care. Wooed, sweet-talked, seduced.
Definitely not my fucking type.
But there’s something off about her. She’s dressed casually enough in a jean skirt and a flannel, but her light brown hair is stiff with hairspray and pinned to the back of her head in one of those ’dos girls get for proms or weddings. At the beginning of the night, her pink lips puckered into a pout and there was misery in her eyes, but her sadness fell away more and more with every drink.
Maybe that’s why I can’t keep my eyes off her. Despite all signs pointing to her being too sweet for me, I’m a miserable son of a bitch who’s drawn to the sadness beneath her smile.
“Are you going to chime in with your opinion, or should I leave you alone so you can eye-fuck the new chick in private?” my brother Brayden asks.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jake tells Brayden. “Eye-fucking is the most action he’s gotten in years.”
“Did you see him with her?” Carter asks. “He was smiling. Ethan was smiling.”
Reluctantly, I tear my gaze off the woman in question and find every pair of eyes at the table on me. Brayden is irritated, but Carter and Jake are wearing identical smirks. If Shay and Levi were here, they’d be smirking too, but luckily, I only have to deal with three of my five siblings tonight.
“It’s not healthy,” Carter says. “That shit gets backed up and starts messing with a man’s mind. Let the boy look.”
I shoot my brothers a warning glance. They respect that my love life is off-limits as a topic of conversation, but they view my sex life as something else entirely. Which is fair, I suppose, since I have no intention of having a love life ever again.
“She keeps looking over here,” Jake says.
Brayden groans and drags a hand through his hair. “Why do I even bother?”
“You’re the one who suggested we have the meeting in my bar on the busiest night of the week,” Jake says. “Did you think we were going to have the privacy of the boardroom?”
“Maybe I chose this location because I knew it was one that would make your ass show up,” Brayden shoots back.
Jake just shrugs. He’s not offended—probably because it’s true.
I shift my eyes back to the stack of papers in front of Brayden. When Dad died, he left his business to all six of us in equal parts, so even though Brayden’s the one who runs the business side of the family brewery, he insists we be part of the decisions and the quarterly P and L review. He set this meeting months ago, but Shay and Levi had last-minute excuses and couldn’t make it. Lucky schmucks.
Nic turns away from the bar and catches my eye again—not hard for her to do, since I can’t stop looking in her direction. Her cheeks turn a pretty pink before she looks back to her drink.
“Is she from around here?” Carter asks, following my gaze.
I shrug because I have no idea, but if I had to guess, based on her heavy vowels and sexy Southern drawl, I’d say no.
“I haven’t ever seen her before,” Jake says. Since he runs Jackson Brews—the face of the family business—and spends his fair share of time behind that bar, he has a better grasp of the population of Jackson Harbor than the rest of us.
I rake my gaze over Nic, searching for something that seems familiar. I’m sure I’ve never seen her before tonight, and maybe that’s part of the appeal. In Jackson Harbor, the only faces that aren’t familiar belong to the tourists. They fill our streets and beaches in the warmer months of the year, but once November rolls around and the wind off Lake Michigan turns unforgiving, everyone here is too familiar. Day in and day out, it’s the same pitying glances and judgmental stares.
I should have left years ago, but instead, I endure their whispers as if I don’t have to live with my own doubts every fucking day of my life.
Maybe it’s freeing to meet someone new with winter creeping over the town and the tourists gone. Maybe I like having a woman who isn’t thinking about my past notice me.
“Would you just go talk to her?” Jake asks. “I’m getting a case of secondhand blue balls just watching you two look at each other.”
“Jesus.” Brayden gives up on us and jams his stack of papers back into a manila folder. “Clearly, we’re not going to talk business tonight, so look over the reports I sent you and let me know if you have any questions.”
“See what I mean? This could have been an email,” Carter says. “Every fucking meeting—could have been an email.”
“I don’t know why you think we need to look over the books every quarter,” Jake says. “It’s not like we don’t trust you. And hell, if you ran this company into the ground, you’d be fucking yourself over more than us.”
Brayden grunts in response, and I don’t chime in, but Jake’s right. The family business has become Brayden’s whole life. Between distribution contracts, packaging, and marketing, he’s constantly trying to grow and expand what our father started. He works more and harder than anyone else I know, and I work a fucking lot.
A few of us offered to sell our shares to Brayden, but Mom wouldn’t hear of it. She says the business will hold us together when everything else falls apart. I’m pretty sure there are a thousand family-business-gone-bad cautionary tales out there that would argue otherwise, but it doesn’t matter. Everyone wants to make Mom happy. Present company included.
Brayden looks at me. “Your hornball brother is right. If you’re interested in the hot chick, you should go talk to her.” He takes a breath, and when he speaks again, his tone is uncharacteristically gentle. “It’s been almost three years.”
