Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I say. But it doesn’t feel like enough. I know it’s not enough.
“Whatever you need, Molly,” he says softly. “I mean that.”
Despite the chill nipping at my cheeks, I melt.
Brayden
Seven months ago . . .
“This one is good.” Molly nudges the tasting glass back toward the bartender. “But I think it would be better if they toned down the hops a little.” She turns to me, her cheeks flushed from the beer samples, her eyes bright from a long but successful afternoon. She’s stunning, and every time she looks at me, I feel myself being tugged toward her, a magnetic pull that might be stronger than my own willpower.
“Agreed,” I say, nodding to my own sample. “There’s a lot of nice citrus, but it gets lost.”
“I like IPAs as much as the next girl, but sometimes it’s like the breweries are trying to outdo each other for the hoppy-est beer available.”
The bartender—my buddy Raine from college—grins at Molly like he’s a smitten schoolboy. She has that effect on guys. “These hipster assholes come in here trying to tell me the shit they brew in their basement is better because it has higher IBUs.”
Molly shrugs. “I mean, it’s possible. I’ve had some delicious homebrews, but homebrew IPAs are tough.”
“Sure,” Raine says, “me too. I’ve also had some that taste like the bottom of an unwashed gym sock.”
I grimace at the description. “I’ve had those too, unfortunately.”
Raine rocks back on his heels and surveys my newest employee, no doubt taking in Molly’s wide smile and blue eyes, and the killer curves under her professional attire. I resist the urge to move closer—to stake a claim I don’t have. Molly is my employee, and our day of training was a success. She has the perfect personality for sales. She’s bright without being too bubbly, and informed without being obnoxious. She’s got the face for it, too. She might punch me in the nuts if I admitted it out loud, but a pretty face is an important part of sales. I learned a long time ago that the purchasing managers for these pubs are far more receptive to a beautiful woman’s sales pitch than mine.
“I wondered if you’d ever get over Sara,” Raine says. “It’s good to see the evidence with my own eyes.”
Molly flashes me a questioning look, but I shake my head at my old friend. I’m not sure why he’s bringing up Sara now. “It’s been ten years.” I grab my next sample—a dark, rich porter—and sniff it before bringing the glass to my lips.
“Looks like things worked out for the best.” His gaze shifts to Molly then back to me. “So how long have you two been together?”
I choke on my beer.
Molly bites back a grin. “Do we look like a couple?”
Raine arches a brow. “Shit. Are you not?”
“No.” I cough the beer from my windpipe. “Not at all.” I could swear I see hurt flash across Molly’s face. Seriously? Surely she knows a guy like me would trip over himself to be with her. “I’m still in Jackson Harbor. Molly lives in Brooklyn.”
Raine folds his arms. “She loves beer and has the face of an angel, and you’re going to let a few hundred miles come between you?”
“Try eight hundred miles,” I mutter, not bothering to pretend I haven’t thought about it.
“I work for him,” Molly says quickly, but I don’t miss the way she directs her gaze at her beer now. The way she’s avoiding my eyes. This whole situation is embarrassing the shit out of her, and I feel like a dick for not making our relationship clear to Raine from the start.
“I see,” he says, though the look he’s giving me says he doesn’t see at all and thinks I should make my move now.
I wish I could. Hell, I’ve been thinking about it all day. She’s . . . tempting. With every laugh that passes her lips, and every flush of her cheeks at my praise, I think about it.
Molly points a thumb over her shoulder. “Does that old jukebox actually work?” she asks Raine.
Nodding, he reaches into a jar behind the counter then drops a fistful of quarters on the bar. “Knock yourself out.”
She takes the coins with a subdued smile then slides off her stool and weaves through the tables to the jukebox on the opposite side of the room. I watch every step.
“I’m sorry,” Raine says softly. “If I made things awkward, I mean . . .”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“She doesn’t look at you like you’re just her boss.”
I arch a brow, waiting for him to explain what he means by that, but he shrugs and moves down the bar to help another patron.
Molly’s staring at the musical offerings, her fingers digging into the back of her neck like she’s trying to work out a knot.