Page 79 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“I have a hobby. I brew beer,” I tell her.

“No, that’s your job. We’ve had this discussion—your livelihood cannot also be your hobby.”

“She makes a good point, son,” Auggie says.

I sit back. She really does. And we have talked about it a bunch. Because brewing beer did start out as a hobby. Well, the illegal still we made in high school was what started it, but that turned to beer in college. Which turned into Southern Brothers. And as much as I love it, my job is not my hobby.

There’s no denying I’ve been too focused on it for too long. The fact that I haven’t been able to come up with a name for our latest creation when all the others came so naturally should tell me something.

Plus, a new hobby—one of Brenna’s choosing—is a great excuse to spend time with her. Zero complaints here.

“Fine, we’ll get a hobby.”

Brenna nods victoriously, then rises to clear the table. I tug on her arm, stopping her. Giving her a wink, I grab her plate, then some of those around us, and head into the house. The air conditioning hits me hard, sending a chill through me, but does nothing to cool my ardor, my dick still twitching at the thought of that yellow fabric flowing over her hips.

“I still think twelve years is a hell of an age gap,” Gus says, coming up behind me, putting the plates he collected down on top of mine. “But she clearly makes you happy.”

Well then…

“She does.”

“As long as you know what you’re doing.”

“Not a fucking clue, man. And I bet if the stars had aligned with airport bar angel, you’d have felt the same way.”

Gus shrugs. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“That’s the goal.”

23

BRENNA

Bright, glorious sunshine assaults me as I throw open the door, stepping out of the testing center, officially leaving the NAPLEX behind me. And damn, do I feel good.

Really, really good.

To say a weight has been lifted off me is an understatement. The most daunting task of my life is now complete and behind me. Assuming that I pass, which, in this moment, we’re going to. The self-doubt and worry about the potential of failing and having to do this all over again can be saved for later.

The only better feeling in the world is the one that washes over me as my eyes land on the tall, bearded, tattooed guy pacing along the busy Atlanta sidewalk, talking into his phone. I have no idea how long he’s been out here—certainly not all six hours of the test—but he’s here now. And that’s all that matters.

Swinging back around to redirect his pace, Milo looks up, his gaze catching mine. Then he stops. Right along with my heart.

Hell, it’s like the whole world stops as he looks me up and down, that smirk of his spreading across his lips. All his attention is on me, and the whole world fades away. I freeze, unable to do anything else, other than maybe swoon and bask in all the warm fuzzies and butterflies swarming inside me. We’re no longer on a busy city sidewalk, people rushing around us about their business. Nothing but him, me, and the look he’s giving me. Like I’m good enough to eat. Like I’m the only girl in the entire world.

Like I’m his wildest dream.

Oh fuuuuuck…

Milo ends his call, seemingly without even telling whomever it was goodbye, making a beeline for me. I’m all giggles and smiles as he approaches, ready to throw myself at him. I need to remain calm. Maintain a sense of decorum.

“All done?” he asks.

“All done!” I squeal, launching myself into his arms.

So much for decorum.

Milo catches me without a thought, pulling me into a kiss. The whole move feels easy and natural, making my heart soar. I let myself get lost in the kiss for a moment, in him holding me close—something that is not hard to do. Especially after the way he was just looking at me.