Only an hour from Lexington, Ranks seems to be from a completely different world. Owen nods and greets a few people as he guides me through the maze of tables to one in the corner. The tabletop, like the others, is a deep mahogany wood with a caddy holding menus and condiments on top. Pulling out a stool, I take a seat while placing my purse and sweater next to me, and continuing to look around the room, absorbing it all.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah. What are those big cylinder things?” My eyes widen as I point to the far side of the room where a set of large silver contraptions with various pipes or something intersect.
“The kettles. Those are used in the beginning stages of the brewing process. It’s all pretty intricate and reminds me a little of high school science when I stop to think about it.”
A server greets us with a personal greeting to Owen. Her greeting may be a little more friendly than normal and that is confirmed when she turns to me with a less-than-endearing smile. Okay. I return her faux smile and greeting with a sincere one. I’m here with Owen as friends, she doesn’t need to get territorial with me. But, it’s clear by his familiarity with other patrons and now this waitress that he spends time here. The server, Alyssa, seems to be momentarily placated when Owen touches her arm and asks her about the newest brew.
Alyssa smiles and goes into what I assume is a well-rehearsed monologue of the various beers and new ciders, all while motioning toward the large chalkboard that takes up most of the wall behind the bar. I have no idea what any of the names, numbers, or initials mean, but the writing is pretty and I like their choice of colored chalk. That’s about all I have to offer on the subject.
“So, what can I get you both?” Alyssa’s demeanor seems to have neutralized and I’m grateful. The last thing I need is a disgruntled server responsible for bringing me my drink and my food.
“Umm…” I say, looking up at the chalkboard.
“What type of beer do you prefer?”
“Martini?” I joke. A joke that falls flat with Alyssa but makes Owen laugh. My eyes widen at him in a plea to save me from pissing off Alyssa any further.
Owen orders our “flights”, whatever those are, and when Alyssa asks us if we’ll be eating, he defers to me. I order a house salad while Owen orders some sort of complicated-sounding nachos. While we wait for her to return with our drinks, Owen goes on to explain various steps of the brewing and fermenting process. He lost me after words like “hops” and “malting.”
“Next time, we’ll come on the first Saturday of the month. Tim, the owner, does a tour and explains the entire process. He’s been doing this a long time and is much better at explaining it all.”
We continue to chat for a few minutes before Alyssa returns, sliding a block of wood in front of each of us. Each piece of wood holds mini glasses of beer. Mine has six while Owen’s only has four.
“Why do they call it a flight?” I ask Owen as Alyssa walks away and I look down at my own display and then his. The visuals of the displays are quite lovely. The lightest brews are to the left and increase in color across the board. Based upon color, I also assume level of boldness increases along with the color.
“I’ve looked up the meaning behind the saying a few different times,” he says, reaching for one of his samples. “It has something to do with the grouping of items. Kind of like a flight of birds, but beer. Wine bars will sometimes offer wine flights, too.”
I continue to stare at the assortment in front of me, unsure of where to start. Owen must sense my confusion because he points at the first glass on my left. “Start from the lightest and work your way over. Each glass is only about four ounces so if you don’t like something, you haven’t wasted an entire pint. Or, ya know, forced me to sacrifice my role as driver and drink your leftovers.”
I do as he says and take a small sip of the first sample. It’s good. Not like that light beer we used to drink in high school or college. Which is probably a good thing since I know we never spent much on those. After the first tentative sip, I finish off the first sample and offer Owen a smile of appreciation. His sample options are all much darker than mine, his lightest a deep red, almost the color of fire.
When Alyssa returns with our food, I’ve already finished half of my second sample, and while it’s only about four ounces of beer, my lack of breakfast and nerves are allowing for me to feel slightly warm. I request a glass of water, as does Owen.
“So, this is what interests you?” I ask while stabbing at my salad.
“You need to eat some of these nachos, too. It’ll help you get a base going.” I look at him, slightly confused at the term “base” and he smiles. “Avoid you getting tipsy.” Okay, that makes sense. He continues, “This beer is probably a higher alcohol content than you’re used to. And, yes, it is what interests me.”
