by Dani McLean
LOVE & RUM
Book 1 of The Cocktail Series
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Copyright © 2021 by Dani McLean
First edition: July 2021
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Print ISBN: 978-0-6451624-1-7
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-6451624-0-0
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www.danimclean.com
Cover Design by Bailey Designs Books
Edited by Olivia Kalb Editing
Author photo by Rachael Munro Photography
Contents
Content Warning
1. Audrey
2. Audrey
3. Jackson
4. Jackson
5. Audrey
6. Audrey
7. Jackson
8. Jackson
9. Audrey
10. Jackson
11. Audrey
12. Jackson
13. Audrey
14. Jackson
15. Audrey
16. Audrey
17. Jackson
18. Audrey
19. Jackson
20. Jackson
21. Audrey
22. Jackson
23. Jackson
24. Audrey
25. Jackson
26. Jackson
27. Audrey
28. Audrey
29. Jackson
30. Audrey
31. Jackson
32. Audrey
33. Jackson
34. Audrey
35. Jackson
36. Audrey
37. Audrey
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Content Warning
This book contains strong language, sex/nudity, mild kink discussion, and references to past emotional abuse.
Tinder is brutal.
Wine is forever.
1
Audrey
I checked my messages as I entered the bar.
Nothing from Will yet, but I was early. Tiff would have scolded me for not being fashionably late, but I’d never been late to anything in thirty-one years, and I was hardly going to start now.
The bar was cute, or it might have been if I could have seen anything past my own hands. Tiff had said dim, but this was more like an 1820’s Victorian cellar. The low, two-seater tables flickered with the ambient light of a few battery-operated candles, and the best I could say about the rest of the decor was that it was black. Or looked black in the darkness.
As I waited, I fiddled with my phone. At least scrolling Instagram distracted me from being nervous. I cursed my dress choice as the hem rode up my thighs, and no amount of pulling would keep it in place. My legs looked amazing, though, so that was a plus.
I’d chosen a seat where I could watch the door and threw a glance in that direction whenever I thought Will might have arrived.
I was liking a photo of a pug in a onesie when movement caught my eye. I looked up in time to see a tall man in a dark leather jacket. Maybe it was the confidence that was emanating off him or how the jacket showed off his broad shoulders and strong biceps, but I found myself wishing that it was him I was waiting for.
I shivered as he approached, flattered and a little nervous.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” The darkness masked his face, but there was no disguising the suggestive tone in his voice.
“Is this where you tell me you can make my dreams come true?”
His voice was velvet smooth, amused by my skeptical response. “I thought we could start with a drink, but it really depends on the type of dreams you’ve been having. Do you often imagine yourself in an uptight bar surrounded by a dozen strangers?”
Damn, he was kind of funny. Ok.
“Sometimes. Usually, the lighting is better.”
His laugh was a shot of warmth in the dark.
There was no way to get a read on his features in this light, not while he was towering above me, but I still felt myself flush under his gaze.
Then, a body slid into the seat next to me. “So sorry I’m late. Traffic was crazy,” Will said, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
Strange, traffic had been pretty quiet for me, but I shrugged off his excuse. Hardly enough to be a red flag.
I turned back to where Mr. Tall and Sexy had been only to find he’d already left. Probably off to try that line on someone else. I hid my disappointment.
Will and I made small talk until a server arrived, and Will went ahead and ordered for the both of us. A protest stirred on my tongue, but I bit it back. He was hopefully trying to be chivalrous. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know that this was the exact kind of thing Brad used to do.
Talk for me. Speak over me.
The drinks arrived, followed swiftly by a few small plates, and I was pleased to find that the conversation flowed easier tonight than it had at coffee a few days ago.
So far, it was going much better than I had expected. He was the right amount of chatty and flirty. Cute, too. Shaved head, which wasn’t normally what I liked since I preferred something I could run my hands through, but it suited him.
After a drink and an amusing story about the time Will went on a road trip with his brother only to be stranded with a flat tire in the middle of nowhere for an afternoon, Will paid the bill, and we wandered out to the street, walking with no particular destination in mind.
It was a balmy night, the summer humidity clinging to my skin, typical for Chicago in July. But it was nice to be out enjoying the night air and the company.
As we rounded a second block, I’d begun to wonder what came next. Was he waiting for me to make a move?
Sure, we’d been flirting tonight, but I was so out of practice.
We continued along in silence before I bit the bullet. “Where do you want to go now?”
He shrugged. “I’m open. What do you want to do?”
