Page 29 of Already Callin’ You Mine

Fuck, I’m such an ass. This isn’t who I am—I’m a gentleman. I’m charming and tender and sentimental. Except when it comes to this woman.

Presley swallows hard again, keeping her gaze trained on something in front of her, doing everything in her power not to acknowledge me. I got to her with that one.

Who, when, where, or how the rumor started back in high school, I don’t know. All I know is that by the time it reached me, it was too late to squash it. That, and it had also made its way to Presley. The results were exactly what you’d expect—the girl who had moved into town and turned my senior year upside down, and not in a good way, was now waiting on me to ask her to prom.

So I did what any stupid teenage boy in my position would do. I asked someone else. Ashley Tower, one of the few girls Presley considered a “friend” that year. Very publicly, in front of Presley.

Presley rebounded, with the help of our math teacher, Mrs. Chamberlain, and was all set to go with Charlie Wood a few days later. Only, Charlie never showed to pick her up the night of the dance, leaving her high and dry in a deep purple dress with a plunging neckline.

I don’t know what was whispered about more the next Monday at school—the fact that her daddy had to drive her to prom, or that I refused to dance with her after we were crowned king and queen.

A total dick move on my part. Fuck, I really am an ass…

“Are you guys comfortable posting?” Presley asks Milo and Brandt, continuing to ignore me and my comments. “Or would you prefer I just handle it for you?”

“You,” they say in unison. I could have told her that.

“In fact,” Brandt continues, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. “Can we address this? Because that’s not fucking cool.”

He scrolls for a second, then passes her his phone. I peel away from the bar and move over next to Presley so I can see it.

The post is from some company called Wink & Shine, who from the looks of it makes moonshine. There’s a pretty pink label plastered on the front of a frosted bottle, a pale pink liquid filling half, set on a picnic table, with watermelons in the background. The words “Ladies, time to get your party mode on” are strategically embedded over the image.

Oooof…

Southern Brothers has four signature brews—Party Mode, Sob Story, Silver Lining Sour, and Blue Jeans in Low Beams. Party Mode and Sob Story were the two that they started with, and the ones that put them on the map. They were, and still are, Milo and Brandt’s babies. Their pride and joy. One does not mess with those beers.

“I don’t see a problem,” Presley says, handing Brandt back his phone.

Of course she doesn’t…

“Don’t see a problem?” Brandt scoffs. “They’re using our brand name in their marketing. Trying to imply shit.”

“I see that. But party mode doesn’t belong to just you.”

“We have the trademark.”

“For the beer. The logo. But that doesn’t give you the right to police who uses the very common phrase party mode.”

“So, they can just do this? Even though it’s clear it’s a knock on us?”

“Who is Wink & Shine exactly?”

“Some new moonshine company. From what I can tell they are specializing in fruity flavors and targeting women.”

“Perfect.” She starts to scribble something in her notebook, her hand moving so fast I’m half surprised the paper doesn’t catch fire. “We can totally use this.”

Use this? I glance over at my brother and his best friend, both of whom look just as confused as I am. That’s not stopping Presley though. She continues to scribble, focused and dialed in on something. If we were in a cartoon there would be a lightbulb flashing on over her head, and I’m mesmerized watching this.

“How?” Milo asks, leaning against the bar.

“Social media ‘wars’ are totally a thing,” she answers, using her fingers to make quotes around wars. “I’m sure you’ve seen them, where two companies battle each other with snappy retorts. Since they are another spirits brand, we can think of something fun and clap back.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I sip my beer, still unable to look away from the pretty brunette a couple of feet down from me. Just like in high school, she’s smart and quick, and all sorts of things that make me want to know her. Leaving me even more pissy that I feel this way.

Milo glances at the clock on the wall. “We should probably wrap up. Pints and Purls will be getting here pretty soon, and once they do, all bets are off. If you want to stash all your work stuff in the office before your date gets here, feel free.”