The doorbell rings and I nearly shriek in surprise. Geez. Talk about getting caught up in your thoughts. I hurry toward the door in my stocking feet. I slip and slide on my gleaming wooden floors as I move. All of a sudden, my back leg catches on something and gets stuck in place while my front leg continues moving forward. My legs slide in opposite directions until I’m doing the splits. Spoiler alert – I can’t do the splits.
“Ow!” I shout.
“Are you okay? I’m coming in!” Grayson rushes in but freezes when he sees me on the floor. “What happened?”
“I tried to do the splits?”
He sets the pizza box he’s carrying on the side table before reaching forward and helping me to my feet. A current of electricity zings through my hand and up my arm when he touches me. I yank my hand away before I start to pant after the guy. Not for us, remember!
“You are literally the klutziest person I know.” Grayson chuckles.
“I can’t help it that you don’t know very many people.” I gesture to the pizza box. “You brought dinner? You’re helping me. I’m supposed to buy dinner.”
“It’s no biggie.”
He’s wrong. The pizza is huge. “Are you expecting a family to join us?”
He grins. “I’m a big guy, and I’m hungry.”
He had to say he’s a big guy, didn’t he? Now, my eyes are roving of their own accord over his body. In addition to his broad shoulders, his chest strains against the confines of the sweater he’s wearing. The arms of the sweater aren’t faring much better.
But he’s not like one of those chicken-shaped body lifters. You know the ones I’m talking about – all upper body muscle and freakishly skinny legs. Nope. His thighs fill out his Levi’s very nicely. What is wrong with me? I’m finding thighs sexy now?
I walk to the kitchen in search of cooler air devoid of sexy men. “Sorry, but no pizza in my brew shack. Cleanliness is holy in the brew making business.”
He chuckles. “I knew you’d be a slave driver.”
I’m not going to lie. I’m a total slave driver. “Whatever.” I hand him plates and napkins.
We settle at the table and dig into our pizza. Meat lovers, my favorite!
“You’re quiet tonight,” I say when he hasn’t spoken for at least five seconds. What? Silence is the enemy.
“Just thinking.”
Thinking is bad. Thinking is the enemy. Thinking is when all your skeletons rattle on your closet door until you open it to let them out.
“About what?”
“Nothing you’d be interested in hearing about.”
How wrong he is! I want to learn every nugget of information about this guy I can.
“Come on,” I push. “Give me something.”
He shakes his head. “Feeling out of sorts today is all.”
As if I’ll be satisfied with such a lame answer. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Liar. But before I get a chance to call him out, he clears his throat and heads me off at the pass. “Tell me why you need my manual labor to help label your beer. Don’t they have automatic labeling machines?”
I study him for a moment before deciding to let my curiosity go – for now. “The bottle label applicator I have my eye on costs nearly a thousand dollars.”
He chokes on his pizza. “As in a one followed by three zeros?”
“Brewing is not a cheap hobby.”
“Is brewing a hobby for you, though? I thought it was a business since you’re selling to bars and all.”
I open my mouth to tell him I sell exclusively to McGraw’s, but it would be a lie. Since the New Year’s Eve party, a few other bars have placed orders too. Including tonight’s order for a hundred bottles of my Short but Stout beer.
I don’t have an answer for him. My relationship with brewing is complicated. Brewing wasn’t always a dream of mine. It was a dream of Toby’s – the asshole king of all asshole exes. When things ended, I continued brewing because I actually enjoy it, but do I want to make Shorty’s Brewing Sensation a full-time thing? Frankly, I don’t know.
“Come on.” I stand. “Those bottles won’t label themselves.”
He follows me outside to where my shack is located. It’s not really a shack. It’s a double garage I’ve converted into my ‘brewery’. I unlock the door and motion for Grayson to enter before me. His eyes widen as he looks around.
“Wow. This is not a hobby, Munchkin.”
Confession. I love it when he calls me munchkin. I know I shouldn’t, but who wouldn’t love it when a hot man has a pet name all for them? No babe, or baby, or honey for me. Nope. Munchkin is all mine.
