The bartender studied the taps in front of him and then crouched low to inspect the bottles lined up in the refrigerator. He stood, shaking his head. “I’ve got Smuttynose, and…and Slumbrew.”
She drummed her fingers against the bar while she contemplated those options. I was actually concerned the bartender was wilting under her glare. She was a dictator dressed as a socialite, and I doubted she wilted under anything. “What about Sea Hag?”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at the fridge, smiling with relief. Hell,Iwas relieved on his behalf. “ThatI can do for you.”
“I knew you’d come through for me, Barry.” She sent him a wink as he slid the uncapped bottle toward her. He high tailed it to the other end of the bar, presumably to dislodge his nuts from wherever Shannon shoved them.
I was expecting her to dart back to Lo’s side or hunt down other staff members to harass or just go the fuck to bed because it was past midnight and even the wicked required rest, but that all changed when she turned her gaze on me. She collected her bottle and marched my way, offering a bright, plastic smile as she approached.
“I have a thing for IPAs,” she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. Skinny silver bracelets encased her wrist, and they clanged against each other whenever she moved. From where I was sitting, it looked and sounded like she was accessorizing with a Slinky. “A list of the best local breweries was published last month, and my goal for the summer is to try each one.” Unbidden, she tucked herself into the seat beside me. “We met earlier, but I know there are a lot of us and things have been so hectic. I’m Shannon, Matt’s sister.”
I accepted her outstretched hand, and as our palms met, I realized she was a tiny little thing. She was just a peanut. At first glance, she didn’t seem small, not with that feisty attitude and fiery hair, but she was the definition of petite. Slim fingers, smooth skin, trim, compact body, and…freckles. So many freckles.
It was as if Strawberry Shortcake fucked Winston Churchill, and nine months later, Shannon Walsh was born.
“Right,” I said. “Will.”
“Are you an India Pale Ale fan, Will?” Her eyes dropped to the Corona bottle beside me and she forced that fake smile again. It was obvious she did this with frequency—handling people, subtly manipulating them, getting her way while letting everyone think it was their idea—and it annoyed the fuck out of me. “Oh, that’s just silly.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” she said, then called down the bar, “Barry! Get my friend a Summer Ale.”
Barry didn’t react quickly enough for Shannon, and his shift was probably long since over but he didn’t know how to break that news to her. With a sigh about wanting things done right meant doing them herself, she stepped behind the bar, grabbed the bottle, popped the top, and placed it in front of me.
“Put it on my tab,” she yelled as she settled back into her seat. Barry gave us his best deer-in-the-headlights look and went back to restocking. It was late, and he was the only one manning the patio bar. My money was on him counting the seconds until this rowdy crew cleared out. “So I started my IPA adventure with an Olivette from Paisley Pines and then I discovered Lost Highway Breweries, and now I’m dying to try the Veridien from Banded Horn Brewery.”
Bound. Gagged. Closet.
“So tell me, Will,” she said, inclining her head toward me. “What’s your poison?”
An image of Shannon bent over my knee flashed into my mind, andfuuuuuckthat had to stop right now. I swallowed it down, drowning that thought in cold beer. “Whatever’s on tap,” I growled.
In all fairness to my dick, this was nothing more than a natural reaction to being off-base and in the presence of gorgeous women who were free to dress however they pleased. Hell, I hadn’t seen a lady in heels like Shannon’s, with ribbons lacing all the way up her leg, since…ever.
I sent a silent prayer to my cock, begging it to calm the fuck down.
“There you are,” Shannon said as Lo draped her arm over my shoulder.
“Hey, Will, this is my friend Andy. She works with Matt,” she said, gesturing to the brunette beside her.
“Will Halsted,” I said. She shook my hand without saying a word. “You’re not related to this crew?”
“No,” Andy said, and her gaze traveled over the patio area to settle on Patrick, the oldest Walsh. He was one stoic motherfucker. I’d only picked up general details about the family Lo was marrying into, and I knew Riley was the fool, Sam was the playboy, Patrick was the hard-ass, Nick wasn’t related but came with the package, and Matt was the golden retriever: obedient, loyal, and couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth.
Andy ordered a glass of wine, and thank God Barry was able to meet her request without much discussion. I doubted Shannon cared whether she was empowered to fire him or not; she’d make it happen.
“Finally, an impartial witness. Sit down,” I said, pulling up a chair.
If I could get Andy talking, I knew Shannon would go looking for attention elsewhere. That meant I could get some history on these people and distance from Shortcake. Seemed like a win.
But Andy turned away from Patrick a second before he pivoted. A quick inspection of the patio told me that everyone else saw it too. I couldn’t understand how she missed his hot stare.
So that’s how it is with them.
“Are we not having a conversation?” Shannon asked, andfuck. Just…fuck. If I had the time or interest, her mouth would be too busy with my cock to make those comments. And no, I did not want to be interested but post-deployment horny didn’t discriminate against viper-women who inspired fear in wolves and inadequate men.
“Apparently she didn’t take the hint,” I muttered but Andy ignored me. Incidentally, my dick was ignoring me too.
