16. Milo
16
MILO
“Please tell me you have an almost empty keg I can steal.”
Hux’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, jarring me. He’s on edge, I can tell, not only by the sharpness of his tone, but by the way he’s stalking toward me. It’s a hell of a transition from the memories of Brenna and the Fourth of July that I was lost in.
“Errrr…”
I kick the three large silver barrels next to me. Silver Lining is mostly full, and Party Mode is brand-new—we tapped that last night during a Pints and Purls. Sob Story, on the other hand, is dead. If we tried real hard we might be able to get a single gulp out of it—and by real hard I mean one of us holding the keg upside down, shaking every last drop into a glass the other held in place. Not worth it.
“Nope,” I reply, screwing the tap back into the draught faucet. I grab a towel, drying my hands from the soapy water I was using to clean out the taps, tossing it to the side. “But one’s full, one’s freshly tapped and the other’s ’bout to be. Could pour you some to go. What’s the occasion? ”
Hux sneers. “Dolly’s in tears. I don’t know what that fucker did now, but…”
He trails off, parking himself on a stool and leaning on the rough cut bar. He shakes his head, no doubt thinking about tearing his best friend’s fiancé from limb to limb. Because if there’s one thing you need to know about Huxley Hayes, it’s that he thinks Dolly McLain walks on water. She always has, and always will. And if you try to argue that fact, you’ll end up regretting it.
Her fiancé, Jeff, however…well, there’s no love lost there. Hux tolerates him for the sole purpose of keeping Dolly happy. She loves him, and to Hux, that’s all that matters.
“How do you even know it’s him?” I ask.
“It’s in her voice. She only sounds like that when he upsets her.”
Gotcha…
“Dude, safe space,” I say, gesturing between the two of us. “You sure you don’t have feelings for her?”
The two have been besties since they were in the third grade and were cast as Peter Pan and Wendy in the school play. The whole town instantly fell for the idea of the two of them as a couple, even at nine years old, and the town gossips had a field day planning their eventual wedding. Being who Hux and Dolly are, they vowed then and there to only ever be friends, sticking it to the rumor mill.
“Fuck off,” he scoffs, giving me the finger. “I’m not a homewrecker.”
“Didn’t say you were.” I hold my hands up in surrender, trying not to piss him off even more. Thanks to being the head of lumber and paper, and the family lumberjack, Hux is easily the physically strongest of all of us. Last thing I need is him coming over this bar to try and kick my ass. “But, you’re acting more like jealous boyfriend than a bestie. Makes a person wonder. ”
“Could say the same for you and Brenna.”
He fucking went there.
I glare at him. Because no, you could not say the same thing about me and Brenna. I am not acting like a jealous boyfriend. Just a regular one.
Because everything that happened between us the other night, everything we did— I did —is something a boyfriend does. None of that was planned. I had good intentions when Auggie said I could use the boat, planning a relaxing evening of us hanging out on the water, sitting back, watching the fireworks, and snacking. On food. Not me snacking on her. Which is exactly what I did.
But you know what they say about good intentions and exactly what road they pave.
Which, right about now, is exactly where I’m heading.
I’m supposed to be looking out for my best friend’s little sister. Making sure that no one messes with her or takes advantage. And what do I do? I spend the summer’s biggest holiday making out with her in Silver Lake, and then follow that up by coaxing not one, but two orgasms out of her. The second of which I used a method that apparently was another first for her.
I have no idea if Brenna is aware that she murmured that last part out loud as she was falling asleep in my arms. That secret is safe with me though. Just like all her others.
Being her vault, her safe space, makes my heart swell. I like it way more than I should. Almost as much as I like knowing that my tongue will be the one she compares all others to. That I hold the honor of being the first one to ever explore her like that. To experience the glorious taste of her. Something I won’t be forgetting any time soon. Or, well, ever.
I place my hands wide on the bar, leaning into them, trying to figure out a way to respond to Hux. I’m the king of smart-ass answers. There’s a reason Willa calls me a sass-hole. But right now, I got nothing.
“Say what about him and Brenna?” Gus asks, appearing next to Hux.
Where the hell did he come from? And how long has he been here?
“That some of his actions could make a person wonder what his actual feelings are there,” Hux answers.
“It’s Brenna. She’s a little sister,” I defend. The words are sour in my mouth, and not in a good way.
“Suuuuure.” Hux narrows his eyes at me, seeing right through my bullshit statement.
Gus sits down next to him, the two of them opposites in so many ways. Grumpy Gus, as Willa calls him, is sporting his normal, serious expression, looking like he’s ready to hold court at any moment, even in his jeans and button-down. The cleanest cut of all of us, his dark hair is a sharp contrast to his green eyes. Hux, on the other hand, is a classic middle child, with a permanent shit-eating grin, tattoos covering his arms and torso, a full beard, and ear gauges. The gauges are small, a condition of Miss Belle’s when he rebelled in high school by inserting them.
