Page 14 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“It’s nothing.”

I turn on my heel, headed toward the other end of the bar. Toward the escape. Suddenly, what is usually a wide open area is feeling very cramped. And very hot. I need some fresh air. Some space where I can get my head on straight.

Some space where I don’t look up and see…

Brenna.

“Hi.”

Her voice is cute and sweet and…filled with panic. I swallow hard, trying not to let my mind rush to all sorts of no good. Whatever this guy did, I’ll kill him.

“What happened?”

“Oh, I just…” she stumbles, starting to blush. Damn it, is she cute like this. “Having some trouble with the tap.”

I look down, noticing the keg she’s straddling. How I missed that, well, shows you exactly where my head is. Brenna is a sister. A little sister. And I need to remember that. Nothing more.

“Right, you just gotta push down so it connects and…” I press the tap in hard, forcing the connection. Only, I press too hard, catching the lip just right, the compression of the keg snapping. Beer shoots out from the hole, spraying both Brenna and me.

Fuck…

I run my forearm across my face, cursing myself. Occupational hazard—every bartender or brewmaster out there has exploded a keg a time or two, but it’s been awhile since I’ve done it. Not the end of the world, since the keg is still good—more an annoyance than anything else, since you have to clean up the spilled beer and yourself.

“Damn it,” I mutter, grabbing a bar rag. “That wasn’t what I meant to do.”

“You don’t say.”

I start to retort, then I see her. Brenna is soaking wet. Shit. I panic, lurching forward with the towel, and start wiping her down. As if she were a child and somehow incapable of doing this herself. Patting down her face and neck, I continue to move, still not fully thinking this through, when it hits me. But by then it’s too late. My hands are on her boobs.

And now I’m a walking sexual harassment claim waiting to happen. Tonight I’m extra thankful none of my brothers decided to show up. Please, dear Lord, don’t let Willa have seen this.

“I’ll be back in cold storage if you need me,” I say, with all the confidence of a twelve-year-old trying to hide his first public boner.

Brenna simply nods wordlessly, shuffling to the side to let me past. I don’t wait, beelining it, head down so that I don’t do anything else I might regret.

Like kiss her.

6

BRENNA

“So, explain something to me.”

“Anything,” I tell Mell, fairly confident that whatever she wants explained to her, she already knows. She’s my best friend. There isn’t anything I haven’t told her. Or wouldn’t tell her.

“What was with the weirdness between you and Milo the other night?”

Except for maybe that.

“What weirdness?”

“I’m sorry, did we experience different Friday nights? Or was I the only one there when the keg exploded and he grabbed your boobies in front of God and everyone, and instead of the two of you bursting into a fit of giggles like I expected, you stared at each other like you were the ghosts of your dead grandparents. So…what’s with the weirdness?”

Oh. That weirdness.

“Errrr…how much time you got?”

“GPS says three hours and forty-nine minutes.”