Chapter 3

LYNN

Ew.

That guy is the physical embodiment of an unsolicited dick pic.

I shake off my unpleasant encounter with the overly confident patron and scan the taproom for Jeremy Rossi. He texted yesterday asking me to meet him here, although I have no idea why. But since meeting up with him would probably piss my brothers off, I found myself incapable of declining.

Jeremy is my oldest brother Carter's friend and former colleague. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in his mid-thirties. He's also a shameless flirt, which is why my brothers don't want me within a hundred yards of him without them present to "protect" me. I swear, if this were a century ago, I'd be locked in the attic by those jokers in the name of protecting my virtue. They've clearly never read any psychology books, though, or they'd know brotherly behavior like that almost always blows up in your face by causing said little sister to rebel and sleep with the entire football team.

Not that I ever went quite that far. I prefer a more intellectual type—someone who can not only spell misogyny but knows what it means and despises it as much as I do.

I'll guarantee that Paulie guy couldn't spell it with a whole bag of Scrabble tiles and a dictionary. I'm guessing his query of "Girl, are you a beaver? Cuz, dam," was supposed to be a pickup line? Yuck.

"Hey there," a voice says from behind me, and I turn with a frown, expecting to see Paulie again. But my frown flips upside down when I spot a familiar face.

"Hi!" I'm sure I'm smiling too hard, but what are the chances of running into Dark-Haired Hottie at my brothers' brewery? "What are you doing here?" Okay, that was a stupid question. Luckily, he doesn't call me out.

"Just grabbing a drink, same as you, I assume." His voice is a deep rumble, and I'm amazed I can make it out so clearly over the chaos around us. Blue Bigfoot is packed tonight.

I shrug, for some reason not wanting to tell him I'm meeting up with someone—even if it's not a date.

"Save any more lives since the last time I saw you?" he asks with another of those half grins I remember from our first meeting. Damn, he's cute. And I'm pretty sure his eyelashes are longer than mine. So unfair. Equally unfair is the way his T-shirt molds to his muscular chest in a way that's somehow the furthest thing from the flexing bros who walk around staring at themselves in every remotely reflective surface Asheville has to offer. He strikes me as someone who has no idea how hot he is, which makes him that much more tempting.

"Nope," I respond. "It's been exclusively hot dogs and nachos—which will probably result in some heart attacks later, but not on my watch." Oh, god, did I bat my eyelashes at him? Gross.

"I worked ballpark concessions when I was a teenager." He grimaces, and even that is hot. "Do they still use that orange nacho cheese that in no way contains actual cheese?"

I laugh and hope to God my brothers haven't noticed me yet. "Absolutely, although we're not allowed to call it cheese. It's ‘nacho sauce' now. I'm guessing there was a lawsuit involved."

When he nods, the motion causes a section of messy hair to fall over his forehead. My fingers itch to brush it back. Sluts!

My internal argument with my phalanges (98% in Human Anatomy, thank you very much) means I barely hear his response. "Ah. Makes sense. So, uh, was it my imagination, or is your boss kind of an asshole?"

"Anus," I reply without thinking.

Dark-Haired Hottie opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Fuck!

"Hm." He bites back a smile, and I want to punch myself in the face. "Even though it's the same thing, why does that sound way worse?"

I cringe at myself but manage to smile. He's so freaking nice. "Sorry—I wasn't trying to deliver an anatomy lesson. His name is Ennis. But everyone calls him Anus—not to his face, of course."

"Wow. That's…"

"Yeah." I wrinkle my nose. Never in my life did I imagine engaging in flirtation over buttholes, yet here I am. Time to move on. "You work at the stadium too, right? What do you do?"

He visibly hesitates, which I find odd, before he finally replies, "I work on the field."

"Landscaping." I nod. "That doesn't sound like too much fun in this heat." But it does explain the muscular thighs and the defined biceps straining his cotton T-shirt. Did he hesitate because he thought I'd think badly of his profession? I've got nothing but respect for anybody who busts their ass to make a paycheck, no matter what they do. Hell, I schlep hot dogs and heart attacks.

"My job has its perks." He shrugs and extends his hand. "I'm Joey, by the way."

"Lynn." I take it with a smile and don't fail to notice the calluses on his palms. Damn, those would feel extra nice on certain neglected body parts of mine. His hand is dry and warm, and I know I'm keeping hold a little longer than I should, but he's not pulling back either.

"It's nice to meet you, Lynn." Am I imagining it, or did his rumble just lower another notch? My clit confirms we are not imagining anything, especially when he continues, "So, uh, can I buy you a drink?" See? A girl doesn't want beaver talk. She apparently wants buttholes and drink offers instead.

