Page 11 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“Okay, so that’s a no go, but we’re still going to kick this off right. Showing you off behind the bar!”

“Whatever you say.”

“Go shower. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Hitting the end button, I toss my phone to my side, working up the courage to get up off the bed. I need a shower—there are no two ways about that. Not to mention, at some point, I will need to leave this room. I want to be completely sure that the coast is clear before I do so. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Right.

Hot-girl summer is off to a rough start.

5

MILO

“I got there two songs too late…” Nash attempts to croon, to no one in particular, leaning against Willa’s barstool. Famously unable to carry a tune in a bucket, it’s never stopped him from trying, this moment no exception.

My sister rolls her eyes, sipping her beer as she leans in closer to her best friend, Kenzie, trying to hear her over the obnoxiousness surrounding them.

“It’s ‘Tucson Too Late,’ buddy,” Dustin corrects him. “The song is ‘Tucson Too Late,’ not two songs.”

“Whatever, I’m freestyling. And my version is better!”

I sputter out a laugh, shaking my head as I slide a Sobbin’ Shandy toward Sylvie, who is sitting on the other side of Kenzie. My sister and her friends are gathered at their normal spot at the far corner, each of the four girls perched on a stool, their significant other standing behind them.

Having them all here, in their usual spot, gives the night a sense of normalcy that I didn’t realize I needed. The group looks different now than it did when they formed their little tribe as kids—all of them paired off now, Dustin a country star, Willa a former beauty queen, the twins actual serious business owners and not just troublemakers to name a new changes—but deep down, they’re still the same as they’ve always been.

“It’s really not,” Willa quips, her sass still intact. Especially with her boyfriend.

“No one asked you.”

I laugh again, holding out my fist to Nash. He taps it with his, nodding in solidarity. Nash Keller is the only man on earth strong—and crazy—enough to take on my sister. Her perfect match, without question, I support that he’s willing to keep her in check like this.

“Milo!”

“He’s right, Wills—no one asked you,” I return.

“Go away.”

I hold up my hands in surrender, giving her a wink so she knows that she may have won the battle, but not the war. Isn’t that what older brothers are for?

Turning my attention back to the rest of Pour Decisions, I do a quick inventory of what’s going on. And I like what I see. We are full. Damn, that’s a good feeling.

It also tells me that we’re doing the right thing by adding the extra space outside. It wasn’t an easy decision. Brandt and I wrestled whether or not to do it—and how—for the last couple of years. Bronwyn’s idea of bringing in food trucks for Drafts and Dig In finally sold us on it. Looking at the bar now, honestly I don’t know why it took us this long.

“Can I get a Sob Story, please?” Reverend Terry asks.

I nod, mindlessly reaching for the tap. Only my hand lands on something other than the cool, hard wood of the beer tap. Brenna’s hand.

My pulse spikes, my skin heating, as the air around us sizzles. Time stops for a second, my lungs trying to catch up as I realize that I’m holding her hand. I need to let go.

Shit…

“Sorry, I…”

“Oops, I didn’t mean…”

Brenna giggles, both of us letting go at the same time. We make eye contact for the briefest of seconds—the first time since I ran out of her room the other day—looking away almost instantly.