by Xavier Neal
His face scrunches. “That was a cello?”
“Cellos.” The correction shifts his face to one of an impressed nature. “And to watch those guys play? It’s fucking wild, Runt. Wild.”
“You’ve seen them live?”
“No. You Tube videos for now. I’m tryin’ to get Abby a pair of tickets for a weekend getaway somewhere to go see them play.”
Instrumental music has grown on me tremendously. I’ve found it helps me concentrate better at work in particular. While I prefer to cycle through the music from Abby’s days with Sparkcane, there are times when I listen to some of her personal favorites, more classical pieces. Recently, I discovered the pair and they became a great way to bridge the gap we struggle with in the music department. They play songs I love and have rocked out to many times in my life while paying tribute in a way to Abby’s life’s work. It’s quite cute to hear her ramble on in awe of their achievements as if having forgotten her own. However, I could do without the girlish giggles and gushes over how attractive she finds them. Even though I know she doesn’t know them personally or have a way to get them, I can’t stop the jealousy it conjures up. Part of me thinks she does it on purpose because it usually results in me on my knees, tongue fucking her until the only name she remembers is mine.
My younger brother’s face transforms to one I am too accustomed with. “Oh yeah? Just a random getaway or you plannin’ for birthdays and anniversaries too?”
“Wipe the shit eatin’ grin off your face,” I command and hit send on the email.
“Nope.” He enters my office. “You not only still have a girlfriend, you’re actually planning trips with her. It’s funny.”
“Why is that funny? I’m a grown man in a relationship.”
He tilts his head sarcastically at me. “You still need marshmallows in your hot chocolate on Christmas morning. That’s a grown man?”
I chuckle lightly. “We all have our…childlike attachments.”
Ford gives me an eye roll. “It’s funny in a…never saw it comin’ kinda way.”
Neither did I.
“Look, I know all of us give you shit, but we’re really happy for you. I’m really happy for you. I was worried with you learning to date during such an early part of our transition under Wilcox, I would have to constantly be redirecting your attention, but I was wrong. If anything, since you started dating Abby you’ve found more focus. It’s not only noted, it’s appreciated.”
The compliment receives a nod of gratitude.
My notorious past for being easily distracted has ruined opportunities in the past for this brewery, even if Runt won’t admit it. There have been missed chances because I wasn’t where I should’ve been when I said I would be. I actually blame myself for the slow progress the company has endured. Runt’s always been on the front lines, pushing, giving it everything he has while I was only offering a fraction of that. It still didn’t feel like an actual business to me yet. It didn’t matter that we had legal documents. It didn’t matter Runt’s ass was on the line with loans now in his name. It didn’t matter we had an actual brewery and offices dedicated to it. It still felt like the hobby he always found joy in. After Wilcox Whiskey, one of the biggest alcohol companies in the world, tucked us under their wing last year, my view of the situation shifted severely.
“You still okay?” His voice shifts to concern. “You still happy with your new position with the company?”
“Yeah,” I answer with a wide grin. “This was definitely what was best for all of us. Have you seen the way the numbers spike after a hosted event? Have you seen how many hits and interaction our social media accounts are gettin’ on a daily?”
The increase in photos of women in tiny tops, posing with our brand in an effort to get my attention, but more accurately my phone number, keeps Abby anxious to be on her knees to prove why I should never consider straying. I wish she would get it through her brain, even if she wasn’t getting me off every day, I still wouldn’t be going anywhere. Abby is where I belong. I’m never leaving.
Ford nods rapidly. “Oh yeah! The marketing department is constantly bragging about the stats on IG and Facebook. J.T. said today during our conference call, they were so impressed with the consecutive jumps in sales pre and post events, he’s arranging some larger activities for Runt’s Beer to sponsor. They want us to discuss a few details with you before finalizing anything too huge.”
“Me? Why me? It’s your company.”
“It’s your job, Blake.”
His correction kills my counter.
“You’re the face. You’re the personality these people are associating with our brand. You’re the one out there shaking hands, less than slyly pushing our product into those same hands, and really boosting our name. I know you don’t always think your job is as crucial as others, but it is. I would’ve never gotten this far without you or your persuasive nature. You’re a valued member of this team, Blake. Never forget that.” Before I have a chance to let his speech settle, he asks, “You all set for tonight?”
I lean back in my seat and nod. “Yeah. I’ll be there for the last bit of set up. I’ve got the notes marketing sent about displaying the table and signs. Final performer is on the books for ten and shut down of the booth is scheduled for twenty minutes after. Originally, I was going to leave it open until closer to the end, but with the incident during spring break, this seemed like a better call.”
“Absolutely.” Ford folds his arms across his chest. “You do know what happened wasn’t your fault, right?”
