Page 142 of Best Kind of Trouble
“So you’re okay with openly dating your boss?” I ask doubtfully. I know people will have plenty to say about each of us—me, the naïve woman being influenced by a stronger man; him, screwing his way to the top.
“I told you, Princess, I don’t care what most people think. People can gossip all they want. All the better if it drives customers through our doors. I don’t care about that. I want to be with you.”
“Good. Because…” Heart pounding, I admit, “I’m falling in love with you. Does that freak you out?”
“Yes,” he says, but he’s smiling. His whole face is lit up from within, and he lifts a hand up to cradle my chin. “I still feel like I’m going to mess everything up. But I’m glad you feel that way, because I’m desperately in love with you.”
He kisses me, his hand still possessively cupped around my chin, and I kiss him back again and again.
After we clean up in the staff bathroom, Liam fills both of our flutes with the beer, and we settle into the chairs.
“Have you tried it yet?” I ask, smiling.
“No. We’ll know at the same time if it’s complete shit. Seemed only right. But please, for the love of God, don’t pretend for my sake.”
“I don’t think I’ll have to.” I pick up my flute and lift it into the air. “To Silver Star.” I hesitate, then speak my heart. “To being a team.”
“You’ve brought me around to the idea.”
We stare into each other’s eyes as we lift our flutes for the first sip.
Relief washes over me, because I won’t have to decide whether or not to pretend.
“It’s delicious,” I say, still tasting the crisp bright pop of the bubbles. “It’s perfect, Liam. Itfeelslike New Year’s.”
“Thank Christ,” he says with a snort, but I see the light in his eyes. He knows it’s good too, and he’s proud of himself, as he should be. “Now can I take you home? Because I’d really like to take you back to my place. Maybe I’ll keep you there.”
I smile at him, feeling perfectly happy. “Karma wouldn’t like it.”
He nudges my foot under the table. “You’re welcome to bring your pussy.”
I laugh, shaking my head ruefully. “She’ll be delighted to hear it. But I want to go to the boxing gym first. I think it would do us good to throw some punches.” I gesture to the broken plaque. “And we need to make firewood. I think we should have a bonfire at the party.”
His lips curl into a half smile. “We can toast marshmallows.”
We stop at my apartment first. I can’t go anywhere for the night without feeding Karma, but Liam also insists those gloveshe gave me weren’t meant to be cuddled but to be used. Once we’ve collected them, we head straight to the gym.
The first time we went there, it felt like I was intruding on some macho man’s world. The second…I was only paying attention to Liam. Now, it feels like it’s become another place that’s ours.
He shows me the new heavy bag Mick acquired, and we practice for fifteen minutes or so, listening to “Eye of the Tiger” at my request. Then we head out to the parking lot with the axe Mick keeps inside for fire emergency preparedness to chop the plaque into tiny little pieces. I shout out a war cry before dealing my first blow. Which makes it more embarrassing when I barely dent it.
Liam smiles at me before easily delivering a blow that severs it. But he hands it back over. “Try it again.”
And I do. Again and again, until my arms ache, getting a few pieces cut off before he does the rest of the work. We stuff the chopped wood into the back of his truck and put a tarp over it.
He takes me to his apartment, which is small but tidy, with a brew room larger than his bedroom and a guitar mounted on the wall in the living room. It feels good to be with him in his space, in his bed. Neither of us can sleep, so we stay up late talking. Plotting for Silver Star as if its future isn’t still uncertain.
But we don’t have to wait for the party to get answers to all our unvoiced questions. Because when we come in the next morning, there’s a couple of inches of standing water on the tasting room floor and another six in the back.
My dream is underwater, and I have a pretty good idea who put it there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
LIAM
“It’s over,” Briar says, sitting on the curb outside the brewery, an expression of helplessness on her face. “We weren’t looking too good before this happened, but I thought we were going to make it. I hoped the party would be enough to tide us over. But now…”
It was a plumbing “malfunction,” according to the utilities company. I’m guessing it had a human source—one with deep pockets—but that doesn’t matter right now.
