Chapter One
Ivy
“The rednecks at that bar down the street are going to be a problem.” I plop down on the metal barstool and stare at the broad-shouldered giant who’s been pestering me for as long as I can remember.
“And why’s that?” he groans under his breath as he pours me a Coke from the soda fountain under the bar. I’m still desperate to get behind there and play with that thing. I don’t know what it is about pressing buttons, but I think I have a calling for touching things I shouldn’t.
“It’s true. I heard some guys talkin’ on my walk over here. They’re all pissed off. They’re losing customers.”
Ryker narrows his thick brows and leans against the mahogany bar as twangy country music plays over the speakers. “How’s that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t sit them down for a dissertation on their feelings, but they were pissed. Can you blame them? They’ve been here forever and now some trendy little distillery opens up, threatening to take their business.”
He lets his gaze linger a beat too long, then slides the Coke in my direction. “I’m not threatening. Iamtaking their business.”
I roll my eyes and slide the Coke back toward him. “I don’t want this. I want that new blackberry pie whiskey everyone’s been talking about.”
Shaking his head, he turns away and busies himself with organizing the mason jars beneath the bar. “The last thing you need is whiskey.”
“Well then, I guess I’m askin’ for the last thing, ‘cause I want some whiskey.”
He responds with silence as he makes his way toward a customer who’s waving him to the other side of the bar. If I didn’t know him better, I might be hurt, but this is Ryker to the core. He’s overprotective, stubborn, and insanely full of himself. If it weren’t for the fact that he and my brother are best friends, I wouldn’t even be here. Well, maybe I would be… he’s still nice to look at.
“Did I hear you say you wanted to try the blackberry?” The newest bartender, Marin, grabs a mason jar from beneath the counter as she talks. “It’s pretty good, though I’m still partial to the strawberry shortcake. Have you tried that?”
I shake my head and smile at the brunette who’s actually listening to me. “No, but ya know what,” I glance toward Ryker, who’s still busy helping another customer, “I think I will. Let’s do the flight.”
She offers me a grin as she pours my drinks into tiny shot glasses that sit on a pine wood board. “I get it. My brother is the same way. He’s way too protective. I find that doing the exact opposite of what he suggests really annoys the hell out of him and entertains me.”
“Oh,” my eyes widen, “Ryker isn’t my brother. He’s my brother’s best friend. He’s just… like this. I don’t know what his problem is. I think maybe he was raised by cavemen.”
“Maybe he has a thing for you,” she leans in and whispers low as she hands me the flight of drinks. “That’s whatemotionally stunted men do when they don’t know how to say the things they feel. They get all barbaric and overprotective.”
I laugh, though I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t an era when I fantasized about him. Heck, he still comes to mind when I’m looking for a quick orgasm, though I’m not proud of it. “No. That’s one hundred percent not the case. Ryker isn’t into anyone but himself. Plus, you’ve seen him, right? The man could have anyone he wants.”
The brunette with the big boobs shrugs her shoulders. “Just sayin’ that men are weird. I dated this guy once who named our future kids, then ghosted me the next day. The guy after that was totally standoffish but ended up being super sweet.”
“Are you still with the sweet guy?”
“Hell no!” she laughs. “He was sweet, but he liked wearing women’s underwear.”
“I want to ask how you found out, but I think I’m too pure for the truth.”
“It’s not as dramatic as it sounds.” She grins. “I just saw him taking a piss with women’s underwear on.”
“And what did he do when you confronted him?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs and twists her hair to the side. “He just acted like it was normal and that something was wrong with me for not being cool about it. Anyway,” she sighs, “point of the story is that men… are weird.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, picking up my first shot glass.
“That’s tutti fruity,” Marin says. “You’ll like that one too. It’s like hot Skittles.”
Do people like hot Skittles?
I shoot back the shot like I shoot whiskey every day, even though I haven’t shot whiskey since my twenty-first birthday when shooting whiskey made me more ill than I’ve ever been in my life, which is probably why Ryker didn’t think I should be doing it again.
“What do you think?” Marin watches me close as though she’s truly invested in my desire for good liquor. “It’s good, right?”
