Knocked Up by my Bestie’s Brother

1. Jay

CHAPTER 1

JAY

I grab three shot glasses and thump them down on the counter one by one. Almost theatrically, I pour the amber liquid into them before sliding them across the smooth, oak counter to my patrons.

“Here you go, gentlemen.”

They barely look at me through their hazy eyes as they lift the glasses in yet another toast.

I turn away from them and am instantly captivated by the woman walking through the door of my bar. Her red hair falls past her shoulders, and there is something intelligent in her sparkling eyes.

She’s not a regular. No, I would recognize those curves if they frequented The Rusty Oak.

The cool, autumn wind pushes a few red leaves in through the doorway alongside her, making it look like she’s a professional model with her short dress blowing expertly to the side.

I find myself wanting to know what I would see if I lifted the hem of her green dress just a few inches.

I don’t flirt with patrons… ever.

But I might have to start.

Instead of heading for one of the private tables, she strides confidently over to the bar and slides onto a stool one down from the group of frat boys.

Her eyes connect with mine, and I find myself walking toward her even though I don’t remember consciously making the decision to do so.

“Bourbon,” she announces in a husky voice, keeping her eyes directly on mine. It makes it impossible for me to sneak a glance at her breasts, but I can see enough to know that she’s not trying to hide them.

“On the rocks?” I ask.

She shakes her head, and my eyebrows rise. Who is this woman who drinks bourbon straight?

There’s something in the back of my mind that says she’s familiar, but the other half of my mind continues to insist that she’s never been here before.

I turn her face over mentally as I pour her bourbon. It’s not as though I’ve run into that many redheads in my life. I turn around, the glass grounding me back to reality as I scan her again. Beautiful. Stunning. Curvy. But most of all, she can hold her own.

I know in that moment that I want to see her naked. I want to feel her body against mine, and even though I never flirt with patrons… that’s going to change.

“Name’s Jay,” I say, setting her glass in front of her.

“I can read,” she retorts. It’s not a mean response, but a response that tells me I shouldn’t treat her like she’s dumb.

I smile, forgetting that I’m wearing a name badge. “What’s your name?”

“Violet,” she responds after taking a swig of bourbon. A couple of fast blinks are the only sign of the burning feel of alcohol in her throat.

“You’re not from here.”

She smiles, and that’s when the hint of recognition hits me. I know exactly who she is. “No, but I’m here for a while. I have some things to take care of in Maplewood.”

I fight to keep my jaw from dropping. It has nothing to do with what Violet has said but rather with the discovery I’ve just made—her identity. I mentally flashback to when I last knew her.

She was seventeen, turning eighteen in her last year of high school, and I had gotten a job at a mechanic shop because my father had insisted that if I didn’t go to college, I had to get a job working with my hands. She and my sister Hannah became best friends, and she was over at my house almost every day.

I would get home from work with grease-stained hands and streaks across my face, and she would give me the same coy smile she’s giving me now. It makes me wonder what was going through her head when I knew her a decade ago.

Violet taps the side of her glass with one long, painted nail and continues to drill me with her light eyes that could be blue or green. This lighting makes it hard to tell, but I remember them from before; a sharp green that makes it difficult to focus when you’re looking right into them.

A hypnotist’s eyes.

“And you?” Violet still hasn’t said anything that indicates she recognizes me, but I think it would be impossible if she didn’t. It’s not like I’ve changed much except letting my hair grow out a little. It used to be clean cut in high school and the year after, when I was sticking my head under greasy cars all day. Now, my dark hair hangs around my face like Keanu Reeves but without the beard.

“I own The Rusty Oak,” I respond, trying to keep the immense pride out of my voice. The last thing I need is for her to think I’m some sort of presumptuous prick. I might be presumptuous, but I’m not a prick. And I am almost desperate to start touching Violet.

“Own?” Violet asks, and she glances around the place again like she hasn’t really seen it until now. “You’ve done well for yourself.” She bites her lip and looks me up and down. I feel my body tingle under her inspection, and I know then that she knows exactly who I am.

“I wasn’t going to work on cars for the rest of my life when I could get paid to get people drunk.”

Violet laughs. “When you say it like that…”

A customer calls me from across the bar, and I take a step back from Violet, reluctant to leave our conversation. But no matter how intriguing it is, I have responsibilities around the bar.

I tend to a few customers, entering into my usual routine where I scan the bar, send a cocktail waitress to a certain table, and check on the production of our small food offerings.

It takes me a good fifteen minutes to get everything back on track before I’m able to return to Violet.

Her glass is empty, and she’s drilling me with her green-eyed stare. As I approach her, she bites her bottom lip, and I feel that same tingle as before working its way through me.

