Brew Ha Ha Box Set: Books 1-4

by Bria Quinlan

  “I can see this worries you. Some people love the idea. I have an aunt who has to be the most boring person on the planet and yet she’s always calling me to tell me something she thought was super funny to put in a book.”

  “I’m kind of boring.” Or, I would be after this.

  “No, you’re really not. And you’re the best kind of not boring. You don’t go out looking for adventures. They just kind of fall in your lap.”

  “Yeah, this unemployed-slash-single-slash-homeless thing is working out really awesome.” Note the sarcasm.

  “What are you talking about? You got rid of a corporate noose. Dropped a guy you shouldn’t have wasted time on. You’re living in a gorgeous walk-up in one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in the country. Seriously, if I’d known Ben was just going to rent it out cheap, I would have told him I was homeless a month ago. Now you’re running your own business and you’re obviously talented. This month rocks.” She glanced away and raised her mug to her lips. “Plus, you’ve got Mr. Law and Order on the string.”

  “I do not—You know what? Believe what you want. I’m too sore to argue about anything.”

  “How about this, I’ll ask permission to use anything you say and we’ll go case by case.”

  Did my life get weirder this week? I mean, before I just went to work, went home, had dinner, hung out with Jason, repeat. This was weird, right? Having people steal my name and my experiences to put in books and living in someone else’s home? Not to mention I just went to the gym.

  Going to the gym might be the weirdest part, come to think about it.

  “Okay. Case by case.”

  “Excellent.” Hailey pulled a tiny notebook out of her bag. “I would officially like to put in a request to at some time use the break-up story including the post break-up tire situation in a story. Granted?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  She scribbled in the notebook and dated it before drawing a little line under it. “Initial here, please.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. And you can’t give this story to Jenna now. I have dibs.”

  “My life is so not that interesting.”

  “You may be my new muse.” She collapsed back in her chair as I made a show of initialing the page. “Best. Day. Ever.”

  My new friends were crazy.

  21

  Stranded. So close and yet so far.

  I closed my eyes and rested them against the lovely wrought iron work of the stoop’s banister.

  “Kasey?”

  Oh, so not what I needed.

  I glanced up to see Max standing there, looking annoyingly fit and not at all sore. I tried to ignore the little blue running shorts and white t-shirt with the words Police Academy sweat plastered across his annoyingly perfect chest.

  “Max. Hey. What’s up?”

  “Just went for a run.” He glanced down at the rolly cart with my groceries in it. “You?”

  “Oh, you know.”

  “No. Not really.” He glanced down at my groceries again and then studied my face. “Okay, bruiser. Where’d you get the black eye?”

  He squatted down in front of me, turning my head with a soft touch to my chin to look at my bruise. He must have been really worried, because he wasn’t inscrutable today.

  “Oh, you know.”

  “Again, not really.”

  “Well, I went to the gym—”

  “All I need to know is if I have to arrest someone or beat the crap out of them.”

  Well, that was oddly sweet.

  “Not unless you have something against treadmills.”

  Max looked at me like I was insane—which he was probably building a pretty good case for at this point. Instead of having me institutionalized, he just shook his head and stood back up.

  He glanced down at my cart. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Just enjoying the air.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “And, that ice cream I see sitting on top of your groceries…It’s just catching some rays?”

  I really had nothing to say to that. It was two days after I’d made the fatal error of going to the gym with Hailey and I think my body was boycotting life to pay me back. The first morning I’d been sore, but this morning I’d woken and barely been able to sit up to get out of bed.

  Worst. Day. Ever.

  I’d remembered what she’d said about walking. Maybe it would make me feel better. Only, now, with my groceries sitting at my feet, I couldn’t get up the three-and-a-half flights of stairs to my apartment, let alone pick up four bags of groceries. My legs were being very clear that added weight would be rejected and my arms were letting them know that it didn’t matter because they couldn’t pick up a dead leaf let alone a gallon of milk.

  Max looked me over and may have almost smiled. I think.

  “A little sore?”

  Knowing Max, there was no way out of this. I might as well just admit it.

  “More than a little.”

  “Why don’t I take those up for you?”

  If I’d been able to move, I might have actually thrown my arms around him in gratitude.

  See? One good thing about this inability to make my limbs move: No stupid moves, either.

  “That would be great.” I handed him my keys and he used it as an opportunity to pull me to my feet before carrying the rolly cart from the sidewalk up to the front door. By the time I got there, he was holding the door open with the cart inside.

  He picked the full cart up as if it weighed nothing and headed up the stairs at a brisk pace.

  I remembered fondly the days when my body knew what a brisk pace was.

  I listened to his footsteps pound their way up and then the snick of my door falling shut with a soft bang, then his steps coming back down the three flights of stairs. By that time, I hadn’t even made it to the mid-way landing to the first floor.

  He stood at the top, hands on his hips, looking like a clean cut, gym gladiator, judging me from the top of Mount Perfect Conditioning.

  “This isn’t going to work.” He strode down the stairs to where I was, looking as determined as he always did. Then walked past me and turned around.