“I’m not talking to anybody.” But I want to. My stomach tightens with guilt and shame at that. “She’s not my type anyway.”
And yet I’m sitting here wondering if those smiling pink lips taste as sweet as they look, wondering how it would feel to have them wrapped around my cock while my hands are buried in her hair. In other words, I’m being a fucking creep.
She’s too sweet. Stay. Away.
Brayden smacks a hand on the manila folder in front of him and nods. “Shall we call this meeting to a close, boys?”
“Let’s,” Jake says. “This place is packed tonight,
and Ava’s gonna kill me if I don’t get back there to help real soon.”
They all stand, but when I keep my ass in the booth and my gaze on Nic, Jake nods at me. “Life’s too short, brother. Eat the steak, drink the beer, fuck the girl.”
“You should have that embroidered on a pillow,” Brayden mutters.
“Ethan doesn’t know how to fuck anymore,” Carter says. “It’s been so long, his dick’s probably fallen off.”
“Have you seen the way he looks at her?” Jake points a thumb at me. “That’s not the face of a dickless man checking out a woman.”
“Fuck off, all of you,” I say, but there’s no conviction in my voice.
My brothers are the types who can spot a girl in a bar, decide she’s theirs, and make it happen. I’ve never been like that. When they were living out their glory years picking up chicks and probably playing fast and loose with some STDs, I was madly in love with Elena and proposing marriage. My wife was the only one for me. She was my high school sweetheart, my first love, and my rock through med school. We lost our virginity to each other. We shared all the most important firsts.
My brothers are wrong about how long it’s been for me. I haven’t been celibate, but the sex I have had has been rare, secret, and too often disappointing. I’m not interested in a relationship—fuck no, never again—but the feel of a woman’s body under mine, greedy hands, skin on skin . . . It’s been too long. In the three years since Elena died, I’ve only seen women who wanted what I wanted—sex, companionship, no strings, no expectations. Contrary to stereotypes, there are plenty of women who aren’t looking for love or picket fences, but I can’t imagine the sweet thing at the bar would be down for such an arrangement.
I wave to Cindy, our waitress, and tap my coffee cup, signaling that I’d like a refill. She winks at me and heads to the bar. I lean back in my booth, trying to decide what the fuck I’m doing and why I’m still sitting here.
Nic watches as Brayden and Carter go out the door and Jake returns to his post behind the bar. Then her gaze settles on me and she bites her lip. I don’t know if she’s trying to be sexy or if she’s just accidentally irresistible. Either way, it’s working. Her teeth sink into her plump bottom lip, and the sight makes something shift in my chest. My mind flashes with an image of her doing that in a very different context—more pleasure, less uncertainty.
She might not be my type, but the chemistry between us is so potent that I can feel it across the crowded bar.
“No bourbon tonight?” Cindy asks, refilling my mug.
“I’m on call.”
She nods, familiar with my crazy schedule. “Well, it’s too bad you can’t have a little liquid courage because Jake told me to tell you that if you don’t go talk to her, he’s going to slip her a note like he did with Teresa Remington in the seventh grade.”
Huffing, I shake my head. I remember that. I was so hung up on the tiny blond cheerleader that I got tongue-tied every time I tried to talk to her. Eventually, Jake took pity on me and slipped a note in her locker. Do you like Ethan Jackson? Y / N Circle one.
Teresa gave me the note back in earth science, her cheeks bright red, the Y circled with a little smiley face above it. It turned out that Teresa and I didn’t have much in common, but the skills she taught me under the bleachers served me well into my high school years.
Our note-writing days might be behind us, but I wouldn’t put it past Jake to do something to hook Nic and me up. I grab my coffee and make my way to the new girl before Jake can play matchmaker and give her the wrong idea of what I’m after. A sweet thing like her is going to have expectations, and nothing can happen between us if we’re not on the same page.
The stools on either side of Nic are occupied, so I slide between her and the girl beside her and lean against the bar.
Nic’s eyes widen, as if she’s surprised I came over here despite the fact that I’ve spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes staring at her. “Um, hi?” she says.
I rub the back of my neck. Hell, I guess I am rusty. I could have sworn she was just waiting for me to make my move. “You doing okay?” I clear my throat—full-throttle awkward now—and catch Jake watching me with a smirk on the opposite side of the bar. He turns away, but not before I see his chest shaking with laughter. He busies himself filling orders and cleaning up behind the bar, all while staying within earshot. That fucker is witnessing my complete and utter lack of game.
“I thought you were having a meeting over there,” Nic says. “What happened? The guy with all the papers looked pretty serious.”