There is something magical about her, something that has grown as she became a real woman. It’s something I can’t turn away from. My pulse quickens, and I feel as though I’m completely at her mercy.

"Another?" I ask, nodding toward her empty glass.

"Depends.” She looks down at the counter, then up through her eyelashes, her tongue playing along her lip. “Are you going to join me for one?"

I’m surprised by her boldness, her obvious flirtation, but I like it. I glance at the clock and scan the bar, trying to make sure that nothing is going to explode without me if I take a break for ten minutes.

Finally, I turn and make direct eye contact again, brushing my dark hair back from my eyes. "I don’t usually drink while I’m working, but for you, I might make an exception."

Her smile widens, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on the bar, giving me a better view of her cleavage. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, and I’m sure she notices. It’s impossible not to look.

And when I start looking, it becomes impossible not to imagine what I could do with that cleavage. I find that one of my hands is moving in her direction, and I jerk it back, embarrassed that I’m losing control of myself.

"What's the matter, Jay? Afraid you can’t keep up with me?" she teases. I catch the challenge in her question, and I wonder if she’s referring to drinks… or something else.

"I can handle my liquor just fine," I retort. I grab a clean glass from under the counter and pour myself some bourbon along with another two fingers for Violet. I raise my glass and hold it out in her direction. "To daring women and risky decisions."

"To that," she agrees, clinking her glass against mine before taking a sip. She barely flinches at the burn of the bourbon, her eyes never leaving mine. She doesn’t question my toast, and it makes me realize that maybe I should stop questioning what’s happening here.

"So, why are you at The Rusty Oak tonight? Trying to seduce the bartender?"

She raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Depends. Is it working?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Bold move. Most people just ask for a drink."

"I’m not most people," she shoots back.

"I can see that," I reply, leaning in closer. We are only a few inches apart, and it’s hard not to feel burned by the heat between us. It would only take me leaning forward a little to be able to kiss her.

I don’t think there’s any doubt about how she would respond. But for some reason, I’m reluctant to make that move just yet.

“So how would you define your job here as owner? Taking people’s car keys when they’re over the limit?”

I laugh. I decided long ago that I can’t be responsible for people’s decisions when they’re drunk. I can only be responsible for myself.

"I’m just the guy who keeps this place running," I say, grinning. "Making sure everyone has a good time. I’m nobody’s parent."

"You're already giving me a good time, and we’ve barely gotten started.” Her gaze lingers on my lips, and I feel my dick starting to get hard. Man, this woman really has a way of controlling me.

I can’t seem to bring my eyes back up to hers as they roam her body, I’m eager to touch her. But we’re in the middle of my bar, and I’m working.

Violet leans back and angles her head to the side, admiring me for a moment. “There’s something mysterious about you, like you’re hiding something, but not in a bad way.” Her bright red hair trails her cleavage, dipping between her breasts and causing my eyes to wander.

"Mysterious, huh?"

Violet leans forward. "What would it take to unravel that mystery?"

"Maybe another drink," I suggest, pouring us another one for each of us, even though I hadn’t planned to have one drink, let alone two. "And some more of this conversation."

"Deal, but you better make it worth my while."

"Oh, I plan to," I say, clinking my glass with hers. We both take another long sip, eyes locked on each other.

A customer calls me from across the bar, and I take a step back from Violet, reluctant to leave our conversation. But no matter how intriguing it is, I have to run the bar.

"Don’t go anywhere. This conversation is just getting interesting."

"I’m not going anywhere," she promises, her eyes burning with something I want to explore.

I help a few customers, my mind racing with thoughts of Violet. The way she challenges me, flirts with me, makes me want to know more, to explore this chemistry between us. When I finally return to her, she’s still there, waiting for me with that confident smile. I know then that I just have to wait until we close, then I’m going to take her to one of the back booths and explore her every inch of her.

I glance at the clock and see that I still have an hour before I can shove my lingering customers out the door.

"Miss me?" I ask, leaning on the bar in front of Violet.

"Just a little. Did you miss me?"

"More than a little.”

That’s when I extend my invitation. Maybe her sexiness has thrown off my radar and I’ve completely misread the situation, but there’s no going back after I ask her.

“We close in an hour. Do you want to hang around after?”

“Why?” Her smile is coy, and my stomach turns over as I realize what she’s doing. She wants me to spell it out. She doesn’t want any more beating around the bush.

I lean forward so that her fruity perfume wraps itself around me. “Because I want you, but I don’t think we need witnesses to what’s going to happen between us.”

I can feel my dick pressing against my side of the bar, and I want to press it against Violet. I want to make her gasp and groan and grip me and call my name all at once.

Violet’s hand creeps across the top of the bar. “In that case, yes.”