Now? Yes. At the time? I could barely sleep I was so stressed out. During a beach event, which we are frequently sponsoring more of because people love beer on the beach, we kept our booth open longer than the others. It was a great idea for business until drunken behavior got out of hand. They were wasted college kids, arguing about who got to take some girl home with them. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing so traumatic it would end up on the news. They verbally fought, they threw fists, and they ended up in jail for the night. The only reason it was of any concern was because our booth sold them their final drinks. I kept wondering would this have happened had we not? Was our beer the one beer too many that spiraled them out of control? Would they have just gone their separate ways without much more than some exchanged curses? Legal, said we were fine. Ethics, said we were fine. But I couldn’t help this gross guilt in the pit of my stomach it was our fault. My fault. I was responsible for the booth that night. I was the one who should’ve made the cut off call rather than try to bring in more money. It was my mistake. It was also the night I realized I don’t just want Abby in my life. I need her. She held me close. Logically broke down why I was feeling what I was. Tackled the issue on how to get past it, not by myself, but together. She has this beautiful mentality about us getting through things as a unit. She says she learned it from me. Her determination to never let us deal with issues alone is reason enough to want to spend the rest of my life with her.
“Blake,” Ford says with force.
“I know.” I clear my throat. “But I don’t want a repeat. We’re shuttin’ down early.”
He offers me a smile of comfort. “Abby doesn’t mind you partying late on the beach with a bunch of half-dressed college girls?”
With a chuckle, I confess, “She’s actually coming with me.”
Shock floods his expression. “Really?”
“Yeah. Crazy, I know, since it usually takes a miracle to get her that far out of her comfort zone, but I booked us this beautiful room on the beach and told her I had a surprise up my sleeve.”
“Do you?”
An all-knowing grin crosses my face. “Absolutely. And it’s a damn good one.”
They all are, but she didn’t need to know there would be more than one.
Ford smirks. “I’m gonna get going. Thanks again for covering this weekend and Monday. Everyone’s been told all questions for me can come to you or wait until Tuesday.”
“Of course!”
My smile brightens. “I’m glad she said yes, Runt. Enjoy the getaway, groom to be.”
He tries to hide his excitement. “Thanks.”
“Am I gonna be best man?”
Runt groans and rolls his eyes again. “Not this again…”
“You’re going to have to pick at some point.”
“I’ve been engaged for less than a month.”
“Tick. Tock. Runt.”
“Enjoy the beach, Blake,” he grumbles on his way out of my office.
Oh, I will be more than enjoying the beach. The sight of Abby in a swimsuit will make this weekend feel more like a well-deserved vacation than a work outing.
The four-hour drive down to the coast with Abby is refreshing. Our recently conflicting schedules haven’t left much time for more than ass early cappuccinos, the occasional jog or Netflix couch date, and weekly dinners at our favorite Chinese food restaurant. More often than anything else, I get to her house later than originally anticipated, let myself in since I basically live there, gorge on whatever leftovers I can find, and then crawl into bed beside her. She’s not always awake, but when she is, I make sure to help her drift off to sleep satisfied. While we still haven’t had sex yet neither of us is complaining. We’ve both developed an appreciation for the other’s oral skills and hand ones. I never thought I could be kept this content in the bedroom from anything else. I’m so glad I was wrong.
I help Abby out of my truck as soon as I’ve exchanged my keys for a ticket from the valet. We’re informed a bellhop will be escorting our bags to our room and to proceed to the check in counter.
Inside, Abby leans her body against mine while we wait in the, as predicted, long line.
Our hotel isn’t one of the ‘concert’ hotels. It’s not where any of the bands are staying yet it’s not cheap enough for most of the college crowd to afford. Typically, it wouldn’t have been my first pick either with the price, but J.T. Reese, our main contact with Wilcox Whiskey insisted.
My phone begins to ring causing me to drop my hold on her shoulder. I pull it, along with my wallet, out of my pocket in preparation of our turn. “Hello.”
“Please tell me you’re here!” Dani, one of our longest employees screeches into the phone. Her unusually agitated voice pleads, “Please tell me you’re here and can be here where I am in like five minutes.”
“I’m here,” I sigh. “Waitin’ to check into the hotel. What’s the problem?”
“The rental company won’t let anyone else sign for the equipment and this jackass in front of me won’t stop rambling off policies long enough to let me explain that my boss is on his way,” her voice rises as the woman behind the counter welcomes us to The Frost Luxury Hotel. “Can you rush over? If you’re not here to sign, I’m either going to end up going to jail for verbal assault, or we’re going to end up losing our rental shit.”
I angle the phone away from my mouth and direct my attention to Abby. “Angel, I hate to do this to you, but do you think you can get us all checked in and settled and meet me on the beach later? There’s an emergency and-”
“Go,” she cuts me off with a smile. “I’ve checked into plenty of hotels on my own.”