"Lynnie," a vaguely familiar voice interrupts, and I fight a scowl as I see Jeremy approaching us. "Sorry I'm late." Damn.

Joey's frown is back, so I blurt out in a rush, "Hey, Jeremy. This is Joey. Joey, this is Jeremy. He's my brother's friend."

Jeremy's gaze shoots to me, and I can't miss the knowing quirk of his eyebrows. Idiot. But since the jig is up, I continue, "Give us a sec, Jeremy," before shooing him away.

"Sorry. I didn't realize you were meeting somebody."

"Yeah." I mean, I'm not about to be a bitch to Jeremy just because my vagina has decided to offer herself on a plate to this hottie. "I think he needs some advice or something." It's honestly my best guess for why I've been summoned.

"So, raincheck on that drink?"

Yes, please. "Sure. You know where to find me." I offer him jazz hands for some reason.

Joey tilts his head and hits me with another lopsided grin that has me wishing I were wearing a skirt instead of shorts so I could simply drop my panties and hand them over right this minute. "Yeah, but I should probably get your number just in case you get fed up with the anus and quit."

My smile takes over. Getting distracted by a guy for a short while suddenly doesn't sound so foolish. It is summer break, after all.

* * *

"I did not expectthis from you, Lynn," Jeremy says in a scolding tone a few minutes later when I approach the table where he's parked his behind. How did he snag a table in this crowd? When I shoot him a questioning gaze at his comment, he expounds, "So casually breaking my heart like that."

I can't fight the eye roll. "Yeah, right." He's such a flirt. Luckily, he's the harmless kind. It's not like Jeremy is unattractive; he's just not my type. And he's way too old for me. His idea of a nice date would be fancy wining, dining, and being seen by the right people, while mine would be lying on a blanket in the bed of a pickup in the middle of nowhere and stargazing while the Counting Crows play on the truck radio (yeah, I'm kinda old-school). You can take the girl out of the country and all that.

"What's so important I had to come over here on my day off?" I ask, settling into the chair across from him. Jeremy and I don't know each other all that well, but when he and Cart had a falling out, he texted me as a go-between while patching things up. That, and we both like to win at Words with Friends.

"What else did you have to do?" He frowns at me, and I notice his carefully styled brown hair doesn't dare to flop over his forehead like Joey's. Pity.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Who is that guy anyway?" He's going to get wrinkles if he keeps frowning this hard.

"I'm leaving if you keep pulling this big-brother BS on me." When he throws both hands up in defense, I continue, "He's just some guy from work." I don't need him blabbing to my brothers.

"Isn't he a little too old to have a summer job?"

I attempt to spear him with invisible daggers, but he remains unharmed. "My boss is like forty. And, besides, Joey can't be older than maybe twenty-five. Now, why am I here?"

Jeremy sighs and leans back in his chair. "Okay. Sorry. I just wanted to check up on you."

I can feel my eyebrows attempting to merge into a hideous unibrow on my forehead. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." He shrugs before leaning into the table again and resting his forearms on top. "Look, I know you guys have had a lot of shit swirling around your family these last few months, and Carter's not exactly being an open book, so…"

He trails off, and I firm my lips before biting back. "You're not worried about me. You're trying to get me to spill the beans on all the Brooks family drama!" And there's no shortage of it, that's for sure. The bar almost got shut down, Miller got arrested, Mama's house got trashed and nearly burned down, Carter took down some crooked politicians, the bar had a break-in, and we all finally met the doctor who was responsible for our dad's death. That's a lot of drama for six months.

"No, I'm not!" Jeremy insists.

"You're worse than Adrina, you nosy old busybody! If you want to know about Cart, I've got a brilliant idea. Ask Cart." My voice drips with sarcasm. "I've been telling you the same thing for weeks." I push my chair back, annoyed that I had to drag my ass down to the River Arts District to engage in playground games with grown men—until I remember I wouldn't have run into Joey tonight if it hadn't been for Jeremy. Still, he can suck it. "Busybody is now my goal word in our next Scrabble round. Nineteen points—even without any bonus squares!"

"Lynn." He lurches over the table and grabs my arm to keep me from fleeing. "I swear, it's not what you think!" When I pause, he takes the opportunity to continue in complete earnestness, "I care about you."

But before I can react—whether that might be to laugh, vomit, or sigh, I have no idea—a menacing growl interrupts the conversation from tableside. "What the fuck did you just say to my baby sister?"

Jesus, Mary, and Jolene, here we go again.