Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ripley
Fuuuuuck. I hate paperwork. I roll my neck out, massaging the tight muscles at my nape.
Why can’t I just come in and focus on the bourbon? I want to craft new flavor profiles and tweak my already perfect recipes and not worry about fucking admin shit.
I wasn’t even supposed to be here today.
I came in on my day off to check on the fermentation we started earlier in the week.
It won’t be complete for three or four more days, so there’s not much to do, but I don’t leave anything to chance when it comes to my bourbon.
Too much acid buildup in the ferment and the whole batch will have to be trashed.
I was on my way out when Thea cornered me and sat me in her office to fill out license renewals and a projections report for the expansion. I haven’t checked, but I wouldn’t put it past her to have locked me in here. I may or may not have been putting this off for the last week… or five.
I might actually be dying of boredom; there isn’t even a window in the tiny space.
I tap the pencil I’ve been using against the papers on the desk and watch as it does that thing where it looks like it’s bending.
Getting lost in the illusion, I rack my brain for what it’s called.
I’m pretty sure I learned about it in fifth grade or something.
Unable to move on until I put a name to it, I pull my phone out to Google it. Out of habit, I first open my messages app.
4/8 1:23 p.m.
Thea: Put your phone away and FOCUS!
Delivered
4/8 1:23 p.m.
Thea: **kissy face emoji**
Delivered
Ugh, this woman knows me too well.
No other new messages though.
I scroll to his name. Nothing since the filthy exchange from a few nights ago—the one where he told me about his fantasy to fuck me against a tree in the woods at night. It was pretty tame until he went into grave detail about the things he wanted to do with his tongue.
Shit. This is not a great time to relive that conversation. I close out of the app, put my phone down, and force my attention back to the forms in front of me, blowing out a frustrated breath.
I manage to fill out my name at the top when the office door swings open, Thea stepping inside.
“I’m almost done,” I say quickly, shuffling the papers into a pile so she can’t see just how untrue my statement is.
“They’re here,” she hisses as she presses her back to the door.
“Here? Now? I thought Cary was dropping him off at his hotel first, and we were all going to have dinner together later.”
The infamous Seth is here. Ever since he agreed to be best man, Cary hasn’t stopped talking about him, and Thea hasn’t stopped dreading it.
We got a reprieve when Cary flew out to Seattle last week for a business meeting, but he resumed when he came back this weekend.
And now with Seth here, he’ll be insufferable.
On the outside, Thea’s been excited for Seth’s extended visit, but I know her.
She’s nervous and getting ready to be extra nice.
He’s important to Cary, so she’s pretending he’s important to her.
In reality, she doesn’t like him much, and I don’t blame her.
From what she told me about her time in Seattle, he’s a stuck up prick.
Fortunately for me, I don’t have to impress him. My role as man of honor is to have Thea’s back, and I take it very seriously. If it means I have to kick the best man’s ass—using sarcasm and wit, I’m not a physical guy—so be it.
Worse comes to worst, I’ll sic Brooks on him. The man knows how to throw a punch, and he still owes me for bailing him out of jail.
“I guess they decided to stop in early,” she says. “Can you come out here? I need a buffer, and Cary sucks.”
“Did Seth do something already?” I ask, bristling on her behalf.
“No, he’s fine. I’d just feel better with you by my side.
He’s so uptight and critical. I feel like I’m being judged.
” I don’t think I’ve seen Thea this tense before.
I hate that this asshole has her so anxious.
So close to her wedding, the only things stressing her out should be cake flavors and centerpieces.
“Talking to him always felt like I was talking to a brick wall, and I seriously doubt it's gotten better over the years,” she says, her wide eyes accentuating her point.
“Alright, babe. I got you,” I say as I stand and follow her out to the restaurant. It’s mid-day, so the place is full with the lunch crowd, servers milling around delivering food and busboys clearing recently vacated tables.
It takes a while to find Cary in the bustle. When my eyes catch on his tall frame, he’s speaking to a couple of customers at their table. His food has been a big draw since he took over RED’s kitchen.
Thea catches his eye, and he excuses himself to make his way over, wrapping an arm around her waist. I swear these two would glue themselves together if it were socially acceptable.
“Seth went to the bathroo—ah, here he is,” Cary says, his gaze on something—someone—behind me. “Seth, this is Ripley, Thea’s man of honor.”
I turn around, and I swear, my soul leaves my body.
Tropical blue eyes.
Sandy blond hair, each strand in exactly the right spot.
Blue button up—which only makes his eyes pop more. Thank fuck there’s no tie. I might actually perish if he were wearing a tie.
Neither of us says a word. My heart is beating so loud in my ears, I can’t imagine how no one else hears it. I don’t know what to do with my face, my hands, or my voice. My body is no longer under my control. It wants to slowly melt to the floor, to my knees—how he likes me best.
