Page 7 of Tempting Max

“Same.” We do the handshake fist bump thing he and Colin taught me, and we get back to work serving.

By the time the night is over, my back hurts, my feet hurt, my arms are sore, but I’m smiling from ear-to-ear. Because this whole night was a success.

We all cheer as the doors lock and even the normally severe Liam looks pleased. Elliot’s been smiling all night, except for when Liam stopped him from going home with a local’s pretty blonde relative.

I only got small glimpses of Max and only when we were over-crowded. but I imagine he was keeping tabs on the brewhouse all night. If tonight was any indication of the business we’re about to get, I have a feeling they’re going to have to expand their operation as soon as they can.

“Let’s celebrate a little,” Liam announces, “everyone grab a pint of whatever they want. Elliot, will you go wrestle Max out here?”

My heart does a weird stumble at the mention of Max’s name, but I ignore it by pouring a pint of the pear flavored Kolsch that I’ve been dreaming about since the first taste.

Elliot complains a little under his breath but heads to the brewhouse to rouse his massive brother from his hiding spot.

I take a sip of my beer and settle into a chair with a sigh of relief that echoes from everyone around me. The crew is happy, but so, so,sotired.

“Good work tonight,” Liam says, toasting us with the IPA—the exact beer I would have guessed he’d drink. “I think we’ve earned the next few days of rest before the hard opening on Friday. We’ll save clean-up for tomorrow. For now, enjoy yourselves and rest, you’ve earned it. You can leave whenever you’re ready.”

The whole crew cheers and we settle into friendly conversation with truly amazing beer.

“You chose the Kolsch.”

The deep, baritone voice I hear behind me zips up the center of my spine and ripples outward in the form of goosebumps.

Max.

Inhaling, my fingers tighten on my pint glass, and I turn in my seat. My stomach flips when we make eye contact. His eyes are intense like always, his massive shoulders tight, his expression a dismal attempt to look sociable. It’s almost comical how unhappy he looks after a truly successful evening.

“It’s my favorite,” I tell him, lifting the glass toward him. “You have some major brewing skills, Mr. Sutton. Everything here is amazing.”

The muscles in his face twitch as if he’s trying to remember how to take a compliment or smile but fails at both. “Thank you.”

“Seriously, everyone here was raving.” I take the last sip of my P’arête Kolsch and let the smooth and somehow crisp flavor wash over my tongue. “Mmm, stunningly good.”

When I meet Max’s eyes again, they’re darker, almost navy blue and he swallows a few times before he says anything. “I’m glad you like it.”

Heat pools between my legs when his eyes slip to my lips and I’m desperate to keep the conversation going. It’s like putting my whole hand in the fire just to feel something. “What does the name mean?”

He clears his throat and looks away from me as he answers. “Uh, everything here is named after climbing terms. It’s just a mix of pear and arête.”

“Right,” I answer, feeling a slight buzz from the combination of a successful night, alcohol, and his nearness. It’s like standing next to a wall. A very tall, sexy, warm, delicious-smelling wall. “And what is an arête?”

“It’s a…a rocky ridge,” he spears his hand through his graying hair and my fingers itch to do the same. I wonder what it would be like to climb his rocky ridge.

Down girl,I admonish myself, snapping my mind back from the brink.I’m in my new Gus era, not my yummy older mountain-sized angry man era.“Well, I think it’s clever, and delicious.”

Max’s jaw twitches. “Then you should have more, and I should, uh…”

“Socialize?” I ask.

He looks like I kicked him in the shin. “Yeah, that. Believe it or not, I’m not all that good at it.”

I smile at him. “Oh, I believe it.”

His lips twitch, but he still doesn’t smile andgoddammit, I want to see this man smile. When he doesn’t move on, I motion for him to wander away. “Practice makes perfect.”

All I get in response is a grunt and one hell of a view as he walks away from me.

“I saw that,” Trace sidles up to me at the table with a fresh pint of Kolsch for me, well into his second glass of stout.

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