It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m not a craft beer kind of girl. But, the lighter of the samples I had was one I can sip on so I request a pint of that and, like Owen said, since the glasses of the flight are small, I don’t feel bad for only sipping the darker ones.
Over the next few hours, we continue to talk and laugh. Our banter is easy and casual, neither of us venturing into any serious topics and conveniently avoiding much about our pasts.
Not that my life is all that exciting that one would refer to it as a “past,” and surely, my past doesn’t define me. Regardless, the lack of drama I’ve endured doesn’t change the hurt I’ve suffered over the last year. And, while what I have experienced isn’t something I would wish on anyone else, it has made my family stronger, and I think in the end led me to a new path of my life that I was meant to find.
“Hey, you guys, I’m finishing up for the night. Do you mind if I settle you up? Darcy will be taking over so she can get you more drinks if you like.” Alyssa looks from Owen to me as she holds the bill folder in her hands. The awkward moment where we determine if this was a date or two coworkers slash friends out for an afternoon.
I reach for my purse to pull out my wallet. If we’re here as friends, he’ll let me pay. If it’s maybe more then he’ll pay. That’s kind of how I think dating goes, I’m not certain. Kent and I rarely went out unless it was business related or he insisted it wasn’t appropriate for me to pay for meals since he was the man. Another battle I chose not to fight but is what allowed me the luxury of taking unpaid leave from work when Dakota needed me.
“Here ya go, Alyssa. I think we’re about done here.”
I look up to find Owen winking at Alyssa, who blushes and places her hand on his forearm. I’m still sitting here! She lingers for a few seconds, smiling at Owen before shuffling off to process his card. He looks up at me with a smile but doesn’t find one in return. I’m simply staring at him in awe. He was just flirting with that girl in front of me. I guess that answers the question of whether this was a date or not.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m ready to go, I think I have a headache.” I slide off my stool and reach for my purse and sweater. “I’m going to use the restroom before we go and let you finish with Alyssa or whatever.” I wave my hand dismissively as I turn and walk toward the sign that indicates the way to the restroom.
I quickly use the restroom and wash my hands while taking in my appearance in the mirror. Pathetic. I thought after a few kisses and spending today together, this was maybe Owen being interested in me. I was wrong. I really suck at this being single thing.
As I exit the restroom, I spy Owen standing at the entrance reading one of the display cards that houses a pilot’s uniform that reminds me a little of the movie Top Gun. I mean, it’s not the volleyball from the best scene of the movie but whatever.
“That looks like it’s a part of the costumes from Top Gun,” I say as I approach him. Yes, I allow myself a moment to peruse his derriere. Although he’s probably made plans with Alyssa for later, I am still a woman.
“It does, doesn’t it? That’s my favorite movie.”
“Of course,
it is,” I mumble. “Ready to go? It’s getting a little late.”
“Sure.”
We walk in silence to the Jeep. Owen and I reach for the handle at the same time, our hands touching and both of us pausing. He doesn’t remove his hand from mine before placing his other hand on my waist.
“What did you mean ‘of course it is’?”
“I didn’t mean anything. It just seems like something you would like. A bunch of testosterone-filled guys trying to one up each other while vying for the attention of women. I really do have a headache, can we go?”
Owen removes both of his hands from me. And, yes, I can still feel their warmth on my skin. I’m irritated, but I’m not inhuman.
The ride home is quiet and I welcome each moment of it. When Owen pulls up in front of my house, I unclip my seatbelt quickly and open the door before he’s able to even turn off the ignition.
“Thanks for today, it was informative.” I hop out of the Jeep and take only a few steps up the walkway before I hear Owen behind me. He grabs my elbow, stopping and turning me toward him.
“I feel like I missed something. I know I didn’t black out so you’re going to have to enlighten me, Minnesota.”
