Chapter 12Olivia
Olivia
“Oww!” Lauren exclaims behind me. “Cake, cake, cake, cake.” She sways her hips through each word, arms shooting up in her cowl neck sweater dress.
I grin as my eyes find her through the full-length mirror. “Okay, fine. I’ll cancel my Brazilian butt lift tomorrow,” I tease, centering the gold buckle of my black belt. “Such a pity though.”
High pony. Check. Tall leather boots. Check. Oversized sweater dress. Check.
My eyes flutter, the back of my hand resting under my chin. “Okay, okay, do me.”
“Hmm,” she drawls, her maroon-tipped finger tapping her glossy lips. “It’s giving a cross between Hailey Bieber and Madelyn Cline. With a fat ass, apparently.”
I place my hands at my hips, tipping my chin in victory. “The best compliment a girl can get before she goes out on the town.”
“The fact that you’re comparing ‘going out on the town’ to going to one place at six in the evening is concerning. How long has it been, Liv?”
“Too long,” I exhaust, rotating to inspect my reflection again. Then my fingers tousle through my curtain bangs before sifting through the rest of my hair. “I live to be an extrovert. What is this misery?”
“You needed to wait until you were ready. And we also need to do this your way. Early and short. Get in and get out.”
My shoulders slump on a pout, hands dropping to my sides. Then I move to my best friend, cupping her soft cheeks in both my palms as I say, “You’re the best, you know that? And you look hot. If no guy tells you that tonight, I’m clocking them in the face.”
Her eyes hood skeptically. “One unfortunate encounter at a coffee shop and you’re a changed woman.”
“Ah, yes I am,” I tease, wiggling my blush nails in front of her.
She clasps a few fingers in hers, studying the powder gel polish. “Shit, I’m firing my nail technician. Where did you go?”
“Nail Lovers in Stardust Cove, thank you very much.” I whirl on my heels, scooping my belt bag off the dresser to toss a lip gloss in. “After the coffee shop scandal, I needed to salvage the pleasant morning I actually had in mind.”
Lauren’s boots pad across the carpet, and then I’m treading to the bedroom door with her behind me. “Ugh, fuck that guy,” she grumbles.
My fingers tap the light switch beside the door frame, a scowl drawn on my face as I jerk my head over my shoulder. “I know, right? Fuck him.”
I’m more of a cocktail gal, but sometimes I can hang with the guys and knock back a few beers. I’ll even pretend I like stouts and IPAs, but sours are always my go-to. They’re just fruity enough to satiate my sweet tooth.
Lauren cuts the rumble of the engine, parking a few rows from the large brick building.
The foyer entrance is bordered by tall and black multi-paneled windows, the chrome of the brewery’s sign resting at the top.
My eyes travel the curve of the sweeping exhaust pipes, and the name of the company is embedded inside—Chrome Pipes Brewing.
On the car ride here, I was told this is the new hot spot for beer lovers. Although this place opened recently, word traveled fast among Lauren’s co-workers. Once she learned it was lowkey and isolated from a busy village, she knew exactly where she wanted to bring me tonight.
It’s definitely a different vibe than I’m used to. Not what you’d expect, but I’m guessing the owner is a car or motorcycle fiend? Maybe this is just what I need. Something to challenge everything I know. Something to help me toss old memories and start anew.
A fresh start.
The crowd is tame at this hour, a dozen empty stools lining the pub-style bar that spans the width of the left wall. An herbal aroma clouds the air, hints of citrus promising a pleasant time for my taste buds.
My Chelsea boots trail Lauren’s path, legs light and quick as our palms cradle each other’s to our destination. I drag a metal stool across the polished concrete, stripping my belt bag and coat off before draping them over the rear of my seat.
Two paper coasters slide in front of us just as we situate ourselves, a cute blond bartender the source of the gesture. “How we doing tonight? What can I get you two?”
“Any recommendations?” I ask, my gaze immediately diving into his blue eyes. “I like sours.”
He half-turns, gesturing to the menu screen bolted to the reclaimed brick.
“We have a milkshake IPA, which has a little thicker consistency, but is a blend of strawberry and peach. There’s a sour-fruited gose, which is brewed with marshmallow and passionfruit, and an IPA sour brewed with blueberry and raspberry.
” He returns his attention to me, his large palms now lying flat on the bar top.
“All of these are very popular amongst the sour fans, so I don’t think you can really go wrong. ”
“The sour-fruited gose sounds like a good time,” Lauren interrupts.
I pop my shoulders up. “Okay. Sour-fruited gose it is.”
“Sounds good.” A tiny smirk emerges on his smooth jaw, and he drags his eyes to Lauren. “And for you?”