  Dear Lord, please don’t let him think pushing me up the stairs by my butt was a good idea. Not only had it become painfully—literally—obvious that my butt was not all I had hoped it was, but that was really going to hurt.

  “Turn around.” Ah, Max in his gentle way of making requests.

  I turned around, having no idea what he had planned. He stepped up one more step, shoved his shoulder into my squishy midsection, and hefted me over his shoulder.

  Then started climbing the first flight as if I were a very light sack of potatoes.

  “Max,” I gasped out his name, trying to catch a breath as I adjusted to let my lungs move. “Put me down.”

  “I’d rather not leave you sitting on a flight of stairs and wondering if you made it home tonight.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Nope. Worked a double yesterday.”

  “A date or something?”

  “No date.”

  “It’s a good night to call your mother.”

  “Speak with her every Sunday.”

  Of course he did. He probably had a checklist on his fridge. Things Every Annoyingly Good Guy Should Do.

  We turned past the landing on the second floor. At this point, I was just counting the steps ‘til my gut was no longer used as a pivot point. He’d kicked my door open before walking me over to the small kitchen island and putting me down next to one of the stools.

  “Sit.”

  “Woof.”

  Max turned and gave me a look like I was speaking a different language. As if I really could speak Dog. I rolled my eyes because he brought out my inner teenager.

  “Have a seat in your own home and make yourself comfortable, Kasey, would have been a slightly more reasonable way to boss me around.”


  He ran his hand through his wind-messed hair and gave it a tug.

  “Kasey, if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, I’ll put your ice cream away before it melts.”

  “I can put my own groceries away.”

  “Sit.”

  Well, the polite thing lasted about four seconds longer than I’d expected it to.

  And yet, I sat. I was too tired for this. The sooner he put my groceries away, the sooner he’d be gone, and the sooner I could sink into my incredibly small, old building bathtub.

  The first thing he did was put the ice cream and milk away, then he went to the sink, filled a glass with water and started opening and closing drawers. One drawer after another.

  “Where’s your ibuprofen?”

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Stay.”

  I almost made the woof joke again, but I doubted it would have gone any better.

  He came back and set the glass and pills in front of me before going back to unloading my grocery rolly cart. Soon a banana was placed before me.

  “Potassium.”

  “Yellow.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I thought we were naming obvious characteristics of things.”

  “No. Bananas have potassium which is good for the muscle soreness.”

  “Oh.”

  I was tempted to wait and see if the next command would be eat, but figured I was going to do it anyway so why give him the opportunity to be bossy.

  “Thanks.”

  “You need me to peel that for you, Wonder Woman?”

  “No. I think I’ve got it.”

  I bit in, watching him wander around my kitchen, more at home in it than I was yet. Before I knew what he was doing, he’d pulled out my cutting board.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making stir fry.”

  Stir fry? I had stuff to make stir fry with? What was even in stir fry?

  “Don’t you have your own kitchen?”

  “Yes. But if I go make stir fry there, it will be cold by the time I get back.”

  “Max, you can’t just come into someone’s house and start cooking.”

  “If I leave, what are you going to do?”

  “Take a hot bath and then lie on my couch while wishing to die.”

  “Exactly. Why don’t you go take a hot bath, then come out and eat stir fry? Then you can lie on your couch watching the new X-Men movie and wishing to die.”

  “I don’t have the new X-Men movie.”

  “Yes, but I do. So you’re all set.” He turned back to the countertop and pulled out a skillet, obviously dismissing me in my own home.

  Well, fine. If he wanted to play butler, I was going to go take a bath. It would serve him right. Cooking in some strange woman’s house while she soaked in the tub. I locked the door behind me and turned the water on, looking for that perfect bubble bath heat level.

  A rap-rap-rap sounded on the door. Seriously, my apartment was too small for him.

  “Don’t forget Epsom salt if you have any.”

  “I’m pretending you’re not here!”

  “Fine. Pretend I’m not here in Epsom salt.”

  “Fine.” I mocked under my breath. “Pretend I’m not here.”

  “What?” His voice was farther away, probably in the kitchen.

  “Nothing.”

  I started peeling off clothing and realized I was about to get naked with a man in my apartment. Yes, he was locked out of the room, but still. I hadn’t gotten naked with anyone but Jason in years. Not that I would have been a random-naked-getter, but still.

  It took me longer to pull my t-shirt off than I wanted. I would have liked to blame it on the guy in the next room making me nervous, but it was more that I couldn’t lift my arms over my head.

  Stupid arms.

  Footsteps to the door. Pause. Rap-rap-rap.

  “Kasey, I’ll be right back.”

  “Yeah. Take your time.”

  The footsteps headed away and then the soft fall of the door echoed down the non-existent hall to me.

  I settled into my bath with Epsom salt and tried to figure Max out. I’d never met anyone as bossy as him. Even Jason paled by comparison. Max with his, sit-stay routine was getting old. But, his direct approach at least lacked the manipulation Jason’s control always had.