The woman behind the counter smirks at her sass.
I chuckle, peck her with a quick kiss on the lips, and casually state, “Can’t wait to see you later. Love you.”
Her eyes bulge only seconds before mine do as well.
Instead of dwelling on the fact that’s the first time it’s been said, I quickly turn around, and head for the hotel’s beach access portion of the lobby.
Dani’s loud complaints seem faint in comparison to the comments coursing through my mind. In a thoughtless fog, I reply, “I’m on my way now,” and end the call.
During my trek down the beach to where the event will be taking place, I try to clarify what just happened.
It’s not that it was a lie. It’s not that I regret it. It just…kind of fell out like it was the most natural thing in the world. I had never seen myself saying it before Abby and once we started dating and it was apparent I was falling for her, I envisioned it would be said during a romantic dinner or maybe the first time we had sex. Something…chick-flick like. I mean those movies are often bullshit, but the timing does seem ideal. No woman wants the first time she hears I love you to be between casual sips of beer or before he hops in the shower. She damn sure doesn’t want it to be in a rushed goodbye before he abandons her for a work emergency. Like I said, I don’t regret saying it; I’m just regretting not giving it the fireworks it deserved. That she deserves.
After getting everything settled with the rental company we promptly set up. The few employees who have come along to run the booth and walk around with beers are given twenty minutes to actually switch clothing while I merely do a quick shirt exchange. We are the earliest vendor open for business, which works in our favor. By the time the first band is wrapping up their set, we’ve almost reached the selling goal we had intended for the entire night.
A fit brunette in a barely-there pink bikini leans both palms on the table. “This is the best beer I’ve ever had.”
I offer her a smirk. “And that’s what I love to hear.”
She giggles, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and points out, “You have an accent.”
“Guilty as charged.”
She repeats the sound, and I do my best to avoid cringing.
It’s not the laugh I love nor coming from the person I do. Aside from that, even if I was single, she’s barely over 21 and I reached a point where I try to limit how many barely legal women I welcomed into my life once I learned there are only two types. Those more than familiar with one-night stands and those who cling to fantasies they created for them by saying ‘it was the best sex I’ll ever have’. Those are mainly the reason I have a twenty-five and up policy. Well. Had. I don’t plan to ever need boundaries like that again.
“How about a selfie?” She suggests less than slyly. “Post it on Snap Chat. Show everyone the brand they should be drinkin’….”
Debate on whether or not to do it is immediate.
Rick, another employee who has been with us since the beginning, tries to hide his chuckle beside me.
“Come on,” her voice becomes sultry. “Just one…”
I plaster on the best charming grin I can fake and lean forward while she makes an exaggerated pout face beside me.
“Make sure you tag Runt’s Beer,” my professional mindset remains. “And Wilcox Whiskey too.”
“Absolutely.” Once she’s finished, she lifts her attention back to me. “You know what,” the young female starts, drawing out her words obnoxiously slow. “We should grab a couple of your beers and go enjoy them together for a bit. Post a few more photos of us together. Mix business and ya know.”
Rick’s stifled laughter get a bit louder.
This always happens. And I used to go for it more times than I probably should’ve.
“Funny thing is I am gonna grab a couple of my beers and go enjoy them for a bit. It’s jus’ gonna be with her.” I motion my head to the side where Abby has now been standing for the last forty-five seconds.
“Oh,” the woman tries to hide her disappointment. “She ask you first or something?”
“Kinda the woman he’s sleeping with,” Abby snips as she slides behind the booth beside me.
“You’re like a thing!” She motions her fingers between us. “That’s cute!” She doesn’t bother continuing the conversation. She simply asks for another beer from Rick and returns to messing around on her phone.
My face turns towards one I swear I can’t get enough of. I lower my mirth filled voice, “Oh, we’re sleeping together now?”
A small embarrassed expression overpowers her eyes as she stumbles over her words, “Technically…sort of…going to…some…day…”
Her flustered response fills me with laughter, which receives me a playful swat on the arm. Afterward, I tip her chin upward and connect our lips softly.
Abby melts against me, and I slide my free hand around to the small of her back to press her closer to me. Our tongues only bump briefly before I’m pulling away.
“Blake you’re not supposed to make out with customers!” Dani’s voice scolds loudly. “At least not behind the booth. You know Ford hates that!”
My arm drapes around Abby’s shoulder as I turn us to face her. “She’s not a customer. She’s my girlfriend.”
Dani’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!”
“You don’t tell people you have a girlfriend?” Anger in Abby’s voice is almost instant.
I reply to my employee first. “I do. For a few months now.”
“Why else do you think he’s stopped chasing after every great ass in a pair of tight jeans?” Rick casually questions.