Tap That

by Jennifer Blackwood

  “They were pretty awesome, huh?” He smirks, clearly satisfied with his choices.

  “Always so cocky. But”—I wag a finger—“I’ve thought of improvements and additions.”

  “To?”

  “Your wine list. You’re seriously lacking in Syrahs.”

  His brows knit together, his eyes filling with hope. “Does that mean what I think you’re implying?”

  I take a deep breath. “You wanted a partnership? I’m ready for it.” With Reid, I’m ready for anything. “For the first time ever, I can see a future. With you. I don’t want to give that up.”

  “I don’t either.” The emotion in his blue eyes makes my heart overflow.

  “Reid, I love you. The way you can always make me laugh. Your weird obsession with butterscotch cookies. Although your grandma’s recipe is the shit. The way you drive me up the wall. I’d love nothing more than another chance with you...as business partners and as more.”

  He pulls me into a kiss. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He places his forehead against mine. “Then let's get started on making our menu.”

  34

  Reid/Callie

  Eighteen Months Later

  REID

  “Where did I put the wine key?” Callie’s frantic, craning her neck to search for it. Her panicked gaze locks on me. “Reid, I need my lucky wine key.”

  Amused, I step closer. Wrapping my fingers around her left wrist, I slowly raise her hand between us.

  To show her the wine key she’s had in her grasp all along.

  Her expression crumples, and she leans her forehead against my chest. “I can’t take this.” She whimpers. “I’m so nervous.”

  “Hey,” I whisper soothingly and cup her nape. When she raises her head, I wink. “I think someone needs a distraction.”

  She gives a little grunt before protesting. “Reid.” But I can already see a bit of the stress subside, the panic easing from her expression.

  “Rainbow.” I lean forward and drag my lips across hers. “Everything’s going to be perfect.” Softly, I nip at her bottom lip. “Now kiss me already.”

  Our mouths collide, and I slide my hands up to cradle her face. I don’t think I could ever tire of kissing this woman. Her free hand clutches my shirt while her tongue sweeps inside to toy with mine.

  “Break it up, you two.”

  At Grayson’s good-natured complaint, our lips part, and I bask in the sight of a slightly breathless Callie.

  “Hey,” I murmur softly.

  “Hey,” she mimics.

  “I love you.” As soon as I utter the words, her eyes take on a certain dreamy quality that I’ll never tire of seeing. The way my declaration visibly affects her is more than I could have imagined possible.

  “I love you back,” she replies softly.

  “Ready to do this?”

  She nods. “Ready.”

  Within seconds of unlocking the doors of Lovestruck, people start filing in. I’m not surprised to see Bert and his buddy, Clint, greet Callie and me. But when I catch sight of many other regulars from On Tap, I can’t help the surge of grateful pride that runs through me at their show of support. However, nothing could have prepared me for the appearance of two other individuals.

  Anxiety pulses through my veins at the sight of Callie’s parents walking through the door. If they plan to belittle their daughter—today of all days—they’ve got another thing coming.

  They step off to the side, scanning everything from the new hardwood floors to the simplistic yet inviting feel of our custom-made tables, which are a combination of old wooden wine barrels and freshly painted beer kegs. I wait for them to turn to one another and snicker, poking fun at our hard work, but I’m surprised to witness the blatant appreciation in their expressions.

  I stride over, intent on snagging them before they make it over to Callie, just to play it safe.

  Clara spots me first and discreetly nudges her husband. I reach out a hand in greeting.

  “Clara. Martin.” I nod and shake their hands. “If you’d like to grab a table, I’ll get you the wine list.”

  “We’d like that very much, Reid.” I’m floored by Clara’s response, and it must show on my face because she smiles. “After all, it would look poorly on us not to support our daughter and future son-in-law’s wonderful business.”

  “I appre—” I stop in my tracks, her words finally registering. I whip my head around to ensure Callie’s not within earshot and am grateful she’s busy chatting with new customers. Once I return my attention to them, Martin lays a hand on my shoulder.

  “We were far too hasty in our judgment of you, son, and did a lot of talking. We give our blessing to you and Callie.”

  My tension eases at his words. “Thank you, sir.” My initial visit with them, my attempt at doing the right thing in asking for their blessing, hadn’t gone well. It wasn’t entirely surprising, however, considering our rocky relationship. Yet I’d still sent them an email, inviting them to our grand opening.

  I’d also included the background story of why I chose our business name.

  Clara steps up and grasps my hand, giving it a quick squeeze before releasing it. “Callie’s come so far and much of that is because of you.”

  They walk away to find an available table, and I rest my eyes on the woman I plan to ask to marry me tonight. As if sensing attention on her, she glances over, notices her parents, and visibly falters. Her eyes meet mine, and immediately, her features transform and her smile radiates love.

  It’s a smile I hope to put on her face for years to come.

  It gives me hope that later tonight, after our successful grand opening is complete, she’ll give me that same smile.

  When she says yes.

