Page 7 of Hot for the Jerk

Smirking at my cheeky child, I blew him a kiss, then closed the door almost completely.He was a tough, but sensitive child who still sometimes got a little scared of the dark.So we made a deal that we’d close the dooralmostall the way, but leave it open a crack so the light from the hallway slipped in enough that he could see.He didn’t want a nightlight because he was worried his cousins would make fun of him—they wouldn’t—but I didn’t bother to argue.This system worked for us.

I went about getting undressed and ready for a shower.I was chilled to the bone, and needed to warm up … and if my hand happened to make its way between my legs so I could relieve the tension headache forming in my temples, and the tight ache in my shoulders, then so be it.

One thing was for sure though.I absolutely would not, under no circumstances, not even for a second, be thinking about Jagger McEvoy—or his barely-there freckles, or his thick luscious beard, or impossible blue eyes—as I did it.

No way, no how.

CHAPTER THREE

Jagger

Ofcourse,theyhadto stick our beer table right next to the fucking Westhaven Winery table.What the fuck?Why?Just because we were both from San Camanez?

Nobody else was organized this way.They had the beer section at one end of the convention room, and wine at the other.Then there were us, smack dab in the middle, side-by-side like kindergarten besties.

Except we absolutely fucking weren’t.

I could feel the frigid glare of the ice queen on me whenever I chatted it up with a curious beer-lover who stopped by our busy table.Clint, of course, was the brewmaster and knew ten times more about the filtration processes and all the other nitty gritty about beer making than I did.But I knew how to sell the stuff.

“This here, is our limited-edition holiday chai Witbier,” I said, pouring the proper amount into two paper sample cups, then passing them over to the interested man and woman who were all bundled up because the weather outside was frightful.Luckily, our beer was so delightful.“In addition to the obvious chai notes, you might taste the subtle hints of vanilla, cinnamon, and even some clove.”Their eyes lit up, and they smiled as they smacked their lips, nodding.

“I definitely taste the clove and vanilla,” the man said.His female companion nodded.

Their reactions sparked more people to stop, and of course, I had to start my spiel all over again.Which I didn’t mind, because more often than not, it resulted in sales.Clint was busy at the other end of the table, explaining—in way too much fucking detail, in my opinion—the way he decided on the next seasonal brews, and why he would never make a Radler.“I love beer, and I like lemonade, but I refuse to put the two together.Some things are better left separate.”

I glanced at Raina and maybe it was pure coincidence, or perhaps she overheard my brother too, but our gazes met.Hers turned frosty and narrow, and those little lines between her brows dug deep into her skull.

I rolled my eyes.Then, because I was a child—at heart—I stuck my tongue out at her before turning back to my crowd.

“Can we try the cranberry and pomegranate lager?”the man asked, pointing to the tall boy with the illustrated cranberry couple all bundled up in winter garb and holding the hands of their children, who were supposed to be pomegranate seeds.

“Absolutely.”I poured some of the lager into their paper cups and they sipped, smacking their lips at the sudden rush of tartness.

“Ooh, I like that,” the woman said.“Can we get two of the lager and two of the chai, please?The tall cans.”

“Coming right up.”

The entire event went just like that.We wowed them with our wares, worked the crowd, and sold a shit-load of beer.My voice was hoarse by the time eight-thirty rolled around and it was time to clean and pack up.We’d been at this for two days.Friday and Saturday.Our stash wasn’t entirely gone, but our truck heading back to the island would be significantly emptier.

Clint unscrewed the cap off his bottle of water and took a big sip.“My feet are killing me.”

Nodding, I scooped a handful of mixed nuts from the Costco-brand bag at my feet and tossed them into my mouth.“Yeah, but it was worth it for all the money this made us,” I said between chews.

“Ready to draw names?”Gabrielle asked, coming over to our side with a big bucket of paper slips under one arm.“There are atonof entries here.”She gave it a good shake, which sent her chunky dark-brown curls jostling over her shoulders.

Clint had his arms full of boxes and was getting ready to head to the truck, so I stepped forward, catching the evil eye of Raina over Gabrielle’s shoulder.“How’d you guys do?”I asked, digging my hand into the bottom of the bucket and rummaging around a bit until I found a piece of paper that had been scrunched up into a ball, unlike the rest that were just folded.I wanted to reward creativity and thinking outside the box.

“We did great,” Gabrielle said.“Sold loads of single bottles, and even had a few people sign up for our subscription program.How about you guys?Every time I looked over, your table had a crowd.”

“Can’t complain,” I said, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper.I unfurled it.“Jack Savage.”

Her amber eyes went wide.“Oh, I remember that guy.Tall, beard, tattoos.He was nice looking, and his wife was beautiful too.”

“Did you get every person who came to your table to introduce themselves?”I asked, genuinely curious.

Gabrielle snorted and a hint of a smile touched her lips.“No.But there were definitely some memorable people, and this guy was memorable.He introduced himself too.Great smile.”

“Didn’t he say he wasn’t much of a drinker, but he was entering for his wife because she had a Saturday girls’ night where they drank wine and commiserated about the exhaustion of motherhood?”Raina piped up.

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