Shit. Well, that backfired. “Uh, I could go for another drink. Did you want to find another bar or …?” I hated that I wanted him to make it easier on me. To take the next step so I could know where this was heading. It made me feel like Brad hadn’t left my system yet.
“My place is close. We can have a drink there. No pressure.”
I considered it. I was having a fun time and wasn’t ready to go home yet.
“That sounds nice.”
He led me up to his studio apartment. The tiny space was decorated so dully that I found it hard to believe it wasn’t a show home. Everything was white, from the walls to the cabinets to the couch. At first glance, there didn’t appear to be anything personal.
Finally, I spotted a series of six black and white photographs hanging in matching frames on one wall. One appeared to be a historical image of his building. “This is a cool picture. Where did you find it?”
“Oh, that just came with the apartment. Whole place came furnished when I moved in.” He handed me a glass of wine and sat on the far end of the couch, leaving me with a decision to make.
Based on how well the evening had gone so far, I felt good about taking a small leap of faith, and so I took the closest spot on the couch to Will, allowing our bodies to touch knee to hip. His arm came to rest naturally behind my shoulders.
Ok, t
his was good.
“So …” he said.
“So.”
“I’ve had a really good time tonight. Most of the people I’ve met through the app haven’t turned out so well.”
“Oh really? I only just joined recently, so I don’t have anything to compare to.”
A finger lightly traced a line on my shoulder, sparking goosebumps along my skin. He leant closer. “You know, I’m a bit surprised that you’re single, if I’m completely honest. What made you join the app?”
Oh, God, do I tell him? I didn’t want to lie. Firstly, because that’s no way to start a potential relationship, and who the hell knew where this would go? Secondly, I was terrible at it. I couldn’t maintain eye contact and ended up feeling sick.
Guess it was now or never. “Well, about a year ago, I got out of a long-term relationship that ended pretty badly. Only recently have I been ready to get out there again, so here I am.”
“How long were you together for?”
“Almost ten years. We met in college and moved in after we graduated.”
He looked shocked, and I couldn’t blame him. “Wow, that’s a long time. I’m surprised you didn’t get married.”
Immediately I broke eye contact, and his reaction was physical as he leaned back and moved his arm away from me. “Are you still together?”
Understanding what I’d accidentally suggested, I rushed to reassure him. “No! No, we … got divorced a year ago.” It didn’t seem to reassure him at all. Instead, he moved farther away, shifting on the couch even though there wasn’t enough space for it. The message was clear; this date had officially gone south.
“Who left who?” His voice was as distant and cold as the rest of him, and I found myself staring at my hands, now awkwardly twisted in my lap. Why would that even matter?
“He left me.”
One thing was for sure, I wasn’t interested in going over the details, and as Will stood up and crossed the room, it seemed he wasn’t either.
“You know, I’m actually pretty tired. Maybe you should …” Wow. Talk about getting the cold shoulder.
So, after gathering what was left of my self-esteem and my bag, I stood and walked out.
2
Audrey
As soon as his door closed behind me, I messaged Tiff. No way was I going home to wallow, and I knew she’d want the play-by-play.
I watched the three little dots confirming her reply before they stopped, and she called me. “Right, get your ass over here so we can rip him to shreds over cocktails and ice cream.”
I laughed out loud. Tiff was a tough love kind of woman, and I loved her all the more for it.
Fifteen minutes later, she was buzzing me up to her apartment, and when I walked in, she was already preparing a cocktail.
“Tiff, you’re off the clock; you don’t need to.” Even when she wasn’t working, she was playing bartender.
A stern look crossed Tiff’s angular face, her features as sharp as her tongue. “Fuck off. We’re celebrating.”
I dropped onto her couch. “Ok. What are we celebrating?”
“That I get the pleasure of your company instead of that loser.”
Tiffany poured an amber liquid into two short, thick tumblers that I knew from experience were as heavy as they looked and then added a fat, square ice cube to each. Honestly, I’d never met anyone more born for their job than Tiff. She was not only a fantastic mixologist, but she was a great listener with a directness I appreciated. Working in sales for so many years had given me a keen sense for bullshit, and Tiff was as blunt as they came. There was compassion beneath it, which she’d deny, but I knew her to be loyal and protective.