I slide a box out from under one of the tables, but before I can lift it, Grayson is there taking it from my hands.
“These are the labels,” I say and then point to the bottles of beer lining the shelves above the table. “And those are the beer bottles we need to label.”
Grayson opens the box and removes a roll of labels. “Huh.”
My brow wrinkles. “Huh? What? Is there a problem with them?” Shit. I need to deliver this order to the bar in two days. I don’t have time to re-order labels.
“It’s nothing.” Grayson shakes his head. “I guess I expected something different is all.”
I peer around him at the labels. I admit they’re a bit simple. There’s a picture of a beer bottle and my brewery name, Shorty’s Brewing Sensation, and the name of the beer, Short but Stout. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not what you would call ‘artistic’.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing.” He sets the roll down and reaches for a bottle of beer.
“Nope.” I snatch his arm and spin him around. Well, I don’t spin him around. I don’t have enough strength in my puny arms to move the soldier anywhere he doesn’t want to move. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I’m being a jerk.”
“Jerk or not. Tell me.”
“I’m doing a course in branding now for my marketing degree.”
I stop him right there. “Marketing degree? You didn’t tell me you were going back to school.”
Pink paints his cheeks as he suddenly finds the floor fascinating. “I started last week. I want to finish my bachelor’s degree.”
“Cool. I’m sure you’ll rock it. Now, tell me what’s wrong with my labels.” I can take constructive criticism. Really, I can.
“They’re a little plain is all. I expected them to represent your personality more.”
Huh. I haven’t given my labels much attention. After all, I wasn’t planning on selling my beer. I know. I know. Why do I have the huge set-up if I’m not selling my beer? I blame the ex. He screwed with my head.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Not right now, but if you’ll let me, I’d love to put some ideas together.”
Seeing as his earlier gray mood has nearly dissipated, I can’t say no. Besides, maybe he’ll come up with a cool idea.
“Okay, but I can’t put off labeling these bottles. I have an order to fill.”
His smile stretches from ear to ear. I guess he’s totally into this marketing thing.
“What are you waiting for? You don’t need instructions, do you? The labels are self-adhesive.”
He snaps a salute. “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”
His salute has Little Susan waking up and wanting to give him all kinds of orders, mostly of the sexy variety. Maybe I am one of those tag chasers Wally was referring to the other day.
What’s a tag chaser, you ask? I Googled the term. A tag chaser apparently is a woman who is attracted to a man solely because he’s in the military.
Personally, I’ve never been much of a fan of men in uniform. Man was I wrong.
Chapter 7
Beer is not a game. Beer is serious.
“What’s going on?” I ask when I walk into McGraw’s Pub on Saturday morning. “Why are we here this early? The pub’s not even open yet.�
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“Early?” Lenny snorts. “You don’t know early, Doll.”
I’d roll my eyes, but since they’re not yet working properly, I don’t dare. I settle for mumbling whatever instead.
I look around and see there is a row of five chairs set up in the middle of the pub. In front of the row of chairs are two tables.
I notice Grayson standing near the bar and walk over to him. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“The uncles want Phoebe to decide who will walk her down the aisle today.”
Since Phoebe and Ryker got engaged, the uncles have been pushing her to choose one of them to walk her down the aisle. Her biological father won’t be given the honor. Phoebe has completely cut herself off from them after what they did, but that’s a long story for another day.
“Today? She hasn’t picked her wedding date yet. And how are they going to decide?” I ask as I watch the uncles and Pops push each other around. Geez. You’d think middle-aged men would behave. But no, they act like teenagers.
“We’re doing The Newlywed Game. And I’m your host for the morning,” Grayson explains.
Hailey and Aiden join us. “Why are you the host? I get why Ryker isn’t, but why didn’t they pick me?”
Grayson offers Aiden a bunch of cards. “You want to be the host? Have at it.”
Aiden holds up his hands. “I didn’t say I want to be the host. I want to know why I wasn’t asked is all.”