I shrug. “Family business. Nothing exciting.” I look at her water and the empty shot glass beside it. “What are you drinking? Can I get you another?”
“Tequila. But . . .” She shakes her head and lowers her voice. “I don’t think the bartender chick likes me.”
“Ava,” I call, waving to Jake’s bartender and best friend. I point to Nic’s empty shot glass. “Thanks.”
Ava rolls her eyes but reaches for a clean shot glass.
“Do you know everyone around here?” Nic asks as Ava turns away.
“Pretty much. That’s how a town like this functions. Everyone knows everyone. And their business.”
She draws in a shaky breath. “Sounds familiar. They know your business and talk about it like it’s their own personal soap opera.” She wrinkles her nose. “That sounded bitter and dramatic.”
I chuckle. “You said you’re new to town. Are you visiting or moving in?”
“Visiting. I think.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I thought it was temporary, but now that I’m here, I’m thinking why not stay forever? I’m certainly not in any rush to go back where I came from.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Why’s that?”
She flashes a grin that’s so wide it should take over her whole face, but it doesn’t. That sadness is back at the corners of her eyes. “I need a fresh start.”
“A fresh start? How old are you?” Please be older than I think.
“Twenty-four.”
I’m simultaneously relieved and disappointed. At least at twenty-four she’s not some college kid, but she’s still nine years younger than me. I suppose she’s old enough, but I’ve lived a lifetime in the nine years between us—all the best and worst years that made me who I am today. But instead of finding a way to politely excuse myself, I study her and sip my coffee. “What makes a twenty-four-year-old think she needs a fresh start?”
She shrugs. “I like the idea of living somewhere where people don’t know my business, and why not here? Big water, nice people—what’s not to like?”
“Nice people, huh?” Cynicism colors my words.
“Y’all seem nice.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Aren’t you?”
“It’s just like any other place. Some people are genuine and kind. Some are assholes.”
“Sounds about right.” She tilts her head to the side. “Which are you?”
“Oh, I’m definitely an asshole.”
“Yeah, right.” She laughs as if this is the funniest joke she’s ever heard, but I was being absolutely serious. “Thanks for what you did earlier. With John. That conversation was getting all kinds of awkward.”
“It was nothing. John’s a prick. He doesn’t understand that women don’t exist to get him off.”
“Yeah.” Something flashes over her face that tells me guys like John are a fact of life she’s uncomfortably familiar with. “Still embarrassing to find myself in that position.”
“Give yourself some credit. John’s pretty slimy, and a lot of girls don’t realize that until, well, later than they’d like.”
“Unless you’re there to save the day.” She smiles. “I don’t normally do the damsel-in-distress thing. I don’t want you thinking I’m helpless or anything.”
“I knew you could handle him. Actually, it was more a favor to John’s balls than it was to you.”
Her laugh comes out so sharply that she
sort of giggle-snorts. It’s pretty fucking adorable. Just like the rest of her. “Yeah, that’s definitely the direction we were headed. A knee to the balls usually gets the message across.”
“You have to do that a lot?”
“No!” She shakes her head and laughs. “Not at all! I’m a pacifist.”
Ava comes back with Nic’s tequila. She plops it in front of Nic and scowls at me. “If she pukes on your shoes, don’t come crying to me.”
I frown and reassess Nic. “How drunk are you?”
“I’m working on forget everything drunk. Not there yet, unfortunately.” She reaches into her purse. “Let me settle up.”
I look at Ava and shake my head. “I’ll take care of her tab.”
“Not tonight,” Ava says. “The boss said she’s drinking for free.”
Jake winks at us, and Nic’s brow wrinkles in confusion.
“That’s Jake. He’s my brother and he runs this place,” I explain. Damn Jake. Now it just feels weird, as if we’re working together to get the girl drunk. “Perks of hanging out with me, I guess.”
“Oh.” Nic gives Ava a bright smile. “Well then, tell your boss I said thank you.” Ava walks away, and Nic lifts her shot glass and looks at me. “To friends in high places.” She drains her shot and puckers her lips. “Yikes!” She shudders delicately. “It burns a little less each time, but it never tastes better.”
“If you don’t like tequila, why do you drink it?”
“Oh, I usually don’t drink. At least not very often, but when I do drink, I like beer because it slows me down and it’s fun to taste all the different varieties. There are a couple of breweries where I grew up that—” She winces. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”
But I like it. I like the way she waves her hands around when she talks and the way she seems to communicate with her whole body, swaying into her sentences. Of course, that might have more to do with the amount of alcohol she’s consumed than with her personality. “Don’t apologize. It’s great. Half the folks in Jackson Harbor fancy themselves beer artisans, so there are plenty of craft breweries around here. It’ll be good for someone like you.”