Chapter One #2
“You don’t need to rush,” she said. “I’m not using this batch until the next brew.”
“It’s not a problem.” Kieran continued to haul the remaining bags into the brewhouse in silence. A thought nagged at him, an impulse to keep the conversation going as Sammie followed him back and forth carrying her own bags.
It was always this way with her. Sammie was, well, intimidating.
Commanding. She ran her operation with a skill and expertise that Kieran hadn’t expected from the volleyball-brained girl he’d known in his teen years.
And Kieran was quite literally just a guy.
A guy who hadn’t outgrown the volleyball-brained phase, and who thought someone like Sammie probably had way more interesting things going on in her life than talking to him.
Not to mention the fact that the friendship they’d shared as teens had all but evaporated after Kieran had left Illinois for Seattle to play professionally.
Sure, he and Atticus had fallen back into an easy closeness once they were on the same team again, but Sammie still felt more like an acquaintance.
A pretty, five-foot-nine, built like she was from Themyscira acquaintance.
Kieran cleared his throat. “Are you coming to the game this weekend?”
There, that was as good a place to start as any. Common ground.
“Yep.” She let the last bag of grain fall to the pallet. “Long as I get off on time. Think you guys have this one?”
Maybe if they just stuck to the one topic—see: volleyball-brained—then Kieran would be able to hold a full conversation without falling into another painful silence.
“We were a little shaky on offense last game,” he began. “Drills were looking good earlier in the week, though. Coach wants to squeeze in one more practice tonight.”
“Good, that’s good.”
A pause. It drew out too long, neither of them filling it.
Sammie’s eyes landed on his as she wiped her palms on the overalls she had tied around her waist, and Kieran felt something swoop in his gut.
He didn’t know if he hated or loved when that happened, but it seemed to occur whenever her eyes pinned him, regardless of how he felt about it.
He had to say something. He wanted to say something, wanted to find a reason to stick around a little longer, to keep their conversation going past bland formalities.
They’d been friends once, and even though Kieran had messed that up after a rain-soaked confession of teenage love, he just couldn’t let himself believe they would never get back to that place.
Maybe they could get food after the game, with Atticus and his new boyfriend, Kai. A chance to really catch up, without things like grain deliveries and volleyball getting in the way.
Kieran cleared his throat again, pulling Sammie’s gaze back to him. “After the game, if you want-”
“Excuse me?”
A deep voice cut him off and Sammie’s eyes flicked past his face toward the open garage door.
Kieran turned to see a buttoned-up, professional-looking type in his mid-thirties step into the brewhouse without invitation.
And sure, Kieran had just done the same thing, but Sammie hadn’t glared at him the way she staring daggers at this guy.
“Can I help you?” Arms crossed over her chest, brow raised in question, and a bored look that would have had anyone else apologizing for wasting her precious time.
“I assume you’re the brewer? Sammie, right?” The man ignored Sammie’s question as he held out a pale hand.
Toward Kieran.
He supposed he did look the part. White dude with a short, scruffy beard, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows over an old Wildcats t-shirt. Kieran was basically a poster child for men in brewing.
“I am not.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Because if he knew anything about Sammie, it was that she was not going to take this well.
“That would be me.” She spoke up right on cue, her words sharp as knives. Kieran watched gears turn slowly in the stranger’s head, and thought that maybe the guy needed to grease them more often.
“Oh. Of course.” The man shifted so that his proffered hand pointed toward Sammie, only for her to ignore it. After several mortifying moments, he dropped it back to his side. Kieran winced.
“Can I help you?” Sammie asked again, and Kieran didn’t miss the way her jaw clenched at having to repeat herself.
“Mark Collins.” Mark’s hands landed on his hips, his demeanor casual, haughty even. Kieran wasn’t a fan, and quite enjoyed watching Sammie’s glare turn molten. “I’m meeting Robert here for a tour.”
Sammie opened her mouth, probably to continue questioning him, when another voice interrupted her.
“Oh, hi Mark!” Carson approached the group, something held in one hand. “Just got a text from uncle Robert. Said for me to bring you to the taproom.” He glanced at Sammie apologetically, a slight flush coloring his cheeks as he held out his hand. “Sorry, I couldn’t find the duct tape.”
Sammie stared at the object in his hand with something akin to mortification. Kieran leaned forward to get a better look.
