Love Is Ale You Need (Brews and Flings #1)
1. Single Bros. Life
ONE
SINGLE brOS. LIFE
Trey
Humans are not swans. Outside the obvious regarding appearance and being able to fly, though it would be pretty sweet to fly, we’re not meant to mate for life. Not me anyway. I can’t even call myself a wolf because guess what? They also mate for life. Suckers. One by one all my friends have been pairing off because they’ve found the love of their life. Their soulmate. Their better half. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them, but again, it’s not for me. There’s only one person I can depend on. Myself. And it’s better that way. Less feelings. Less complications. Relationships are a hard pass and Single Bros. Life nights are for exactly that.
“Can I have your attention?” With a heavy hand, I smack the gavel against the table, sending vibrations through the wood. “Attention, everyone.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I hit it again but this time in rapid succession until everyone turns their head toward me, including all the customers in the main room of Porter’s as everyone goes whisper silent for a second. Well, shit, maybe that was a little harder than needed. Soon enough the chatter and clinking of glasses resume in the main bar area while a hush settles over the small crowd in front of me. By small, I mean three people. Placing the gavel on the table, I roll up the sleeves of my white dress shirt. When I glance up, I’m met with a menacing glare from a six foot four, broad shouldered Jake stalking toward me.
Since he always sports a resting glower face, I offer him a wide grin in return. “Are you joining us for our meeting tonight? These guys could learn a thing or two about being single from you.” I hold out the gavel and wave it over the table, where three guys are seated. “I’m sure we can find another chair for you.”
Jake comes to a halt inches away from me. His face is stoic, like a marble statue, but with much harsher lines and a distinct tick to his stone jaw. With every flare of his nostrils, I have the urge to boop him on his nose, but with the storm clouds rolling in his eyes I’m sure it would lead to him booping me on my nose with his fist, so I think better of it.
“Oh. Um. I stand up here. Everyone else sits down there.” I point my gavel over the table again.
Without saying a word, he rips the gavel from my hand so fast I’m surprised I’m not left with splinters, or at least wood rash.
“If you use this,” he holds up the gavel, “in my bar again, I’m going to be forced to use it on you.” He’s so close his hot breath rolls over my face. “I said you could host whatever meeting you're doing, but you’re not disrupting my bar with this shit. Got it?”
My lips press together, and I nod. “Duly noted.” Don’t poke the bear. Don’t poke the bear. If my face wasn’t so pretty, I’d totally poke the bear. “Can I have my gavel back?” I stretch out my arm to grab it, but Jake pulls it away.
“No.” He twists around and storms off.
“So, we don’t need to find you a chair?” I ask as he departs. “I guess that’s a no,” I mumble to myself.
I shift my attention to the table in front of me. “Sorry about the interruption. Thanks for coming to Porter’s for our Single Bros. Life meeting.”
Shortly after graduating from college, I created SBL. That’s what happens when your heart is ripped out of your body and tossed to the ground. From then on, I realized relationships weren’t worth the hassle. Everything is tremendously less complicated when all you offer is a few hours of companionship. And by companionship, I mean fucking. Nothing more.
A hard and fast rule of mine is to always go to her place, it’s a lot easier to run away than it is to convince her to leave. I’ve heard all the excuses: I’m too tired, I don’t have my car, I don’t want to wake my roommate. My response is always: here’s a cup of coffee, I’ll call you an Uber, and I don’t care about your roommate. I don’t actually say the last one, even though I really should. Maybe it will drive my point home. Most importantly, no sleepovers. My plan works because nine times out of ten my phone is ringing asking for a repeat. That brings me to my next rule. No more than twice. A third time screams this could lead to more and I don’t want to send mixed signals.
“While the man cave is under construction, we’ll be meeting here over the next few weeks, since no one else has a place we can go.” My gaze narrows at every single guy sitting before me.
“Sorry. My apartment is too small. Two of us could sit in the living room, one in the kitchen, and someone in the bathroom.” Owen shrugs with a sheepish smile.
“With how much you don’t clean, I don’t think anyone wants to do that,” Miles says.
“What about your place?” Owen counters.
“My place is spotless right now. Mostly because my parents are visiting me for the next month and Mom cleans when she’s bored and I’m not going to say no.” Miles adjusts his black-framed glasses.