  I was never a bath person, so after five minutes I was already bored and wondering what someone does sitting in tepid water waiting for it to get cold. Maybe if I’d brought a book in with me. I’d ordered Jenna and Hailey’s first two books and was trying to figure out which one to start with, but unless I wrapped my phone in a Ziploc bag, there was no way I’d trust myself with it around water.

  As boredom turned to mind-numbing boredom I got out of the tub and headed to my room before Max could get back. I thought about putting on something cute, but figured that it was his fault he was here. I was too sore to try to look nice and the last thing I needed was a man, so I grabbed my yoga pants and a Sox baby tee.

  Oddly, I actually owned a yoga mat. I’d won it at the company picnic. It was soft and cushy and didn’t let the ground’s dampness soak through. This was what yoga mats were really invented for. I rolled it out in the living room and tried to work out some of my muscles. If I couldn’t get in and out of my apartment on my own, I was afraid Max would keep stopping by to carry me around.

  Just as I lay flat and stretched my arms up over my head, feeling my entire body expand, there came a knock at my door. Hopefully he was smart enough to have brought my keys.

  “Come in?”

  The door opened and Max came in carrying a grocery bag. He stopped just inside the door.

  “Are you stuck?”

  “No. I’m stretching.”

  He just stared at me, flat out on my floor.

  “Are you sure?”

  It took me a moment to realize this was a real question.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’m stretching.”

  “I thought you didn’t stretch.”

  “Well, there’s a day for everything. Obviously, I need to take better care of my body if you people are going to keep trying to kill it.”

  “Who else has tried to kill your body?”

  “Some guy grabbed me and nearly had me vomit all over him running up three flights of stairs with my gut shoved into his shoulder.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned, that darn dimple peeking out, and headed toward the kitchen. Laying the grocery bag down, he started pulling food out of my fridge. Apparently he’d already rinsed stuff since it was all collected in a colander on a plate. Then tossed a DVD across the room onto the couch and got back to work.

  I decided I would be forgiving and let him do whatever he wanted to in my kitchen. I was magnanimous that way. Rolling onto my side, I managed to get on my knees and push myself up using the coffee table.

  “Need a hand?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Max, leaning against my counter with his arms crossed looking a bit smug.

  “No. I’m good.” I braced myself on the coffee table and used my arms and legs to get up. Slowly.

  “Sure?”

  “Yup. All set.”

  After the longest twenty seconds of my life, I was upright and ready to hobble across the room where I then had to lower myself onto a stool. None of that was comfortable or easy. A new appreciation for people with walkers imprinted itself on my soul.

  He set all his ingredients out in a straight row, organized and in some Max pre-approved order, and began chopping peppers. It gave me a moment to study him, and I finally noticed through the haze of receding pain that he’d changed and his hair was damp.

  “Did you shower?”

  “Yup.”

  “That fast?”

  “Yup.”

  “Shut up, Max. You’re talking my ear off.”

  He grinned.

  I ignore the dimple.

  “I figured I’d start to stink eventually if I didn’t. I did nine miles befor
e carrying a sack of potatoes up three flights of stairs.”

  “Nine miles? What’s with you people?” Maybe it was a cop thing with him. “Is it for your job?”

  He shook his head and turned around to start the stove.

  “I do feel more confident in my job if I’m fit, but I just like taking care of my body.”

  Without my permission my eyes took in that very fit body, drifting down his shoulders to his butt.

  “Is there something on my ass?” Max asked, his gaze tracking mine from over his shoulder.

  Um, jeans? Very perfectly fitting jeans.

  “I thought so.” I cleared my throat, hoping I’d stop squeaking. “But maybe it was just the light.”

  Max looked up at the recessed lighting and that darn dimple snuck out. “Yeah, crazy light in here.”

  “So, nine miles. That’s not something you do every day, is it?”

  “Nope. Just when I have a day off. I only do two miles each morning when I get up for work.”

  “That’s a sickness.”

  He laughed outright and it took me by surprise, the gut deep, rough sound of it.

  “Yeah. I tried to get help. No one seemed to be able to break me of my don’t get fat, stay healthy addiction. Real shame.”

  Well, when he put it like that I began to wonder what he and Hailey thought of me and my inability to do one day at the gym.

  “Shawn was horrible.”

  “Shawn?”

  “The trainer guy.”

  “Oh.” He turned back and started dicing chicken. “He was a jerk?”

  “Um, no. He was just…” With my luck, Shawn was Max’s trainer, too.

  “Tough?”

  “He made me run on a treadmill.”

  “Did you tell him you weren’t a runner?”

  “Um, so yeah. He told me to walk. But there were all these buttons.” I waved a hand dismissively, as if the buttons couldn’t be explained in the normal world.

  “So, you just kept pressing buttons.”

  “Well, I mean, it’s walking. I walk every day.”

  “Today being the exception.”

  “I walked today.”

  “Okay, today being the exception of you walking well.” He winked at me and I tried to be annoyed with him, but it was slightly absurd. “So, you ran on a treadmill and that’s why you’re so sore?”