Wait. Was that a…
“Is that a dildo?” Mark asked, right on cue. His gaze switched from overconfident nonchalance to a leering appraisal, eyes pulling away from what was indeed a small, phallic-shaped object in Sammie’s hand to look up and down the length of her body.
Kieran’s head emptied of all thoughts beyond wanting to body this fucker into the next decade.
“It’s a vibrator. For the whale tale,” Sammie sputtered, closing her hand around the sex toy, mostly hiding it from view. Mark raised a questioning brow, a smirk plastered on his face that Kieran was finding more and more aggravating.
“Sure,” he said, voice oily as he turned to follow Carson. “Nice to meet you, Sammie.”
And then he winked.
Kieran worried that the grip Sammie had on that vibrator was going to turn it to dust as they watched the two men head toward the taproom.
“We could slash his tires,” he offered. Sammie let out a harsh, cutting laugh.
“Blame it on Carson, somehow.” She turned toward him with a bitter grin.
“The kid doesn’t seem so bad.”
“He’s not a kid.” Sammie laughed again, lighter this time, and Kieran wanted to find a way to keep it going, to keep that easy smile on her face. “And he is that bad. The duct tape is in the same place it always is.”
Kieran didn’t know if he was supposed to follow her as she walked back toward the canning line, but since she hadn’t outright dismissed him, he decided to stick around. Practice wouldn’t start for another hour.
And, well. He really wanted to know why a vibrator was needed for brewing beer.
“See? Same spot as always.” Sammie snatched up a roll of hot pink duct tape from her makeshift desk that was really just a folding table shoved into a corner.
It was covered in loose items that Kieran couldn’t begin to name or guess what they were used for.
Vials and tools that looked more like they belonged in a science lab.
Lined pages full of hastily scribbled notes.
If there was a method to Sammie’s organizational madness, Kieran couldn’t see it.
“So.” He raised a brow at Sammie. “What is that for?”
She sighed. “It’s for the whale tale.”
“There’s no way that is a real thing used in the making of beer.”
“It is.” Sammie snorted, holding the vibrator against the side of a large, flat bed of metal, slapping her hand against it. “The whale tail.” Its shape created a funnel of sorts, slanted so that the empty beer cans could slide toward the place where they formed a line waiting to be filled.
The sound of tearing duct tape pulled Kieran’s attention back to where Sammie was fastening the small, purple sex toy into place.
She rose to her full height, pressing a button on the vibrator and gesturing toward the cans that began to shiver across the metal.
“In theory, gravity and the vibrations should keep the cans moving toward the end of the funnel. Cuts out the need to have someone popping back down here to keep them going.”
“Looks like it’s working.”
Sammie grinned wide. It was sharp and confident, and it made Kieran’s insides swoop once again. “Looks like it is.” She paused, pushing cans from the edges that weren’t moving forward. “Might need a bigger one, though.”
“Do you think Carson even knows what that is?”
“Oh, he knows. But that doesn’t mean he knows how to use it.” A heartbeat passed before Sammie seemed to realize what she had just said, her cheeks lighting up a soft pink. “In a brewery, I mean.”
Kieran decided it was probably in everyone’s best interest for him to move past that comment. “Know what’s going on in there?” He hooked a finger over his shoulder, toward the taproom, regretting the question as soon as storm clouds returned to Sammie’s eyes.
“No clue,” she huffed, turning the vibrator off before flopping into the rolling chair seated in front of her desk. “Robert doesn’t tell me anything unless it directly pertains to the beer I brew. He’s got a whole party going on in there, though, doesn’t he?”
Kieran turned to see that, in addition to Mark, two other men stood around Robert Everly.
They were all the same kind of man—white, mid-thirties or forties, country club-frequenting, trust fund-having investor types.
The sort that loved to pat one another on the back while they schemed up new ways to pad their bank accounts.
“He really doesn’t include you in meetings?”
That sharp, mirthless laugh again. “I’m just the girl who brews the beer, why should I be involved? Carson will be in on those meetings before me.”
Kieran thought back to the way Mark had walked in and assumed that Kieran was the head brewer. Not Sammie.
“Does that sort of thing happen a lot?” He pointed toward where they’d been standing when Robert’s buddy had arrived. “People not realizing you’re the one in charge back here?”