He’s really grating on my nerves. I don’t want to have this conversation. This is why you shouldn’t date people you work with. I’m going to have to call him out on flirting with the waitress and then see him at work next week. It’s like the last few weeks I was at the office and had to sit through Kent’s meetings. Only, I don’t think Kent ever made my lady bits tingle when he licked his lips and looked at me like Owen is now. Well, Kent never looked at me like Owen is—confused and concerned.
“Nothing happened. I should go in, I’m sure you have somewhere else to be. Goodnight, Owen.” I quickly remove my arm from his grasp and make my way to the door. Thankfully, my key cooperates and there’s no awkward moments of me struggling with the door. That’s the last thing I need.
I stop in the kitchen and grab a water before retreating to my room to take something for my headache and change into my comfortable pajamas. I look at the clock and note that while it’s early for an adult, if I were a toddler it would be a perfectly acceptable time for bed. Instead, I pull back my covers and que up my Netflix. Scrolling, I stop on a classic, and personal favorite. Once I start the movie and clicking for it to start, I settle in for a little time with The Breakfast Club.
I have no idea what just happened. When I picked up Minnie earlier, I was dumbfounded as usual. She looked casual and beautiful. The way the front of that top she was wearing showed just a glimpse of her cleavage, I had a hard time keeping my eyes above her neckline.
Mostly, because something else was hard the entire time. It’s been a long time since a woman has had this effect on me, like since I was thirteen and saw Miss Tinsley, my P.E. teacher, bend over daily in those short shorts of hers. I’m not embarrassed to say she was responsible for a lot of long showers when I was a kid. Now, that role goes to Minnesota Walker.
When I asked her what I missed because I have no clue, I wasn’t lying. I really have no idea. We talked. We laughed. Being with Minnie is easy, and while we didn’t dig deep, I felt comfortable with her. Hell, I told her about my dream of one day owning a place like Ranks. She has a background in business and told me she’d be happy to help me write out a business plan. I thought we were connecting. For a few hours this afternoon, I forgot that I’m not a forever guy. I didn’t think about my rules for not getting attached, for not letting a woman in so she can suck me in and leave. I was, for just a while, interested.
Then, like a switch it was over. Her openness was gone and in its place was an iciness I haven’t seen from Minnie since I first met her. I’m sitting here in front of her house wondering if I should go knock on the door and demand an explanation or if I should leave and chalk this up as another learning experience. I note the time, contemplate heading to Country Road or calling up the guys to hang out. I’m sure Jameson and Ben are with their ladies, but I have been known to guilt them both into hanging out when necessary.
Or, I’m sure Landon would be up for something. He spent all night at his workshop trying to finish up a few pieces before he starts on Ben and Piper’s wedding gift. What that is, I have no idea. Besides, their wedding isn’t for a few months anyway so I’m not quite sure what he’s doing. I’ve been going out and helping Ben with a few projects as part of my gift and planned on getting them a gift card like a normal person. I suppose when you have a talent for woodworking like Landon, a personal gift is the way to go.
Realizing going out is the last thing I want to do, I turn toward home and run through the day in my mind, trying to determine what the hell I did to piss Minnie off. A headache of my own begins to form, however, I think my headache is much more realistic than the one Minnie feigned.
Once inside the apartment, I toss my keys on the counter and head straight to the kitchen. I open a bottle of water and toss back two little blue pills—not those kind—in the hopes I’ll nip this nagging headache. I survey the contents of the fridge for something to eat. I’m not overly hungry, but I know the nachos I had earlier won’t do it over the next few hours. My options are slim and, honestly, not very appetizing. We’re two single guys who work long hours; we aren’t known to keep a stocked fridge. Well, stocked with beer? Yes. With food? No.
I know the Chinese takeout containers weren’t there earlier so those seem like the most logical choice, even if they are Landon’s. Because I’m a thoughtful guy, I take a picture of the takeout container and send it to Landon with a note that I’m eating his food. His response is a thumbs up, which is good since I’m already four bites into his chow mein before he responds.
After successfully stuffing myself with cold Chinese food, I contemplate my options for the night. I could read up a little more on expanding my home brew system, watch a movie, or maybe start on that business plan Minnie and I talked about. Before I decide how I’m going to spend my Saturday night, I head for the shower. A hot shower should help eliminate the rest of my headache.
