Page 6 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Why the hell did Cassie need a husband? Something about this situation stank like the mash after day three of fermentation.

He’d ask her what was going on, but he knew the answer he’d get. Go away, Del. Cassie’s favorite phrase to hurl at him. Okay, so maybe he deserved a bit of her ire. He couldn’t deny he loved to irritate the hell out of the woman. As a younger brother, it was his duty to annoy his older siblings and their friends by extension. Didn’t hurt that Cassandra Brown looked sexy as hell when riled up. Her skin flushed with just the slightest hint of pink. Once or twice, he’d wondered if that pretty blush covered her smooth skin when she reached climax.

He’d had one or two—or twenty—fantasies about his big sister’s BFF. Sue him. He was a guy and Cassie was one sexy ball of fire. She’d tempt any straight man. Which begged the question, why was she speed dating? He’d bet she could have her pick of men with the wag of a finger. Whatever her deal was, he’d figure it out. He always did.

The bartender knows all.

“I’m taking these out, then I’ll get that gin.” He grabbed the drinks, giving Kelley a nod.

Normally they only served people at the bar. The tasting room was small; barstools lined the aged oak bar top, allowing seating for ten. A few tables were scattered in the main room, but with no servers, people ordered and brought their drinks back to their tables. Tonight, Del made an exception because Cassie looked about ten seconds away from punching her date in the face.

“Your drinks.” He placed the glasses on the table, sliding the dirty martini in front of Cassie who graced him with a grateful smile. Well look at that. Warmth filled his chest. Cassie was happy to see him. That didn’t happen very often.

“We didn’t order these,” Tool commented, gazing into his highball glass.

“They’re on the house.” Del tilted his head in question and raised a brow to silently ask if Cassie needed help getting out of what he could only assume was a nightmare date, but she gave him the barest shake of her head.

“Thanks, Del.” Cassie’s lips curled into a genuine smile before grabbing her drink and taking a healthy sip.

From his glances over the night, those were the first words she’d spoken since she and Tool sat down. The jerk had been yapping his jaw all night.

The Tool waved at Del, dismissively. “You know this guy? He an ex or something?”

Del held back a derisive snort. Class all the way.

Cassie choked on her drink, holding a finger under her nose as liquid dripped out. Ouch! Getting a snort full of alcohol hurt, he knew. He handed her a cocktail napkin.

She daintily dabbed at her nose and watery eyes. “No, he’s not an ex.”

“Yeah, me and Cassie here are just good friends. Real good friends. We go way back, right, Sassy?” If looks could kill he’d be dead, but he couldn’t resist teasing her.

Her eyes closed as she let out a harsh breath. “Swear to God, Del.”

“Oh, come on. I’m just reassuring your date that we aren’t an item. Now or otherwise.”

Her eyes snapped open—dark green eyes the color of emeralds—spitting daggers directly at him. He returned her death glare with a wink, pissing her off further if the tightening of her lips was anything to go by.

“Good,” Tool said, grabbing his drink and taking a tentative sniff. “’Cause that’s pretty fucked up, meeting at a place where your last screw works.”

Wow, change Tool to Total Douchebag. Where the hell did Cassie find this guy? Not one to tolerate assholes, Del curled his lips. “Yeah, almost as fucked up as being a self-indulgent prick who can’t focus on his date for five minutes.”

Tool rose from his chair. “Excuse me?”

Not very intimidating considering he stood a good four inches below Del’s six-foot frame. He also looked pretty scrawny behind his dark business suit. Del figured it’d take one good right hook to knock this asshole out. Growing up with two brothers who joined the military at eighteen, he had perfected his right hook.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, bartender?” Tool stuck a finger in Del’s face. “I make more money in a month than you could make in your whole life.”

He very much doubted that, since Del owned a quarter of the distillery. They weren’t swimming in cash, but they did all right. Besides, as bartender, he was used to dealing with assholes like Captain Douchebag here.

He rolled his shoulders back, staring the guy dead in the eyes. “You’re gonna want to get that finger out of my face in the next three seconds, buddy.”

“Bryce, sit down, please,” Cassie said. “And Del, go away.”

There it was. He knew she’d utter those three magic words, but he wasn’t going away. Not until he made sure Bryce—of course, that’s his name—learned some manners.

“You’re going to want to listen to the lady and sit down.”

“Or what?” Bryce sneered.

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