  CALLIE

  Reid’s been acting strange, almost suspicious, the entire day. I’d chalk it up to the hectic but incredible day we’ve had, but I sense there’s more to it. He’s disappeared in the back even though I know our kitchen guy, Dante, has already finished up and left.

  I collapse into one of the comfy leather chairs and prop my feet in the other beside it. With a glance around the now-clean Lovestruck, I relish in the peaceful silence. Tipping my head back, I let my eyes fall closed with a sigh. “God, I’m exhausted,” I say with a low exhale.

  “Too tired for a little celebration?”

  Without opening my eyes, I smile tiredly at the sound of Reid’s husky voice. “Depends, really.” I sit up and turn to watch him approach with what appears to be a tray holding a medium-sized cake. He carefully slides it onto the table before bracing a hand on the back of my chair. He leans down to dust a soft kiss on my lips.

  “Mmm,” I murmur against his lips. Too soon, he pulls back, his eyes alight with mischief. I lean in to get a better view of the cake, and immediately, a smile forms on my face.

  The cake depicts our business name and logo, a wine barrel and keg, but there’s something else written at the bottom of the barrel. I peer closer and realize, made with fondant icing, they’ve included a bingo ball with “B-52, I love you” written on it. But that’s not what makes my breath catch in my throat. It’s what has been carefully inserted, just so, beneath that.

  A diamond ring.

  My eyes fly to Reid, who’s lowering himself to one knee. A myriad of emotions crosses his features—love and what appears to be apprehension.

  “I love you, Callie Anderson. Since you’ve come into my life”—he breaks off, a small smile tugging at his lips—“you’ve not only kept me on my toes, but also made me feel things I’ve never felt before.” He pauses and swallows hard, his expression sobering. “I’ve loved having you by my side, having you as my partner with Lovestruck. More so, I’d love to have you by my side forever.” He takes my hand in his firm, comforting grasp. “Will you marry me?”

  I watch him as a slow smile spreads across my face. I lean toward him, frame his face with my palms, and whisper against his lips. “Yes.”

  Reid’s smile is s
oon swallowed by my lips on his, but then he draws back, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He pulls the ring from the cake and slides it on my finger, icing and all. And I should know better than to think he doesn’t have a game plan.

  “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. And to make very good use of this frosting.” His eyes shine with affection and humor right before he slides his lips around the ring on my finger to suck off the icing clinging to it.

  Soon, the cake is long forgotten, and we are officially christening Lovestruck. It seems fitting. And the thought of what’s in store for the rest of my life doesn’t seem so daunting when I get to spend it with my best friend.

  I have a good feeling love will be on tap for years to come.

  Dear Reader

  If you would be so kind as to leave a review on the site where you purchased the book, it would be appreciated beyond words.

  If you email Jennifer (jenniferblackwoodauthor@gmail.com) -or- RC (rcboldtbooks@gmail.com) with the link to your review, we’ll send you a personal ‘thank you’!

  Please know we truly appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule to read Tap That! If you’d like to stay up to date on our future releases, you can sign up for our mailing list (we’re the most anti-SPAMMY people ever—promise!) via these links:

  Jennifer’s: http://eepurl.com/ZVfOX

  RC’s: http://eepurl.com/cgftw5.

  If you enjoyed Callie and Reid’s story in Tap That, be sure to check out our other books:

  Jennifer’s Standalones

  The Rule Book

  The Rule Maker

  Landing the Air Marshal

  Falling for the Fake Fiancé

  Unethical

  Foolproof

  RC’s Standalones

  Out of Love

  CLAM JAM

  Out of the Ashes

  BLUE BALLS

  He Loves Me…KNOT

  Stay Connected To Jennifer & RC

  Connect with Jennifer

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJenniferBlackwood/

  Website: http://jenniferblackwood.com/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/jen_blackwood

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jenblackwoodauthor/

  Facebook Readers Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1541291366201625/

  Connect with RC

  Facebook: https://goo.gl/iy2YzG

  Website: http://www.rcboldtbooks.com

  Twitter: https://goo.gl/cOs4hK

  Instagram: https://goo.gl/TdDrBb

  Facebook Readers Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/BBBReaders

  Excerpt from Jennifer Blackwood

  The Rule Book

  Starr Media Handbook

  Rule #37

  The following words are strictly prohibited when posting on social media:

  Damp

  Smear

  Pustule

  Secrete

  Fester

  Vomit

  Slurp

  Genitals

  Moist

  I stopped reading halfway down the list as my “I made it to my second day in my first big girl job” latte turned uneasily in my stomach. Why anyone would create a post using those words in the first place, well, it was beyond me. Definitely got the gist, though, and my client, Craig Willington, the supposed next George Straight (in about five years, give or take), would not be using moist to refer to his grandmother’s cornbread, or anything else for that matter. A shudder rippled under my skin just from seeing the words moist and genitals next to each other on the page.