Kicking off my shoes toward my closet, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it in the hamper with my jeans following. As I’m opening my door to head to the shower, a vision of Minnie from today flashes before me. Seeing her in my Jeep, the top off, her hair tied up with stray pieces flying in the wind, a serene smile on her lips—well, it has my dick remembering, too. She looked so casual and simple today, but perfect. I could tell she didn’t try too hard, which is what makes her so much more attractive. She doesn’t have to try to be beautiful or attractive. She just is. Well, except those lips.
I shake off the visual of her lips as I grab a towel from the linen closet and enter the bathroom. Pulling back the shower curtain, I bend down to turn on the shower, my dick still not getting the memo that we are not going out and it’s not getting any action tonight. Which shouldn’t be a surprise since I haven’t been out much lately and it’s been weeks since I’ve brought a girl home. I need to remedy that. This infatuation I have with Minnie and the fact that I’ve spent more time jacking off in the shower since I’ve met her than I did as a teenager is annoying as fuck.
I step into the shower, adjusting the shower head so that it’s on massage and let the hot water pelt my shoulders. My headache is almost gone and I’m thankful. When I was a kid, I’d get bad headaches, and at first the doctors told my dad I may need glasses. I didn’t. It was tension. I may internalize a little when I’m frustrated or stressed. I didn’t realize frustration and stress included sexual frustration.
I squeeze shampoo from the bottle and lather it on my head while another vision of Minnie flashes before me. This one is of when I caught her staring at me while sitting across the table at Ranks. Her look was curious and maybe a little shy when I busted her with a wink. The way her cheeks pinkened only brought out the bright-pink color of her lips. I’m not sure what kind of shit she had on her lips, but that pink color never faded. Hours of talking, laughing,
eating, and drinking and they remained the same color.
At the thought of those lips, my dick jumps and I feel a tightness in my balls. Fuck. I’m hard as a rock after a simple thought of those lips. I know the only way to rid myself of this problem is to either turn the hot water to cold or wrap my hand around my dick and handle the problem, which is not much of a choice since I can’t shake the vision of Minnie’s lips.
Before I know it, my hand is around my dick, gently stroking from base to tip. I close my eyes, allowing the vision of Minnie and those lips to transform into her standing here with me in the shower. Her hands running up my arms to my shoulders. Her grip is strong as she massages my shoulders, tension easing from each muscle and forcing my head to lean back into the stream of water. The shampoo rinses from my head and runs down my back as I feel her hands sliding down my arms to my abs, slowly gliding across each one like she’s memorizing them for later. I jerk as my stroking intensifies and I feel her lips on my chest. Her tongue reaches out and swirls around one of my nipples, gently pulling it into her mouth, and tugging enough to cause me to catch my breath. Her hands are now around my waist and on my ass, pulling me closer to her.
Even in the shower, with the water slamming into my back and the steam filling the room, I can feel every touch of Minnie as if she were here with me. I tighten my grip, feeling a tug low in my gut, a feeling that is almost too much to bear. Then, as much as I felt her hands on me, I gasp as my daydream switches and suddenly Minnie is on her knees.
Still in the shower, Minnie is before me, her hands on my ass, tugging me toward her. My hands instantly go to the back of her head. This is all her; I let her have this, to take what she wants, to control the rhythm. Before me, her long blonde hair is wet and stuck to the side of her face. I move my hands to the side of her head, moving her hair from her face, allowing me to see the intensity in her expression as her bright-pink lips surround my dick. Her little tongue peeks out to savor my dick like a Popsicle. Lick by lick, I feel like I’m about to explode. Slight moans come from her throat, vibrating as she sucks and licks, taking her time like she has never wanted anything to last as long as this moment. I can’t take it anymore as I am pulled from my daydream, and with two strong tugs, I explode, filling my hand with what feels like months of pent-up tension. It isn’t, I did this yesterday. And, the day before that.
Martinis & Moonlight (A Country Road Novel - Book 3) Page 13