Fuck.
How is he keeping his cool right now? If the muscles in his jaw weren’t feathering from how hard he’s clenching his molars together, I’d think he was completely unaffected.
At this point, I’m not sure how long we’ve been standing here staring at each other. Could have been a week for all I know. Maybe a month. I can’t find any words as my brain continues to short-circuit and attempt to make sense of what I’m seeing.
And just like that, the spell is broken as he juts out his hand and says, “Hi, nice to meet you.” I stare at his hand then again at his face, still in disbelief.
Nice to meet me?! I mean, yeah, it was. We had a grand old time when we first met four years ago.
I’m still having an out-of-body experience as I watch myself from somewhere up in the rafters slowly reach out and place my hand in his, feeling his warm palm, my mind replaying all the ways it’s touched my body over the years.
“Hi, I…” I trail off, unsure of where I was going with that sentence. I try again, “I… have bourbon.”
Snatching my hand back, I run.
Okay, maybe “run” is an exaggeration. There are too many people around, and this is my place of work, so I briskly walk past the bar and out the swinging doors leading to the distillery. I distantly hear Cary say, “What was that?” before the doors shut, and I increase my pace.
I beeline for one of the bottles behind the bar in the tasting room. Popping the top, I pour a few fingers into a tumbler and throw it back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
He’s here, he’s here, he’s here, he’s here.
What the fuck are the chances? Of all the people in the whole wide world, what are the chances I’ve been obsessing over Seth, Cary’s best friend and Thea’s archnemesis?
I release a deep sigh. I have to tone it down and get it together. The dramatics won’t help me right now. How am I supposed to go back out there? How am I supposed to act? Fuck, does Cary even know Seth’s gay? Thea would have told me; he tells her everything, and she tells me everything.
Am I supposed to go out there and pretend like he hasn’t strapped me to a hotel bed and edged me for a good four hours before making me come buckets?
Am I supposed to act like I didn’t throw my heart at him the last time I saw him only to have him slice it open and toss it in the trash on his way out the door of the suite?
Are we going to pretend he hasn’t been messaging me depraved, sexy things almost every night since?
“Oh good, we’re drinking,” drawls Brooks, planting himself in a stool in front of me. I was so in my head, I didn’t even notice him come in through the back door.
Without a word, I pull out another glass for him, pouring a healthy serving and refilling my own.
He sips for a few moments in silence before taking a long look at me and saying, “You good, man?”
I shake my head, unable to articulate just how not good I am.
“What happened?” Just from his voice I can tell a switch flipped inside him, and I’m in the presence of protective Brooks now.
The one ready to take on anyone and anything posing a threat to the people he cares for.
Not that he could do anything, but it makes me feel better to have someone in my corner.
“He’s here,” I say.
“Who?”
“He! HIM!” My voice is rising, as if increasing the volume will help explain the jumble of thoughts in my head.
“That really clears things up,” Brooks deadpans, ignoring my outburst. “Take a breath, and try again.”
I take three heaving breaths, and even that doesn’t seem like enough. I’m feeling panicked and lightheaded and a little bit like I’m dreaming. “West.” After a pause, I add, “Seth.”
One word answers—I’m doing great.
“What? They’re both here?” Brooks’ confusion is evident, and I don’t blame him. I’m amazed he’s almost following along with my train of thought.
I run a hand over my face and look at him. “West is Seth. Seth is West. He’s… him.”
He blinks at me a few times, and then his eyes widen as the truth settles around us. “Oh, shit.”
“‘Oh, shit’ is fucking right.”
“Drink up, my man.” He clinks his glass to mine, and we sip in silence for a few moments. Well, he sips. I gulp my glass down in a few swallows, focusing on the burn all the way down my throat.
Then the asshole chuckles and shakes his head. “What are the fucking chances?” He takes another drink and adds, “What did Thea say?”
“Nothing. I haven’t told her.”
“You know you’re gonna have to.”
“What? Why? No, she doesn’t need to know. We’re just going to ignore it. Like adults.”
“Dude, you have to. If shit blows up between you two—and let’s face it, it will—you’ll ruin the wedding, and you know how important it is to her.
” He makes a good point. This is definitely going to affect the wedding.
I must be even worse off than I thought if Brooks Grant is the one talking sense into me, being the one grown-up in the room.
“Fuck,” I say, accepting he’s right—for once.
Brooks chuckles again, and it soon turns into a full laugh.
“What the hell is so funny about any of this?” I ask, annoyance lacing my tone.
“I was sure it would be me who fucked up the wedding, but my odds just got a lot better,” he says as he stands and walks out toward the restaurant, glass still in hand.