Page 16 of Some Like It Hops

I shrug one shoulder.

“Why?”

“Why not?” I lean forward. “You built an empire on this beer, correct?”

He gives one curt nod.

“Then I imagine you know this beer like one would know their own children.”

His lips twitch, but he inclines his head again and reaches for the beer on his left. Mirroring him, I reach for the beer on my left, and we both take a sip of Fast Lane’s blonde ale, then he sets the small glass down and raises his eyebrows. “Too easy. Brickyard Blonde. Named afterthe legendary Indianapolis Motor Speedway.”

I smile. “Why?”

“Because the racetrack used to be brick?” He splays one hand in presentation. “And, if you’re wondering, no, this was not my first blonde. There were three very unsuccessful attempts before finding the right combination of malts, the perfect ratio to hops. You understand.”

“I do.” I raise an eyebrow. “What did you end up with?”

Griffin smiles. “Certainly, you don’t expect me to disclose brewing secrets to a rival.” He shakes his head playfully, then takes another sip. “You’ve got a bit of Maris Otter, Pilsner, and Vienna, but it’s the fourth malt that really gives this particular beer its great summery taste. And of course, the hops. American hops, always.” He motions for me to pick up the glass again, so I do. “What do you catch on the back end?”

I take another sip and swish it around my mouth so that all of my taste buds are in on the test. A fruity sweetness moves to the forefront… apple? Something citrusy? I take another sip, but can’t place the fruit.

Griffin smiles. “You’re tasting persimmon, Charlie.” He picks up the next glass, brings it to his nose and breathes deeply, then takes a sip. He licks his lips, frowning, then takes another sip, sets the glass down, then rests his arms on the table and leans forward. “You don’t play fair.”

My lips twitch.

“How’d you sneak that in here?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He takes another sip, holding my gaze, then his eyes narrow. “It’s good. Really good.”

A waitress stops at the table beside ours, the bottom half of her ass cheeks hanging out of her tiny black shorts. I shake my head, then refocus on Griffin.

He looks at the waitress’ ass, then at me, realization lighting his features. “You don’t approve.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Interesting.” He rubs the scruff on his jaw. “And here I thought you were a feminist.”

My eyes widen and I scoff. “Excuse me?”

Griffin watches me for a second, then leans toward me and nods to the waitress. “Shechoosesto wear that. As a woman, isn’t that her right?”

Yeah. Sure.That’s why every girl I’ve ever seen working at Fast Lane has her ass and tits hanging out. Because they have achoice. I snort. “I’m sure she can just wear whatever she wants, right? Is that what you want me to believe?”

Griffin shakes his head. “I didn’t say that. Fast Lane is a company, a large one at that, and in being so, certain things are expected. Employees wearing uniforms, for instance.”

“Like I said.”

Griffin smirks, holding my gaze long enough to make me have to uncross and re-cross my legs again. “Excuse me,” he says, catching the waitress before she can move on to the next table.

She spins around to us, quickly scanning the beers still lined up between us. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Griffin says. “How long have you worked here?”

Her brow furrows, but she says, “Two years.”

Griffin nods. “And, in those two years, have you had a good experience?”

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