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“Your face just turned beet red.”
I hold up my drink. “It's the Moscow Mule.”
“It’s not the Moscow Mule. It’s the stunning stallion coming this way.”
Oh God. I will kill both of them—dead, dead, dead—if they embarrass me in front of him.
I slide over on the bench seat and he sits beside me. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
His eyes leave mine and roam down my body before making eye contact again. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.”
I look at my friends and both are grinning like Cheshire cats. One of Ava’s brows lifts and I can telepathically hear what she’s saying in her head. You are sooo going to fuck him tonight. Don’t even act like you’re not.
But I’m not.
I can’t.
“These are my best friends, Ava Cochran and Dillyn Lovelace.”
“Nice to meet you,” they say simultaneously, both grinning.
“My pleasure.”
Porter looks at our glasses on the table. “Looks like we have a white wine, a red wine, and a…?”
“Moscow Mule.”
“Believe it or not, I have never tried one of those. Do they make a good one here?”
“This is my first one so I have nothing to compare it to, but I like it.” I push the mug toward Porter. “Try it and see what you think.”
I watch his full pink lips wrap around the rim of the hammered copper and wonder what it would be like for those lips to touch mine.
“It's good but I still prefer a good ole’ cold beer.”
I don’t know what it is, but there’s something very sexy about a man drinking a beer. “I don't think they sell Lovibond here.”
“I don't order Lovibond when I go to bars or restaurants. I like to try other brands. It's good to check out the competition.”
The server returns with Porter’s beer, and he immediately begins an inspection. “They must have a new bartender. They sent this in the wrong kind of glassware.”
I shrug. “Looks like a beer mug to me.”
“Exactly. This isn’t intended for a Belgian IPA. They should have sent it in a wide-mouthed glass so it could retain its head.”
“The glass matters?”
“Not to everyone but it's a huge deal to a brewmaster. We work hard to perfect a craft beer, and then someone who doesn't know better ruins it by putting it in the wrong kind of vessel.”
“I had no idea the glassware was so important. Are you going to send it back?”
“And risk the next one having spit in it? No way. Bartenders do not appreciate you calling them out. I'll make do with it in a Pilsner glass.”
Ava watches Porter taste his beer. “I bet you can drink like a fish.”
“I can hold my own.”
“How many beers does it take for you to get drunk?”
“Probably not as many as you'd think. Craft beer isn’t watered down like macro brewery beer. The alcohol content is higher so it takes fewer beers to become intoxicated. But I never drink to get drunk. I drink craft beer because I love the flavor.”
“I’ve never found a beer I liked,” Ava says.
“The flavor of beer is an acquired taste and it's not for everyone. Just like wine isn’t for everyone. I hate that stuff.”
I want Porter to know that I’ve at least tried his product. “I haven't drunk a lot of beer, but I tried Lovibond’s apricot ale a few weeks ago. I really liked it.”
“Women tend to like that one. It's a bit on the sweeter side. I bet you’ll love the sweet potato cream stout for the fall.”
Dillyn slaps her hand on the table. “Sweet potato cream stout? You've got to be shitting me. Sounds like something you’d serve at Thanksgiving.”
“It will most certainly be served at Thanksgiving. People will begin formulating recipes using it as one of the ingredients the minute it hits the shelves. You wouldn't believe the cupcake recipes people send us that use our beer as one of the main ingredients.”
“Have you ever tried any of the recipes?” Ava asks.
“I haven’t—I can't cook worth a damn—but our office manager, Molly, tries them out regularly. She always brings samples. My favorite so far has been chocolate stout cupcakes.”
“Chocolate stout cupcakes. Now that’s the kind of beer I could consume.”
We chat for a while, and I check the time as we finish off the last of our drinks. “Concert starts in fifty minutes. I don't think we have time for another.”
Porter looks at his watch. “I don't think so either. Not if we want to get there in time to grab a drink and find our seats before the lights go down.”
“Where are your seats?” Ava asks.
“Fourth row.” I squelch my grin.
She lifts a brow. “Fourth row, which section?”
“The exact one you're thinking.”
She playfully kicks me under the table. “You lucky bitch.”
I point at Porter. “All this guy’s doing.”
“Fourth-mutha-fucking-row. What kind of job performance is she giving you at the brewery to earn seats that close to the stage?”
I cannot believe Ava just asked him that.
“O…kay. We’re done here.” Ava’s mouth is getting a little too loose. That means it’s time to fly, so I lift my hand to gain the server’s attention. “We're ready for our check please.”
“Everything on one ticket?”
“Yes,” Porter quickly answers. “I’ve got this.”
“I told you I was paying for the drinks.”
He winks and smiles. “Maybe next time.”
Next time?
He signs the receipt and places the bill facedown on the table. “I texted my driver. He'll be here in three minutes.”
Dillyn’s full attention has been captured. “You have a driver?”
“He's not mine personally. Lovibond uses a driving service for events. I've made friends with one of the guys and I reach out to him on an as-needed basis to drive me when I know I'll be having drinks. You're welcome to ride with us.”
“That's really nice of you, but I've already planned for that one glass of wine to be it for me tonight. We have to drive back to Tuscaloosa after the concert.”
We say our goodbyes since we aren’t likely to run into one another at the amphitheatre.
“It was great meeting you, Porter. And thank you for the drinks.”
“No problem.”
“I’m glad we were able to get together before the show.” I've missed these girls like crazy
.
“We miss you, Frankee. Being apart doesn't feel right. You need to come to Tuscaloosa more often.”
“Maybe I can come next weekend.”
“Please try.” Ava presses her mouth to my ear when we hug. “He wants you, and you are a dumbass if you don't go home with him tonight.”
He’s standing right there. We can't have this conversation. “Okay. Drive carefully.”
I hug Dillyn, and she does the same thing. “He's really cute. And nice. I like him a lot. You should go for it—that summer fling we talked about.”
“Call or text when you get to Tuscaloosa so I’ll know you made it back safely.”
“Will do.”
A black Suburban pulls up to the curb at the very moment we are parting ways with Ava and Dillyn. “I’d call that perfect timing.”
“Ken is very punctual. It's one of the reasons I always hire him.”
It's a short ride to the amphitheatre, but I can't get Ava’s and Dillyn’s words out of my head.
He wants you, and you are a dumbass if you don't go home with him tonight.
Does Porter want me? Would going home with him even be an option tonight?
He's really cute. And nice. I like him a lot. You should go for it—that summer fling we talked about.
Yes. He is very cute and nice, and I like him a lot. Would he be open to having a summer fling with me?
Because I’m starting to become more and more open to it myself.
We’re in our seats with drinks in hand when the lights go down. The band comes on stage and I am up and out of my seat when they open with ‘Only the Young.’ I am in my element, dancing and singing every word.
Every. Word.
Zero. Shame.
“I hope you don't embarrass easily. Because I'm probably going to sing every one of these songs.”
“Have at it. That's why we're here—to have a good time”
The band is in between songs, and I stop to get a drink of cold beer. “Wow. I didn't realize beer tasted so good when you're hot.”
“It's a definite thirst quencher.”
“I can already tell that I'm going to need another one of these.”
Porter joggles his tallboy. “I’m almost empty. I can make a beer run. Want one or two?”
“Are you double fisting?”
“Definitely. I hate to miss half of the show standing in line for drinks.”
