“Sounds good,” I reply, actually very excited to see how it’s coming along. Jameson has been working his ass off to get it opened in the first quarter. As of his last report, we’re on track to potentially open mid-February. The construction is almost done, and then comes the fun part.
Making beer.
While it’s not my area of expertise, I’m very excited about this new venture. I could see the subtle change in Jameson since we agreed to open the brewery next door. He felt like a drifter, even though he’s a vital part of our success. He wanted more, needed to feel like he was helping in a bigger capacity. I totally get and respect that. He’s overseeing the construction and setup of our new business, and will manage it, with the help of Isaac. Then Jameson will run the day-to-day operations. We’re still ironing out all the details, but we’re getting there.
“I’ll leave you to your creating,” Isaac replies, walking out the door. It’s at that moment I realize he left the white bag sitting there. I push it aside with a little too much force, causing it to tip over. A cinnamon roll falls out and my mouth starts to water.
Dammit.
I set the blowtorch down—yes, I’m using a blowtorch to melt cheese—and stare at the sweet treat. My stomach growls angrily, as if I hadn’t consumed a protein bar on my way to work just a little bit ago. Traitorous stomach is all excited at the sight of something Lyndee whipped up this morning.
And my cock is quick to follow at the vision of her making it, flour streaked down her cheek and icing on her nimble fingers.
Before I can think better of it, I reach for the pastry, ready to have my first real taste of something she offers in her bakery, not including what my asshole friends smeared across my lips last week. When I take my first bite, my tastebuds erupt. It’s still fucking warm, and I groan. The icing is sweet and firm, and the roll is fluffy and rich. I take a second bite, followed by a third, and before I know it, the damn thing is gone.
I’m a little disgusted at myself, at apparently having absolutely no self-control when it comes to Lyndee’s pastries. What’s worse, I’m damn proud of her for making such a perfect sweet roll. I want to run across the street and tell her, though I know that’s a horrible idea. She’s in the middle of her very first day of being open and probably busier than hell. But that’s not what really keeps my feet planted where they stand. I’m liable to pull her into my arms and kiss the hell out of her, and that’s a very bad idea.
One kiss is harmless, but I know I won’t be able to stop at one. I’ll crave more.
I push her out of my head like I’ve been doing for days and focus on my work. Grabbing my blowtorch, I set out to find the perfect melting technique for my cheese. It only takes me two more tries to figure out the best way, and once it’s scorched to perfection, I scrape it onto the burger and watch it slowly melt down the side. Now this is a cheeseburger.
An idea pops into my head, but I quickly push it aside.
I’m not going over there.
Not now.
Not later.
Keep telling yourself that.
***
The walk-through is great. I can see every emotion on Jameson’s face as he shows us around. For a man who hides behind attitude and a pissed-off demeanor, it’s pretty fucking cool to witness. After a brief tour and a chat with the construction manager, Derek, we head back over to the bar to finish our owners’ meeting.
“So, now that we don’t have little ears around us, are you going to tell us why you reeked of too much perfume and sex this morning?” Isaac asks, catching my attention.
“What?” I ask, glancing at Walker, who just grins.
“Our boy stumbled into Sugar Rush this morning in yesterday’s clothes, like he hadn’t slept a wink last night,” Walker confirms.
“Are we fucking gossiping now?” Jameson grumbles, taking a seat at the table.
“You thought because Lizard was there, we would forget all about that?” Isaac asks with a hearty laugh.
“Hoped,” Jameson mumbles, reaching for a glass of water already on the table.
I hold up my hand. “Wait, I have to go grab the food. Don’t say another word until I get back,” I add, practically running back to the kitchen to get the four burgers I prepared and left under the heat lamp before our tour. As soon as I’m back, I say, “Go.”
“What’s to talk about? Is that what we do now? Sit around and gossip about who’s getting laid and who’s not?” Jameson gripes, taking the plate I offer. “No, this one has pickles,” he adds with a gag.
I hand the plate with pickles to Walker as he replies, “I’m getting laid, just so we’re clear.” He gives us all a big cheeky grin, and as if he conjured her up from his imagination, Mallory walks into the room and heads for the bar. She glances over her shoulder and finds my friend’s eyes firmly locked on her ass. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so damn happy for my friend. He deserves someone like Mallory and Lizzie in his life.
“Me too,” Isaac mumbles, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.
“You’re what?” I ask, pulled back to our conversation.
Again, he moves in his chair. “I’m, uh, getting laid.”
My eyebrows arch sky-high.
“Seriously? Since when?” Jameson asks right before taking a huge bite of his burger.
“Well, since Savannah and I ran into each other a few weeks ago.” Isaac doesn’t meet our eyes, and I have to swallow my groan.
“Savannah? Really?” Jameson asks, apparently unable to filter his own comment.
“Yes, Savannah. What do you all have against her anyway?” he demands, glancing around the table. It’s not that we have something against her, per se, it’s that their happiness is always short-lived. They’ve dated off and on for a few years, and each time it ends the same. Isaac jumping in with both feet and Savannah stomping all over his heart.
“Nothing,” Walk insists, trying to smooth everything over. “Maybe it’ll stick this time,” he adds lamely, mostly because we all know it won’t.
Isaac nods once and turns his attention back to Jameson. “You okay with that?”
Jameson, not one to pull punches, replies, “Whatever, dude. It’s your life.”
“Yes, it is.” Isaac takes a bite and glances over at our tattooed friend. “So, are you going to tell us what happened with you last night?”
Jameson groans. “Why? You need the juicy details, Numbers?”
“No, definitely not, but we’re all curious. You haven’t seen anyone since Amie,” Isaac replies.
We all catch the way Jameson averts his eyes, a flush of guilt crossing his features.
Shit.
“Amie?” Walker asks. “Where’d you run into her?” he asks without judgment.
“Her front door,” Jameson answers with a laugh.
Jameson and Amie have been…friends for years. Hell, who am I kidding? They’re fuck buddies, and it seems to work for them. She’s got a reputation of getting around, which doesn’t seem to bother my friend. When either of them has a particular itch to scratch, they hook up. It’s been going on for years, though we can’t seem to understand why. She’s whiny and annoying when she’s in here, hanging all over any guy she can. Probably to get Jameson’s attention, but he never seems to mind.