Trashed: An Eastside Brewery Novel

by Mia Hopkins

  “I made it for my sister-in-law. She’s pregnant. She can’t have beer, and she has bad morning sickness. I think the mint and ginger might make her feel better.”

  This is the squishiest, most adorable thing I’ve heard in a long time. Even though I’m sitting down, I’m in danger of swooning. I put my hand on the bench to steady myself.

  He takes another sip and gives his bottom lip the tiniest of licks. “The more I drink it,” he says thoughtfully, “the more I think we should sell it. As an option for people who can’t or don’t drink.”

  “That’s a good idea. What would you call it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that. But it should have a name—you’re right.”

  A handsome man telling me I’m right. I can’t think of better catnip.

  We finish our drinks together. He asks me how I know Eddie. I tell him I used to be his brother’s caseworker right after prison, before Eddie got his act together. That was about three years ago. I ask Angel when he started working at the brewery—I don’t remember seeing him here before. I would’ve remembered if I had.

  “On and off since it opened,” he says. “I was living in Salinas…and some other places…for a while. I just moved back down here for good.”

  For good. I like the sound of that.

  My lady parts tingle even more.

  “So I know you have work early tomorrow and you have to get out of here,” Angel says. “I need to lock up. If you hang out for five minutes, I can walk you to your car. You shouldn’t be out there alone.”

  I wait as he turns off the lights, locks the doors, and sets the alarm. The last thing he does after we walk out of the front door is lower the security gates and padlock them.

  We walk side by side toward my car. He’s changed into a clean white T-shirt that smells like laundry detergent. The night air caresses my bare arms and neck. My skin feels extra sensitive. Even my hearing sharpens—I can hear his keys and coins jingling in his pocket. I can hear him breathing, slow and steady, then quick and shallow as we approach my car.

  I unlock it. Angel opens the door for me.

  “Listen, I don’t know how to say this, so I might as well just say it.” He hesitates before blowing out a breath. “You’re very beautiful. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you tonight. I could barely do my job.”

  To say my jaw drops would be an understatement. My jaw falls straight through the core of the earth and knocks out some poor woman walking on a sidewalk in China.

  “Is this a joke?” I look around. “Did Ingrid set this up?”

  “Can I kiss you?” Angel asks.

  Definitely a joke. I roll my eyes. “Sure. Why the hell not,” I say sarcastically.

  Angel takes me in his big tatted arms and kisses me.

  At first, I am too stunned to respond.

  But then.

  Dear God.

  When he pulls back, I blink at him behind my glasses. “Angel’s Brew,” I say. My voice cracks.

  “What?”

  “You should call the green drink Angel’s Brew.”

  He smiles, and of course, it’s beautiful. “Angel’s Brew. I like it.”

  He kisses me a second time. When he lets go, I realize my body temperature is so high, my good judgment, my inhibitions, and my hangups have all been completely incinerated. They’re ash.

  “Come home with me,” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”