Hailey rolls her eyes. “Come on, Mr. Grumpy. Let’s grab some seats where we can watch the action.”
Phoebe and Ryker enter the bar and the uncles cheer. “’Bout time!”
Phoebe stumbles and nearly falls down the two steps at the entry. Ryker saves her. Of course, he does. Ryker’s job in life is to protect Phoebe after all. Barf.
“What’s going on?” she asks when she reaches us.
“Apparently, you’re choosing your wedding daddy today.”
“What?” she squeals. “We haven’t even picked a wedding date yet.”
“That’s what she said,” Grayson shouts and I high-five him.
“Come on, come on. Everyone take their places. I need to open in two hours for the lunch crowd.” Pop ushers us toward the seats.
“You do realize this here is the definition of bat shit crazy? And I have seen some bat shit crazy stuff in my day.”
Wally huffs. “Kid, you ain’t seen nothing.”
I roll my eyes but don’t bother to respond. Despite dealing with a crazed man who thinks aliens stole his sperm and a couple who use Hailey’s services as part of their sexy time games – to name but a few examples – I haven’t seen anything. Pfff. Yeah, right.
Grayson clears his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “Phoebe and Ryker, you sit there.” He points to the table in front of the line of chairs, which are now occupied by the uncles and Pops. I take a seat behind the uncles next to Hailey.
“I will read out a question.” He shakes the cards. “If one of you knows the answer, raise your hand. No shouting out the answer.”
I giggle. If he thinks the uncles are going to play by the rules, he’s a fool.
I raise my hand. “How will we know what the correct answer is? Phoebe found out about this event like five minutes ago.”
Grayson hands Phoebe a pen and paper. “She’ll write down the answer after I read the question but before the uncles answer.”
I rub my hands together in glee. This is a train wreck waiting to happen. I can’t wait to watch it play out.
“Everyone ready?” When the uncles and Pops grunt in response, he reads out the first question. “What is Phoebe’s favorite pizza topping?”
Pops chuckles. “Too easy. Phoebe doesn’t eat pizza.”
“And Phoebe says….” Grayson takes the card from her. “Mushrooms and peppers.”
“Exactly what I said,” Pops insists.
Lenny scowls. “How is no pizza the same as mushrooms and peppers?”
“Mushrooms and peppers aren’t toppings on a pizza. They’re vegetables.”
Lenny’s eyes narrow on Pops but he keeps his mouth shut because Pops isn’t wrong. Vegetables on pizza is plain wrong.
“Moving on.” Grayson reads the question from the next card. “What is Phoebe’s favorite drink?”
“Seriously, when are we getting to the difficult questions? Vodka Martini with Stolichnaya.”
“Pops,” Hailey scolds. “You’re supposed to raise your hand. Not shout your answer out loud.”
“Your answer is disqualified. Besides, didn’t Ryker take Phoebe on a romantic date to the local distillery and now she drinks the I Did It My Way hoity-toity stuff.” Sid winks at Phoebe.
“Nah, she hasn’t given up on her Stolichnaya. But don’t tell Ryker, it annoys him for some strange reason,” Pops says with Ryker sitting literally five feet away from him.
“Maybe because Russia is our enemy,” Wally points out.
“We ain’t at war.”
Wally shakes his head. “Sure, we are.”
I tap Hailey on the shoulder and mouth super-secret soldier. She bobs her head in agreement.
“Um.” Phoebe clears her throat to gain everyone’s attention. “Maybe we don’t tell all of Phoebe’s secrets today?”
Ryker throws an arm around her. “Like I didn’t know you’re still drinking the Russian swill, Princess.”
Grayson rasps his knuckles on the bar to gain everyone’s attention. “Shall we continue?” He eyeballs the former soldiers until they mumble their assent. “What is Phoebe’s maiden name?”
“No fair. Wally is the one who did the background check,” Barney grumbles.
A shit-eating grin paints Wally’s face as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Which is why I should be the one to walk her down the aisle.”
Barney jumps to his feet. “Disagree.”
Wally stands and faces Barney. “You want to take this outside?”
