10. Lindee
LINDEE
A massive pile of nachos slides across the bar toward me, the cheese, meat, fajita veggies, guacamole, and sour cream threatening to slide right off the tower of chips as the plate scrapes across the wood.
I can hear the sizzle of the ingredients against the hot plate through the loud conversation filling Taco ’Bout Trouble.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking up at my best friend on the other side of the bar.
“Nachos.”
No shit…
“I ordered a margarita. Extra large.”
April levels me with a look, her eyes as hard as the line her lips are pressed into. Oh boy.
“You’re going to eat your feelings instead. It’s too early for margs.”
Too early for margs? Who is this and what did they do with my best friend?
In all the years I’ve been friends with April—which is a lot, but let’s not do the math—I’ve never heard her claim it was too early for margaritas.
Never. This is the girl who insisted we start every morning of our senior spring break cruise with a margarita.
Coincidentally, that’s also how we started the morning of her wedding.
In the world of April, it’s always time for a margarita.
“Come again?”
“You heard me,” she doubles down.
“I did,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I understand.”
The margaritas at Taco ’Bout Trouble are legendary.
Like everything else in this place, they’re made from scratch, from Rosario’s super-secret recipe.
They pack a punch, and because of that, Rosario was forced to implement a limit of two per person a number of years ago.
She let April and me in on the secret ingredient after April and Rodrigo got married—a secret I should have seen coming.
Ol’ Reverend Moonshine.
“Boy trouble is an eat your feelings situation, not drink them.”
“This isn’t boy trouble; this is work trouble.”
“Caused by a boy.”
Touché. Point, April.
Sighing, I try and let out all the tension in my body. At least all the extra tension I can feel and know that I’ve been carrying since I burst into the conference room and found Brew— Brandt sitting there. Since I realized that he’s the one this whole hubbub is about.
“I should have seen it,” I say, sliding a toppings-covered chip from the plate. “Had I been thinking with my brain and not my lady bits, I might have actually put two and two together.”
“Nothing wrong with thinking with your lady bits for once. Personally, I think you need to do it more often,” April quips.
Ha. That’s not likely. I have too much going at the moment. Plus, that’s not who I am. This past weekend was a one-time thing. It was nothing more than letting off some steam coming off the launch of Wink & Shine. That side of me will be put right back up on the shelf.
Ignoring her comment, I shove another nacho in my mouth. They are good—there’s no denying that. They would just be better paired with an extra-large classic margarita on the rocks, with a salt and sugar mixed rim.
Okay, now I’m sounding like an addict.
I need to focus on what’s important. The real, big, fat question at hand. Was I a pawn in his game?
“He told me, April. He told me that he brewed beer. Hell, the name I called him all weekend was Brewer,” I lament. “He told me that he owned a brewery with his best friend and that he was here for work. How did I not see this?”
“Oh, nachos!” Kyra exclaims, startling me as she appears out of nowhere and parks herself on the stool next to me.
She digs right in, wasting no time, cooing as she takes her first bite. Well, at least one of us seems to be in a good mood.
“So, what are we talking about?” she asks, reaching for another chip.
The diamond on her wedding ring sparkles under the pendant light, sending the briefest pang of jealousy through me. She’s always been the happy-go-lucky one of the family, but her glow has been even brighter since she and her best friend, Davis, tied the knot last year.
I want that.
I want the warmth and comfort that comes with finding your person. Someone who is going to understand my love of chemistry and distilling, and not think it’s weird that I enjoy spending my free time in my lab.
“Lemme guess,” Kyra continues when neither April or I answer. “Brandt Rawlins. And I’m guessing, based on the look on your face when you walked in and saw him, that he rocked your world.”
“Was it that obvious?” I ask, my voice cracking.
Kyra smirks, waggling her eyebrows. “Oh, yes. C’mon, even Mikayla picked up on it.”
Ugh, good point.
“I met him this past weekend at Leprechauns and Liquor. We hit it off, and well…”
“You don’t need to justify anything to me.”
“You don’t need to justify anything, period. To anyone,” April adds.
My little sister nods in agreement. “So, you slept with the guy who mocked your product. Now you have the perfect in to prove him wrong.”
“Other than the fact that you all are pissed at him for what he said.”
“Are you pissed at him because of what he said?” Kyra kicks back.
Good question.
I shrug, not sure how to answer. Sure, after the initial laugh, the comment annoyed me a bit.
I worked hard on Wink & Shine and trying to find something that would cater to a different audience than Ol’ Reverend.
But, the more I thought about it, especially given the context of the little comeback battle that had been raging between us and the beer company, the less irked I got. I saw it for the joke that it was.
That’s what I said, too, when it came up at our executive meeting. It’s a beer guy comeback, nothing more. The kind of thing you say when you know you’re beaten.
But Mikayla wasn’t having it. She took it and ran—as if someone had personally offended her.
Turning to face Kyra, I shake my head. “No. I’m not pissed about what he said. It was a joke. I see that.”
Kyra nods triumphantly, more than a little proud of the point she just made. Except, I’m not finished.
“What I am pissed about is…is…” I stumble, at a loss for words about what exactly has my insides curdling like cottage cheese. “This whole weekend! It’s tainted! Like mash going moldy.”
“Moldy?” April questions, face scrunched in disgust.
“Yes, moldy. All the fun I had, all the wonderful, go to your happy place type memories or future dirty fantasies I could be filing away—they’re now undermined by what he did.
I won’t be able to escape to those thoughts without immediately thinking about how he did that so he could gain some influence. Or something.”
I huff, trying to punctuate my rant. Until another thought enters my mind.
“And back to my original point, y’all are pissed at him for the comment. I can’t go against the family. We agreed.”