Her apartment wasn’t huge, a converted loft space with a single bedroom and exposed brick. But the open living and kitchen area was cozy, and Tiff had replaced the dining table with a bar cart and liquor cabinet. There was no real rhyme or reason to the decor, lots of brass and copper and bottles, and I knew her couch was scored second hand from an apartment block downtown. But it was comfortable and real, precisely like Tiff. No pretense, no time-wasting. There was nothing in her apartment that wasn’t functional. Tiff didn’t care for useless trinkets or having anything “just for show” as she said. During the summer, we’d sometimes visit the markets, and she’d spend at least seventy percent of the time complaining about every decorative piece I bought until she came across some antique cocktail shaker, and then she’d be in heaven.
She brought the drinks over and sat next to me on the couch. We mirrored each other with our feet tucked up, and our bodies turned towards each other. As she settled, a strand of her thick, long blonde hair fell into her face, and she brushed it back into position. She’d added a geometric design into the asymmetrical undercut on the left side of her head.
“Your hair looks good.”
“Thanks, I just did it today.” She traced over the lines, pleased. “The design took forever, but it turned out pretty great in the end.” Her glass clinked against mine. “Cheers.”
Rich, velvety bourbon spread through me as I took a sip. It was good. Really, really good. Familiar, but not. “Old fashioned?”
“Yep, with a spin. I swapped out the angostura and syrup with creme de cacao and peach bitters. I also tried that new bourbon you gave me.”
“The Grumpy Sailor?” The distillery was one of my clients and another reason Tiff and I got along so well. I provided the spirits; she crafted the drinks.
“That’s the one. It’s got a good flavor profile. I’m telling Harry tomorrow we’re adding it to the shelf.”
Harry owned The Basement but had done the smart thing and left the running of it to Tiff, who was a one-woman show. I mean, you don’t get crowned Chicago’s best bartender three years in a row for nothing.
Besides, Harry might have been good with numbers, but he knew shit about drinks. How he came to open a bar was anyone’s guess.
I took another sip, recognizing the flavors more clearly now. “It’s amazing. As is the company. Thank you for rescuing me from my date.”
She waved me off. “It’s the least I could do. So, what happened?”
“The divorce happened.” I grimaced.
“Brad still fucking things up for you even from the afterlife?”
“He’s not dead, Tiff.”
She gestured with her drink, voice firm as she spoke. “He’s dead to us.” After another sip, she asked, “So, he got weird about the divorce?”
“That’s putting it mildly. He went from sixty to zero as soon as I mentioned it.”
“What an ass.”
“I don’t know. He genuinely seemed like a nice guy before then. I just wish it didn’t matter. That I could be honest and not play any of these dating games.” My head dropped back against the couch. “It’s so exhausting.”
“Amen to that.”
“Maybe I should just keep being single. I don’t know if I have it in me to date.”
“Uh, excuse me, but fuck that. I could go to the bar right now and find at least five guys who would easily sleep with you. One idiot shouldn’t turn you off completely.” Her smile turned sly. “You know, it’s still early. You could see if someone’s up for a booty call.”
I laughed. “Okay, I’ve only just started getting out there again. I hardly think I’m ready to be double-dipping in a single night.”
“Please, you need to get laid, simple as that. And it wouldn’t even be that hard. Sex is easy. It’s relationships that are the problem.”
As long as I’d known her, Tiff hadn’t had a relationship last past a couple of weeks.
I hummed in agreement. “I’m not even thinking about a relationship right now. Work is crazy. It’s only been six months since we started, and David’s keen for me to launch the new MacMillan rum.” I wiped off a line of condensation from the glass. “Did you know it’ll be a year next week since the divorce?”
“I remembered.” She placed a warm hand on my knee. “How are you feeling?”
“Don’t be like that. It was one date.”
I scoffed, frustrated by how tonight had gone and my situation in general. “I might as well just buy shares in an adult toy store now. I’m pretty sure no man may touch me again.” Tiff barked out a laugh, and I continued. “Which is all I really want. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed? I mean, like, really made out. Let alone touched, and God, just forget about being fucked.”
I knocked back the last of my drink, then said, “It’s all I dream about.”
Tiff’s voice dripped with disdain. “After ten years with Brad, anyone would feel that way.”
I laughed, handing over my drink so she could top me up. “Oh, I’m talking beyond the typical repressed horniness of a sexless marriage. I feel like a teenager in heat half the time. I swear to God, Tiff, I saw a YouTube comment the other day about an actor’s long fingers, and my mind went straight into the gutter. I practically had to shut the computer down to stop myself from mentally accosting a man I’ve never met.” I covered my face in my hands as she chuckled.
Tiff bumped my hand with my now refilled drink, still laughing as she sat back down. “Stop being embarrassed. I think it’s great you’re exploring what you want. Now you just have to find a guy to give it to you.” She added a wink for good measure.