“Don’t make it into something it’s not,” I hiss.
“I’m not the one who took her out on the sex boat,” Hux retorts.
I huff, trying to hold in saying something I’ll regret. I am not going to dignify that with an answer.
“The boat live up to its reputation?” Gus teases.
I’m not going to dignify that with an answer either…
I give them both the bird, turning my attention back to the half-assembled beer taps. I need to get these cleaned up before we open. My brothers chuckle and then turn to look at each other. The two of them, along with Jace, are all currently roommates, living in an old house on the family estate. Which I know aids in their ability to silently communicate and gang up on me. Like they are about to.
My phone rattles across the bar with an incoming call. Saved by the bell. Buzz. I pick it up, thankful for the easy exit from this conversation. That is, until I look at the screen and see Brandt’s face.
My heart skips a beat, apprehension taking over. The exact opposite emotion of what one should be feeling when his best friend calls.
Unless he tongue fucked said best friend’s baby sister a few days ago. And liked it. Like I did.
“Hey man!” I answer, forcing myself to sound relaxed.
“Hey!” he shouts, the sound of the wind whipping through the phone. “Hold on.”
I shake my head, knowing exactly how he feels. The winds of Colorado’s front range can be sneaky and powerful, catching you more than a little off guard at times. Although, they’re much better in July than they are in January.
“Sorry,” he says a moment later. “Stepped outside and, like, walked into a wind tunnel. Wasn’t that way earlier.”
“As long as Greeley isn’t wafting over,” I joke, knowing he’ll understand exactly what I’m saying.
The old putdown isn’t at all fair to the city of Greeley, which is about thirty miles to the southeast of Fort Collins. Surrounded by cattle yards, like most of the eastern part of the state, Greeley has actually grown quite a bit since we left college. From what I hear, it’s a nice place. That does nothing to stop the jokes about the smell of those cattle yards hitting the Fort on particularly windy days and blaming a town that had nothing to do with it.
“Dude, don’t put that out there. We haven’t had that once this summer. It’s been perfect. You have no idea what you’re missing.”
I know what I’d be missing if I’d gone …
The sweet coos and moans from Brenna as I settled between her thighs fill my ears, distracting me from the call. My dick twitches, all thanks to thoughts of her. But certainly not something that should be happening while I’m on the phone with her brother.
I need to stop it.
“Someone had to hold things down here. Or we wouldn’t have an operation for you to be off bragging about.”
Brandt laughs, then launches into his updates. Some of it’s a repeat from texts we’ve exchanged or the couple of times we’ve chatted. The classes he’s teaching are going well, as is the program as a whole. He’s connected with a guy from Oregon who’s been doing some fun things with stouts, an area that we’ve never explored. Some of it, though, is new. Like how there’s a student who he’s impressed with, and who has expressed interest in coming to help us with Southern Brothers if there is ever an opening.
“Think he can handle Saff?” I ask.
Southern Brothers employee number three, Saffron Ros, was the first person Brandt and I hired when it became clear we could no longer manage everything just the two of us. She takes care of all the day-to-day brewing operations, leaving us to be able to handle the business side, as well as dream up new concepts.
Always down for a challenge, Saff has been supportive of whatever crazy idea we come up with, and was the genius behind the Silver Lining Sour name when that experiment seemed to have gone wrong. We would not be able to function without her. Even if in some ways she does remind me of Teeter from Yellowstone , only more reclusive, rarely making an appearance outside the brewhouse.
“He’s just weird enough that he might be able to,” Brandt replied. I nod, not quite sure what that says about this kid, but it does leave me thinking it might not be a bad fit .
“How’s everything there?”
Errr…ummm….
My mouth goes dry, and my throat flexes, as if I’m trying to dry swallow a pill. It’s a simple question. Especially since I know he’s asking about Southern Brothers. Specifically the new beer and if I have a name.
Which I don’t.
That fact is haunting me enough. Bronwyn and Rose both gave me an earful yesterday about how they need the name so they can work on a label and marketing plans. According to Rose, a number of our customers are already asking when they can start carrying it. A good thing from a sales and marketing perspective. But also puts a cramp in the whole naming thing. This is not the sort of thing that happens under pressure.
“Good, good. Construction is on schedule; everything is moving right along,” I lie. No, not lie. Buffer. Smooth over.
Nothing is outright different. And construction is on schedule. There is that one thing, however. The thing that is currently knotting up in my stomach and starting to gnaw at my resolve.
“So you still don’t have a name.”
“It’ll hit me; don’t worry. I’ll be struck in the right moment.”
I pick up the rag I was using to clean the taps and start wiping down the counter as a distraction. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Gus and Hux, both of them sitting there quietly, not even pretending not to listen to my side of the call. Fuckers.