We didn’t just agree—we promised. Eighteen months ago when our parents up and decided they wanted to retire and were officially signing over the long-standing family business to the four of us, we promised each other that no decision would be made in a bubble.
It was a one for all and all for one situation.
If all four of us didn’t agree, then we weren’t going to proceed.
“Mikayla didn’t exactly stop and ask any of us how we wanted this handled. If she had, she would know that I had a whole plan for an even better response. One that included visuals. But no, she just charged ahead. Soooo…you wouldn’t be out of place to tell her to knock it off.”
“Except now she’ll think it’s because I slept with him.”
“Yeah, probably.” Kyra shrugs. “We really need to get her laid, then maybe she’d chill out.”
April snickers from down the bar where she’s shooting soda into a glass from the gun.
The long-standing joke between my siblings and me—and subsequently my bestie—is that the oldest of us really, really needs to get some.
Actually, I take that back—it started as a joke, but now, it’s a solid belief.
A swift and easy remedy to remove the stick from her ass.
She’d have to come down from her high horse, though, in order for that to happen. Easier said than done.
“Moving it right up the priority list,” I joke. “Know anyone who wouldn’t mind a frosty roll in the hay while being scolded? That’s a thing, right?”
Kyra and April both shrug.
“Hate sex is a thing, so…why not?” Kyra suggests. “In fact, hate sex is supposed to be spectacular.”
I give my little sister a quizzical look, knowing damn well she doesn’t know anything about hate sex.
She married her best friend—that was accidental sex, not hate sex.
Then again, I also have no room to talk.
All my very limited experience has been within the constructs of a traditional relationship.
The other night was the first time I’d ever let go enough to do something wild.
Well, mild wild.
I realize that on the scale of wild and crazy, a one-night stand is rookie material. We’re talking room temperature on the spice scale. But it’s still more adventurous than I normally am.
And I chose the wrong fucking guy.
“In fact, maybe that’s the way to go,” April tacks on. “Track this guy down and go for round two. This time fueled by hostility.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s just a brilliant idea.” I roll my eyes, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “Let me just dial up the man who just sat in our conference room basically telling us to go to hell and see if he’s down for a little somethin’ somethin’.”
“Oooorrrrrrr…” April drags out the word, her eyes full of mischief and the smile starting to take over her face looking almost evil. “You could walk over to the takeout counter at the front of the restaurant and ask him if he wants to tongue tie your cherry again.”
Ugggh…I already regret sharing that detail with her. She’s going to bring that up for the rest of our lives—wait…
Takeout counter?
Shit.
My spine snaps into place, like a stack of Legos coming together. I can’t move—but I need to. I need to look. If only to confirm that my best friend is messing with me. Trying to be funny.
Which, for the record, she is not. This is flat out mean.
“Oh, man…” Kyra whispers conspiratorially. “Looking at him now, outside the conference room, he’s even hotter than this morning. Damn, Lindee…”
Oh…fuck.
Slowly, I spin on the stool, my back still ramrod straight, held together with fear. I don’t have to turn all the way, the sight of Brandt filling my peripheral vision.
His back is toward us, a charcoal-colored Henley clinging to the well-defined muscles of his back.
He managed to change clothes since he was at the distillery, looking a lot more like the outdoorsy guy I met on Saturday, with his wavy hair all mussed.
Like he’s run his hands through it half a dozen times.
Swallowing hard, I fight off the thoughts of how soft that hair is.
And how good it felt as I weaved my fingers through it as he made me see stars.
How underneath that perfect fitting shirt are strong arms that knew exactly how to hold me, hands that knew all my secret places, and a chest I want to lie against as I listen to his heartbeat.
Shit. No. I can’t do this.
I also can’t let him see me.
“Absolutely not.” I pop off my stool, steadying it as it rocks from my sudden movement. “I do not want to see him. Do not want to talk to him. Get him out of here.”
“What do you want me to do? Kick him out?” April retorts.
“Yes.”
That’s exactly what I want her to do. Issue a decree that he is persona non grata here. That’s her duty as a best friend.
April laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll go make sure he’s taking his order to-go, and speed up the process.”
Giving us a wink, she dips out from behind the bar and makes her way over to the take-out counter. I don’t have the nerve to watch her, all the anger inside me rising again.
Anger mixed with sheer lust.
This is not a good combination.
“You okay?” Kyra checks in.
“He used me, Kay. I really don’t know what he thought it would get him, but he used me. And that makes me feel…”
What’s the word? Silly? Unprofessional? I don’t even know.
All I want is to be taken seriously. I’ve worked so hard to earn my position.
It might look like it was handed to me because of my family, but that’s not how the Murrays work.
Our parents made sure that each of us knew the value of hard work and that we were trained and knowledgeable in our preferred areas.
We started at the bottom and worked our way up.
Something that isn’t always easy for a woman in this profession. Like many industries, brewing and distilling has been very male dominated. There are more women joining in every day, but it’s not always easy to get the old-school boys’ club to let us in.
And what do I do? I recklessly spend the night with a man I don’t know, giving him all sorts of ammunition to come after me.
“Icky?” Kyra suggests.
“Yeah…icky.” That works, for lack of a better word. “I won’t let him take us down.”
“No one thinks you will.”
As reassuring as her words are, there’s still something in me that can’t be soothed. Something that wants to march over there and rip his balls off.
Then again, another part of me wants to walk over there, climb him like a tree, and dry hump him like an animal in heat.
So it’s probably best I stay put.
“He’s gone,” April declares, reappearing. “Better?”
I nod, climbing back up onto my stool and reaching for the nachos. Eating my feelings sounds like a damn good plan. One that could be made better.
“Can I have a damn margarita now?”