Lenny puts himself between the two men and pushes them apart. “Enough. You should both be disqualified for fighting.”
“I haven’t kicked his ass yet.” Barney shakes out his hands like he’s getting ready for action.
I lean over and whisper to Hailey, “This is the funnest Saturday morning ever.”
“Sure is,” she says with her eyes glued on Barney and Wally who are now circling each other like boxers in a ring.
“This? This is the most fun you’ve had on a Saturday morning?” Aiden leans close and whispers in her ear. Her cheeks flame red and she fans her face.
“I stand corrected,” she squeaks.
I get up to move closer to the action. Plus, I don’t need to hear about Hailey and Aiden’s sexy adventures. Trust me. I’ve heard them in Hailey’s office more times than should be allowed already.
“You want to put those numbskulls out of their misery and tell them who you chose?” Pops asks in a booming voice and everyone settles down.
My eyes widen. “Did you already choose someone? But you didn’t tell me! What’s all the bs about not having picked a date yet?”
Phoebe giggles. “Like I would have picked someone without letting you know. You’re my maid of honor. Well, one of my maids of honor.” She looks up at Ryker. “I can have two maids of honor, can’t I?”
“You can have whatever you want, Princess,” he declares before bending forward to kiss her.
I squeal and push them apart. I also cause two chairs to go crashing to the floor but who cares about some stupid chairs when I’ve just been named maid of honor?
I squeeze Phoebe’s hands as I jump up and down. “I’m your maid of honor!”
Hailey scowls. “What? You picked Suzie over me? You know she’s going to trip on her way down the aisle and end up mooning everyone in the church, don’t you?”
“I’m not a klutz!” Lie. I’m totally a klutz, although not as much of a klutz as these two think I am. But my actual klutziness level is my little secret.
“You’re both my maids of honor,” Phoebe
explains as Hailey glowers at her.
“Took the wind right of your sails, didn’t she?” For good measure, I stick out my tongue at Hailey.
My eyes widen and I clap when I realize, “We get to walk down the aisle together then!”
Hailey bows her head. “Oh great, I’m going to end up rolling down the aisle.”
“What?” Pops stops next to her. “Roll down the aisle? Are you pregnant?”
“Hailey’s pregnant!” Sid shouts, although there’s no need to shout. The word pregnant has everyone in the place freezing with their mouths gaping open.
“I’m going to be a grandpa!” Pops’ chest puffs out and a smile covers his face from ear to ear.
“This is news to me,” Aiden says as he puts his arm around his fiancé and kisses her forehead. “Something you need to tell me, Hails?”
“Yes.” A muscle in Aiden’s jaw starts to tick. He wasn’t expecting her to say yes. This is awesome.
“I’m going to be an aunt,” I shout. I can’t wait. I love children. I want a whole bunch of them, but me and children? Not happening. You need a man for the whole procreating part and I’m off men – forever. But an aunt? Awe-some!
“Before you start planning my baby shower, I’m not pregnant.”
Aiden exhales in obvious relief, and I deflate.
“This morning was a complete waste. We didn’t pick who will walk Phoebe down the aisle and now I’m not going to be an aunt. Barkeep! I need a cold one!”
“Way to make this all about you,” Hailey mutters. I ignore her. Of course, her having a baby is all about me. Is she not keeping up?
I settle on a barstool and Grayson takes the seat next to me. Pops plops two drafts in front of us and winks before heading down to the other side of the bar.
“Your family is crazy,” Grayson mutters before taking a slug of beer.
“I know. Don’t you love them?”
He taps his fingers on the bar as if he’s seriously considering my question. “Actually, I kind of do.”
My heart starts to pound in my chest at the idea he means me. I tell it to calm the eff down. He means the uncles and Pops. Not fall on her ass and end up doing the splits me. Bummer. Wait. What? Not. A. Bummer. I don’t want a man, remember? Oh, yeah. Sometimes I forget.
A Soldier for Suzie: A Military Romantic Comedy (Love will OUT Book 3) Page 4