“Clock’s ticking.”
Don’t I know it…
“How’s Brenna?”
And there it is, the gut punch question. Also a simple, normal inquiry. One that you’d expect out of the ever overprotective older brother. The one who asked his best friend to look out for her.
“You ask that like you haven’t talked to her,” I deflect.
Hux’s ears perk up, his head tilting as if it will help him hear better. I consider tossing the rag at him, but I still need it to help me stay centered.
“I know, I know. I have, so I know all about the drugstore and how Mr. Hovland has townies ganging up on her, and that she’s studying every spare second she can, and because of that she and Mell aren’t quite having the hot-girl summer they wanted.”
“Then you know all there is to know.”
“But then Mom mentioned you took her to the Fourth of July picnic?”
Shit. Fuck… Thanks, Shelly. Really appreciate you selling me down the river like that…
“I did.”
There, nice and simple answer. It’s not like it’s a secret. Whole town saw us there. Thankfully, no one saw us on the boat.
“You skipped Hayes Games? To take Brenna to the picnic?”
I swallow hard. To be fair to Brandt, I’d be confused if I were him too. That said, there is a perfectly logical explanation. Once I think it up.
“She needed a break from studying, and this was how I accomplished it. I told you I was going to look out for her, and that’s what I’m doing.”
See, perfectly logical.
“But what about her date?”
I freeze, arm outstretched mid-wipe. A date? Brenna mentioned a date? Oh hell.
My heart starts to race, trying to think. She mentioned a date, but not that said date was with me. Brandt doesn’t know that part. He just thinks I took her to the picnic. As a friend.
So who does he think she went out with?
We never talked about not telling Brandt about our deal. Then again, I would have thought that went unsaid. Unless she thought that I would have cleared the idea with him. Or that it was partially his idea. Which might explain why she thought they were pity dates.
Panic swells in my chest, poking at the bead of guilt that’s been festering. None of this was my intention. All I wanted was to make her feel special. And then I took it too far.
“Brandt,” I say, still trying to figure out how to approach this.
“I know, I know, you’re not her babysitter. And I know she’s twenty-six and her going to dinner with some guy is a good thing. I’ll stop. Plus, you gotta open in ten. Just make sure he’s not some jackass, will ya? I’ll let you go. Call me this weekend, and we can brainstorm beer names.”
“Will do.”
He hangs up before I can say anymore, and my whole body relaxes. Muscles I didn’t even know I had tensed give way, and my reaction must be as visible as it feels. Both my brothers raise an eyebrow, a move that almost seems synchronized. It’s an unsaid question, waiting on an answer I don’t have.
I just lied to my best friend.
No, not lied. Skirted the truth. Not that there’s much difference. Both make me a jackass.
“You had sex on that boat,” Gus says, breaking the silence.
“Ew,” Hux mutters.
“We did not have sex,” I snap.
That is not a lie either. It was not sex. I did not get lucky, so to speak. We fooled around. I got her off. Twice. But we did not have sex .
“Then why’d you get all squirmy when he asked you how Brenna is?” Gus follows up.
Because I tongue fucked her into oblivion and then held her while she fell asleep…
My heart aches, realizing I liked that last part more than the first. I’m in too deep.
“You like her. Like, more than she’s a little sister like her,” Hux comments.
“Nope.” Yes. I sure fucking do… “Don’t you have some place to be? I thought Dolly was in tears?”
Hux grumbles, pushing up from the bar. “She is. I need to get over there.”
“Here, take this.”
Reaching into the cooler under the bar, I pull out a forty filled with our latest creation. The still unnamed creation.
“This is the new one?” he asks, appraising the bottle as I hand it to him.
“Sure is. It’s light and happy, full of…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence, so I don’t. Fuck, I need to wrap my head around this damn thing. “It’ll help lift her spirits, promise.”
“Thanks. And if you want my opinion?—”
“Sure fucking don’t.”
“Best friend’s little sisters are bad news,” he continues, ignoring my retort.
Giving Gus and me a wink, then a click of his tongue with accompanying finger guns, he heads out of the bar and back to the parking lot. We wait for a moment, letting the door fully close behind him before we look at each other, both of us clearly thinking the same thing.
“If he knows that because he messed around with Whitney…” Gus mutters.
“He wouldn’t. I don’t think.” Hux might be the tomcat of the family, but even he has limits .
“You need to end it.”
Gus changes the subject with ease, but it doesn’t make my stomach hurt any less at the thought.
“Nothing to end. I did what I said I would do, and that’s that.”
And I have. Two dates—that’s what I said I would do. Give her the second date she’s never had. Just because everything within me is clamoring to figure out a third date, doesn’t mean there has to be one. Because there can’t be. Brenna and I are friends and temporary roommates. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.
Even if it kills me.