Page 28 of Already Callin’ You Mine

“Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve made idiots out of ourselves.” Milo laughs, slapping Brandt’s chest with the back of his hand.

“And probably not the last,” Brandt adds.

They both have a point. Those two have been making our parents sprout gray hairs for a long damn time. Stories of the shit they got up to in high school are legendary around this town—some of them so often repeated and exaggerated it’s hard to know what is real and what’s fiction at this point. The moonshine still they engineered out in the town forest. The camping trip where they were gone longer than expected, only to be found drunk off that moonshine by the town sheriff. Brandt running through Rhythm and Brews naked except for a sandwich board advertising Southern Brothers the first year they were up and running.

And who can forget when they tried to beat the shit out of each other in this very bar. Granted, Brandt had just walked in on his baby sister, Brenna, in a very compromising position with his best friend. Both Milo and Brenna had failed to mention that they were dating one summer while Brandt was away. It all worked out in the end, and Brandt stood next to Milo as his best man this past summer at their wedding.

“There are plenty of ways to engage with social media and online marketing that don’t involve facing the camera or doing anything silly,” Presley replies, her voice tight as she forces a smile.

“Oh, so you just saved all those for me?” I reply, not bothering to hide my snark.

I lean against the bar, keeping two barstools’ worth of space between us. Presley bristles, straightening up her stance.

“If the shoe fits, Jace.”

“Ohhhhh,” Milo croons. “Shots fired.”

I throw a glare at him and consider flipping him the bird too, but hold back. He’s supposed to be on my side here. Then again, everything is fair game with sassy older brother.

“My shoes fit just fine. And I’m not looking for a new pair.”

Honestly, I’m not even sure that response make sense. But it’s the only thing I can think of. Sounds halfway decent, I think. Maybe.

“Can we help you?” she shoots back. If nothing else, my nonsensical response got under her skin.

“The last thing I need is help from you, Presley.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Yeah, she’s all hot and bothered now. Just how I want her. Well, not the hot part. I don’t need to be thinking about that. Thinking about Presley Callahan that way has gotten me into more than enough trouble over the years.

Smirking, I adjust my stance, taking my time to answer. “I’m here for a beer. That’s what one does at a bar.”

As if on cue, a pint glass perfectly filled right to the brim appears in front of me, the cool amber liquid calling my name. I take a long sip of the beer, the tart, fizzy taste of Silver Lining Sour dancing across my tastebuds. Ahhh, that’s the stuff.

All of the beers my brother has come up with are good. There’s a reason that their brand has grown so quickly. But this one, the one he discovered by accident, is probably my favorite. There’s just something about it that gets me every time.

“Well, could you do it elsewhere? We’re trying to work.”

“Work?” I squawk. “Is that what you call this?”

Daggers launch from Presley’s eyes as she glares at me. Shifting on her stool uncomfortably, she swallows hard. I can tell she’s trying to find something to come back with, but coming up short. Mission accomplished.

Her shift makes me notice something though. She’s wearing a dress. A really cute floral thing, with a ruffle at the bottom of the skirt. At least I think that’s called a ruffle. All I know for sure is that it’s frilly and cute and paired with those cowboy boots she’s wearing makes me want to push her around the dance floor at The Giddy Up. Or take her on a picnic in a wide-open field where she can spin and twirl, letting that skirt billow out, showing off her legs, her giggles filling the air.

Fuck, now I’m hard.

I need to stop.

Presley turns back to Milo and Brandt, refocusing herself. I, on the other hand, can’t help myself. The need to poke and annoy her is too strong. This must be what Anton feels like all the time when he’s poking at us.

Scanning her up and down once more, the perfect jab appears in my mind. Like it’s on a marquee with accompanying bright lights.

“All dressed up and nowhere to go on this fine evening?”

“What?” Milo asks. I ignore him.

“I know you’ve had some practice with that.”