  I slumped back in my ergonomic swivel chair that had most likely cost more than one-month’s rent in the city, and rocked back and forth, fanning the two-inch-thick Starr Media Employee Manual with my thumb. I’d only held a few jobs in college, mostly at minimum wage retail establishments to pay for my one-click and shoe addiction, but never had I encountered such a detailed list of rules. Brogan Starr ran this company on a tighter leash than the Pentagon during a national security threat.

  “Newbie. What’s your status on the manual?” Jackson, the first assistant to Mr. Starr and overall grinch of a person, rounded the corner of my desk and leaned a manicured hand on the stack of paperwork towering over my sad-looking outbox bin.

  “Almost done, only”—I glanced down at the manual—“forty more pages.” It had taken me all of yesterday afternoon and this morning to get this far. At this rate, I’d be done by the end of the work day. I was itching to get past all the logistical first-week training so that I could start what I was hired to do—work with social media accounts.

  Okay, so that would be more of a side job while I fetched coffee orders, made copies, and did everything else that came along with the job of Second Assistant, but there was an upside to my newly attained post-grad-school title. With an MBA and a focus on social media relations, I’d been given the opportunity to prove myself with a one-client caseload and eventually work my way up to marketing director. In a few years. If the stars aligned, and Venus was in retrograde.

  “Let’s take a quick tour. Before I go to lunch.” His voice held all the enthusiasm of someone waiting in line at the DMV.

  “Great. I can’t wait to meet everyone. I thought maybe we could do lunch at Luigi’s…” I trailed off as I took in Jackson’s expression.

  His eyebrows morphed into two cartoon-like squiggles that clearly said, oh honey, not happening. “First off, we will not ‘do lunch’ together. Ever. Second”—he tapped my Starr Media Employee Manual—“you must not have gotten to rule seven hundred thirty-eight.”

  Someone check the thermostat, because it just got chilly in here. I decided the safe thing to do was to ignore his jab and instead asked, “You know all the rules by heart?”

  “Just that one in particular. The Antichrist really outdid himself with that one.” Jackson sneered. In the past day and a half, he’d referred to our boss as “the Antichrist” more often than his actual surname. Said something about how it was the office nickname.

  Things I’d learned about Brogan Starr based off of my two-minute Wiki research (aka stalking) a few days before I started:

  1.He was the youngest CEO to start a Fortune 500 company

  2.He grew up in Bellevue, Washington

  3.He finished top of his class at MIT at the age of 20

  4.He had a very nice chin—pretty much the only feature visible in his profile picture with him wearing a Seahawks hat and Ray Bans.

  I had yet to meet the Mr. Starr, who had been holed up in his office all of yesterday and today, so I’d form my own opinions on the aptness of the Antichrist moniker whenever he decided to make an appearance in broad daylight.

  Confused at Jackson’s mention of the rule, I flipped through the employee manual until I reached the number he’d rattled off.

  Rule #738

  Employees must not, under any circumstances, store fish or any food items with garlic in the company refrigerator. Employees will refrain from consuming garlic items during work hours.

  I set the manual down and stared blankly at Jackson. Then back at the manual. Then back at Jackson, words unable to form in my state of duress.

  Dear God. This man was a monster. Shudder-worthy words were one thing, but garlic? Images of delicious breadsticks and savory pasta danced in my mind, taunting me. Guess that meant no afternoon jaunts to Luigi’s. Their garlic pizza was the best in the city, but definitely not worth losing my job over.

  Meeting Mr. Starr was no longer necessary to determine my fully formed opinion. The office nickname was well deserved.

  Excerpt from RC Boldt

  CLAM JAM

  My name is Maggie Finegan, and I’m the continuous victim of a clam jam. To answer your questions:

  No, I’m not Irish—I was adopted.

  And, yes, clam jamming is a thing.

  I’ll wait until that one sinks in. Taps toe of shoe quietly.

  Okay, ready? I’ll go on. It’s a pretty crazy story. It all started
one dark, stormy night—wait, don’t roll your eyes at me, people. Fine. So it might have been more of a typical Upstate New York overcast kind of day. I had left work early since my boss, whom I fondly referred to as Sybil, left work at lunchtime for a meeting in the city. I took advantage of him skipping out early, knowing that I could hurry home and clean up the apartment I shared with my fiancé, Shane, and set the mood to get lucky. Things had been a little off lately, with both of our work schedules usually residing in the “heinously hectic” realm, and I wanted to remedy this.

  Sliding my key in the lock of our apartment door, I stepped one heel over the threshold, and my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos slipped, sending me off balance. I barely caught myself as one hand flew out to brace against the entryway wall to steady myself. Prepared to take offense with whatever object had made me nearly land on my butt, the next moment happened in slow motion. You know what I’m talking about. Slooooow moooooooootion. Where a moment in your life is too freaking weird, crazy, or just all-around effed up, and your brain does some weird thing with the synapses, immediately slowing everything down. Like an out-of-body experience. That’s what I had going on. Because the offensive object that had me nearly falling on my butt was a pair of woman’s panties.

  Fact: Those panties weren’t mine.

  You know. In case you were wondering.