“I’ll have the chocolate stout, please.”
She tells him to leave the tab open while handing her credit card over, and when he walks away, I wave a hand at her. “No way, I’m getting the next round.”
“You’re already annoying me, and it hasn’t even been five minutes,” she says, pinning me with a deadpan stare.
I roll my eyes, setting my elbow on the bar to snuggle my chin in my palm. “If these beers are terrible, tell your coworkers they should stick to teaching. They’ll be forbidden to give out food and drink recommendations forever. I’m just saying.”
Lauren laughs. “I’ll leave a note in the faculty room and sign it from you. With a heart.”
“No heart. They’d owe me two hours of my life.”
“Enjoy, ladies.” The bartender sets a full beer glass on each coaster, nodding once before peeling away.
We raise our drinks, clinking the glasses before taking the first sip.
Sharp bursts of citrus sink into my mouth, the tart flavor living up to my expectations.
I happily gulp the generous sip, poking my tongue out to lap the tiny remnants.
“Uhm, excuse me? Did I just become a habitual beer drinker?”
“Thank you, Janice,” Lauren coos, referring to her colleague.
I dip my brows, examining the berry-colored liquid. “How do you think they make this beer such a godsend?”
“For one, they probably put him in the distillery tanks.” My head flicks up as Lauren’s is tilted to the side, signaling me to look to my right.
I follow her guidance, my eyes swooping over the invisible trail she paved for me. “What are yo—”
My bottom lip drops as oxygen tangles in my lungs.
The rugged vision haunts me as I recognize those dark and short locks instantly.
Rolled-up sleeves of a black henley showcase the same corded forearm from this morning.
The one that was vigorously scrubbing his hoodie after I’d accidentally decorated it.
“That’s him,” I blurt out.
Lauren’s head perks up. “What? Who?”
“Asshole. Earlier today. Coffee shop.”
“No way,” she breathes harshly, her focus swiveling back to Mr. Douchebag.
The back of my hand swats her upper arm as I whisper, “How could you bring me here?”
Her eyes swell into wide, brown saucers. “Me? How the hell would I know he’d be here?”
My body straightens, facing forward as my peripheral vision catches her.
“That’s true,” I say skeptically. I roll my eyes as I lift the rim of my glass to my mouth, drawing a large sip.
Once the sourness coats my cheeks, I purse my lips as I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m actually offended he’s here.”
“I’m sorry, but can I just say, the ‘blazing inferno’ description was absolutely on point.”
I pivot to face her, jabbing a finger in her direction. “No. I don’t like him, which means you don’t like him. You can’t just change the rules of friendship over a hot guy.”
She shrugs a shoulder, lips pouting when she turns her palm upward. “What’s to like?”
My eyes roam her cautiously when sarcasm energizes her tone. “I’m looking for a new roommate when we get home.”
Her face contorts through an unsure smile, her hand laying over her chest. “Liv, I mean this with all the love in my heart when I say that maybe you should reconsider your first judgment.”
“Ugh,” I groan, swiveling in my seat again. “What good are you?”
My elbows prop on the bar top, palms lining the sides of my face. Maybe alcohol will mellow the rising vomit that’s threatening to spew all over this shiny counter. Then again, maybe I can throw up on him and complete the job from earlier today.
Now, there’s an idea .
“He seems really friendly from where I’m sitting. Maybe he just had a really shitty morning,” Lauren suggests.
“It’s obviously the alcohol suppressing his urge to be the huge asshole he is,” I counter, peeking over to him.
His hair is a little more finessed than this morning, deliciously disheveled on top.
His shirt is stretched over broad shoulders and taut muscle, and my eyes involuntarily peruse lower to the belt of his dark jeans.
The hem of his henley is only half-tucked, tattoos peeking out on his right forearm from the rolled-up sleeve.
Ugh.
My eyes jolt to his face when he ejects a breathy laugh, icy-blue eyes lighting up just as he flashes a flawless smile. A pinch commences in my stomach, and I’m suddenly pissed off he has no teeth knocked out or that they’re yellow. That was my last chance to halt all this sheer insanity.
“I think someone is changing their mind.”
I stab Lauren with lethal eyes. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Well …” she trails off, her gaze stealing another peek. “Now you have eye candy again. You’re welcome.”
I wrap a palm around her arm, snapping her attention back to me. “Let’s just hope he finishes his drink and leaves before we have to get up and cross paths. If not, I’m living in this seat forever. I don’t care.”
“Okay, I love you, but you’re crazy.”
“Cheers to that.” A smile spreads over my lips when I raise my glass between us, only for a dreadfully familiar voice to invade our space.