“So, your house is the cleanest, why don’t we go there?” Darren asks.
“Because my dad’s idea of relaxing is sitting in front of the TV in his underwear,” Miles adds.
Everyone’s faces scrunch like they got a whiff of rotten cheese.
“Remind me to never sit on your couch,” Owen says.
“I just got a cat, Mittens, who hates everyone, including me.” Darren rolls up the sleeve of his button down dress shirt. Giant red scratches stretch from his wrist to his elbow. “I’d hate to subject anyone else to this type of violence. Who knew a cat named Mittens would be so angry?”
“Cat therapy.” Owen points a finger in the air, turning toward Darren. “It’s a thing. My co-worker goes with his cat.”
Darren digs his phone out of the front pocket of his khakis. “That’s an idea. Do you know who does that?”
“Guys. Guys! Let’s rein it in. Anyway, we can all thank Jake for allowing us use of Porter’s backroom. Also, we can’t bring our own snacks, which might be for the best since Owen got sick from the cheese dip Darren provided at the last meeting.”
“Sorry. I had no idea the cheese went bad.” Darren’s tone is somber as he drops his head.
“With the cheese in the past, Porter’s has apps and beer. But everyone is responsible for their own tabs.” I glance around the room. “Where’s Tim?”
Owen raises his hand.
“You don’t need to raise your hand,” I say.
His hand slinks to his lap. “He texted me and said he can’t make it today. Something about needing to pick up the kids from school because their mother is too busy”—he reaches into the breast pocket of his red polo and pulls out his phone. He glances down at the screen and then at me—“and I quote, ‘fucking her piece of shit boss.’”
“Fucking Tim,” I mutter under my breath.
The other two guys gasp, while Owen nods his head in confirmation. I’m not sure if it’s because how Tim worded it or because his ex is still sleeping with her boss who is also Owen’s boss. They’ve bonded over their mutual dislike of the guy.
After Tim caught his now ex-wife cheating last year, he eventually filed for divorce. Granted, she wasn’t doing much to conceal it, but for the longest time Tim put on blinders for the sake of the kids. When Owen invited him to come to SBL, we all welcomed him with open arms.
“We can use this as a learning experience. First,” I hold up one finger, “avoid having kids at all costs. Things will always turn to shit, then you’re left with nothing but a pile of shit. Tim’s already a lost cause, but we’re slowly guiding him back toward the light. And second,” I hold up another finger, “if your wife, girlfriend, or partner says they have to work late and come home smelling like cheap perfume. Run. Run like Forrest Gump. Right the hell out of there.” I hold up a third finger. “Most importantly, paternity tests are your friend. And always confirm she’s actually pregnant. Ask to see a test. Go with her to an appointment.”
Miles pulls out his phone and types notes on the screen, absorbing everything like a sponge.
“Learn from mine and Tim’s experiences. Now that we got that out of the way, let’s continue with the rest of the meeting.”
Over the next hour, we discuss everything I’m doing with the man cave remodel, including installing a state-of-the-art bar. Miles tells us about the new drone he purchased and the three-camera system it has. Owen animatedly discusses the ins and outs of a new virtual reality video game console he bought. Darren rounds out the conversation by debating if perhaps the reason his cat is acting out is because he’s lonely and maybe he should get another cat so he can have a friend.
As they continue to discuss the pros and cons of Darren acquiring a second cat, I excuse myself. I stroll through the crowd, meandering in and out of tables filled with customers. Along the way, I duck and weave away from previous hookups, vying for my attention, but get stopped by a few acquaintances to talk business. At the end of the long bar, I claim an empty seat. I drum my fingers on the smooth, worn wood bar top as I wait. My gaze drifts to the opposite end of the bar where Rylee, a bartender squares her shoulders at a guy across from her. By the way she’s clenching her jaw, I’m sure she’s ready to rip his jugular out Mortal Combat style.
He reaches across the bar, and she pulls away. My molars grind together. That’s all I need to see. I shove off the wood edge, the screeching of the metal on the linoleum tile draws the attention of a few customers around me. The stool nearly topples over, but someone behind me catches it and I stalk to the other end.