Not to mention the fact that the friendship they’d shared as teens had all but evaporated after Kieran had left Illinois for Seattle to play professionally. Sure, he and Atticus had fallen back into an easy closeness once they were on the same team again, but Sammie still felt more like an acquaintance.
A pretty, five-foot-nine, built like she was from Themyscira acquaintance.
Kieran cleared his throat. “Are you coming to the game this weekend?”
There, that was as good a place to start as any. Common ground.
“Yep.” She let the last bag of grain fall to the pallet. “Long as I get off on time. Think you guys have this one?”
Maybe if they just stuck to the one topic—see: volleyball-brained—then Kieran would be able to hold a full conversation without falling into another painful silence.
“We were a little shaky on offense last game,” he began. “Drills were looking good earlier in the week, though. Coach wants to squeeze in one more practice tonight.”
“Good, that’s good.”
A pause. It drew out too long, neither of them filling it. Sammie’s eyes landed on his as she wiped her palms on the overalls she had tied around her waist, and Kieran felt something swoop in his gut. He didn’t know if he hated or loved when that happened, but it seemed to occur whenever her eyes pinned him, regardless of how he felt about it.
He had to say something. Hewantedto say something, wanted to find a reason to stick around a little longer, to keep their conversation going past bland formalities. They’d been friends once, and even though Kieran had messed that up after a rain-soaked confession of teenage love, he just couldn’t let himself believe they would never get back to that place.
Maybe they could get food after the game, with Atticus and his new boyfriend, Kai. A chance to really catch up, without things like grain deliveries and volleyball getting in the way.
Kieran cleared his throat again, pulling Sammie’s gaze back to him. “After the game, if you want-”
“Excuse me?”
A deep voice cut him off and Sammie’s eyes flicked past his face toward the open garage door. Kieran turned to see a buttoned-up, professional-looking type in his mid-thirties step into the brewhouse without invitation. And sure, Kieran had just done the same thing, but Sammie hadn’t glared athimthe way she staring daggers at this guy.
“Can I help you?” Arms crossed over her chest, brow raised in question, and a bored look that would have had anyone else apologizing for wasting her precious time.
“I assume you’re the brewer? Sammie, right?” The man ignored Sammie’s question as he held out a pale hand.
Toward Kieran.
He supposed he did look the part. White dude with a short, scruffy beard, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows over an oldWildcats t-shirt. Kieran was basically a poster child for men in brewing.
“I am not.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Because if he knew anything about Sammie, it was that she wasnotgoing to take this well.
“That would be me.” She spoke up right on cue, her words sharp as knives. Kieran watched gears turn slowly in the stranger’s head, and thought that maybe the guy needed to grease them more often.
“Oh. Of course.” The man shifted so that his proffered hand pointed toward Sammie, only for her to ignore it. After several mortifying moments, he dropped it back to his side. Kieran winced.
“Can I help you?” Sammie asked again, and Kieran didn’t miss the way her jaw clenched at having to repeat herself.
“Mark Collins.” Mark’s hands landed on his hips, his demeanor casual, haughty even. Kieran wasn’t a fan, and quite enjoyed watching Sammie’s glare turn molten. “I’m meeting Robert here for a tour.”
Sammie opened her mouth, probably to continue questioning him, when another voice interrupted her.
“Oh, hi Mark!” Carson approached the group, something held in one hand. “Just got a text from uncle Robert. Said for me to bring you to the taproom.” He glanced at Sammie apologetically, a slight flush coloring his cheeks as he held out his hand. “Sorry, I couldn’t find the duct tape.”
Sammie stared at the object in his hand with something akin to mortification. Kieran leaned forward to get a better look.
Wait. Was that a…
“Is that adildo?” Mark asked, right on cue. His gaze switched from overconfident nonchalance to a leering appraisal, eyes pulling away from what was indeed a small, phallic-shapedobject in Sammie’s hand to look up and down the length of her body.
Kieran’s head emptied of all thoughts beyond wanting to body this fucker into the next decade.
“It’s a vibrator. For the whale tale,” Sammie sputtered, closing her hand around the sex toy, mostly hiding it from view. Mark raised a questioning brow, a smirk plastered on his face that Kieran was finding more and more aggravating.
