Adjunct Lovers

by Liz Crowe

  “I hear things are better at home,” Austin said as he shot out onto the interstate in his latest expensive German car, heading somewhere—Ross didn’t care right then. His head was buzzing from exhaustion and he wondered how long he’d last during this so-called meeting.

  “Yeah. They are. Thanks. Hit a speed bump for a bit. You know.”

  “Yeah, I do.” They enjoyed a comfortable, masculine silence the rest of the way, the necessary conversation about relationships behind them. When Austin pulled up to the valet parking at one of the fancier strip clubs in town, Ross eyed him.

  “And why, exactly, are we here? Not that I mind…but still.”

  Austin grinned at him then got out, tossed the keys to the valet kid and held out an arm, indicating Ross should precede him into the dark, perfumed, glittery space. As younger men, they’d visited plenty of these places, but he hadn’t been to one in years—definitely not since meeting Elisa. Ross stood, arms crossed, glaring at his friend who had the biggest shit-eating grin ever. Finally, Austin took his arm and shoved him through the door, where he was greeted by Trent, Austin’s brother Brock and three of his oldest brewer buddies—two of whom must have flown in from the west coast. When he glared over his shoulder, Austin shrugged as if to say “who knew?” then laughed and slapped him on the back.

  “Welcome to your bachelor party, my friend.” Brock stuck a cigar into his mouth. Trent handed him a beer. A couple of women, who had a distinct yet appropriate lack of clothing for such a place, emerged from behind his brewer pals. The ladies looped their arms into his. He grinned around the cigar.

  “Okay, if this is my bachelor party, do I assume there’s a wedding imminent?”

  “You could say that,” Trent said, turning to lead the group into the dark room and over to a private table in one corner. They all sat, one of the women in Ross’ lap as she lit his stogie. He puffed then patted her thigh.

  “I’m sorry, beautiful lady, but I don’t know if I can take all this perfection at once.” He glanced down at her bare breasts, then away. “Why don’t you check back in with us in a few?” The woman pouted for a few seconds, then got up and took some money from Austin before making her way to the bar to find another mark. Ross shook his head, admiring her rear view. “Good God, Austin, does your wife know that you’ve regressed to this?” He gestured around the place. “I mean, seriously.” He looked at Trent. “And I know your woman would eat your balls for breakfast if she knew you were here.”

  Trent chuckled and puffed his cigar without comment.

  They all got distracted by the energetic stage show for a few minutes. A gorgeous waitress brought them more drinks. Ross felt himself slipping, thanks to the lack of sleep, the excess of sex the night before and the booze. “So, just curious. When is the wedding part of this thing?”

  He smiled at his friend, prepared to hear that it would be in a month or so, once Elle and Evelyn got it organized.

  “Oh, that?” Austin glanced around the table. The other men stared down at their drinks or up at the acrobatic naked chick prancing on the stage. Austin leaned closer, motioning for Ross to join him, then put a hand on the back of Ross’s neck. “Congratulations, my man. Tomorrow you’re marrying your dream woman.”

  Ross reared back, knocking his fresh beer to the table, to the dismay of the group. Loud shouts of “Beer foul! You buy the next round!” barely made a dent in his psyche. He kept staring at Austin, not a hundred percent sure the man wasn’t simply fucking with him. But his friend nodded and held up his glass. “Between Evelyn, Melody and Elle they managed to set the whole damn thing up in the last two weeks.”

  “Two. Weeks.” He shifted away when a bunch of half-dressed women cleaned their table and plunked down fresh drinks. “That was…after Liesl…” He closed his eyes for a few seconds.

  “Yep,” Austin confirmed, keeping his gaze on Ross. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. I mean. Sure. I mean. Fuuuuuuck.”

  “I thought you’d say that.”

  “I don’t have clothes for, uh, a wedding.”

  “You think our women didn’t figure that into their plans?”

  “But…I don’t…I mean…” He ran a shaking hand down his face.

  “You’re a lucky man, Hoffman,” Trent said from the other side of the table. He held up his glass. “Here’s to Elisa Nagel soon-to-be Hoffman,” he declared.

  “To Elle,” they all said, clinking together over the damp table.

  “To Elle,” Ross repeated, staring into his glass then up at Austin. “This is really happening?”

  Austin chuckled and patted his head as if he were a little kid. “Yep. Sure is. Now, I suggest you enjoy this fine evening we’ve planned for you. Tomorrow you gotta tie on the ball and chain.” He stuck his cigar into his mouth and held up his left hand, pointing to his wedding ring with the other. One of his brewer friends smacked his shoulder when a topless woman arrived bearing a tray full of brown liquor shots. “Drink up, my friend,” Austin proclaimed, picking up one of the small glasses.

  “To Elle!” the table cried.

  Ross glanced at his phone before he drank again and saw a message from her.

  Are you surprised? I hope so. I want this to be as special for you as it is for me.

  He grinned and replied, It was already special. But I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, once I’m done at the titty bar with my buddies.

  The what?!

  He waited. Her next message came quickly.

  Only kidding. I know mouth breathers like you and those others have to stare at naked titties sometimes to remind yourselves of your proper place in the world. I love you, Hoffman, & I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be the one walking toward you in the white dress. Oh, and I have another secret. But I’m saving it so don’t get too drunk, ok?

  He didn’t reply, knowing one wasn’t required of him. But he stared for several minutes at her words, his heart full and his mind clear—well, as clear as it could be, considering how much he was about to fucking drink.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  “Here, hold your boy, Hoffman.”

  Ross hefted the baby onto his shoulder and rubbed his back while Elle buttoned her shirt. They sat on the patio of Austin and Evelyn’s new house, enjoying the sun and watching Rose and Liesl play in the pool. Austin had his little boy in some kind of floating contraption, while Evelyn napped nearby under an umbrella.

  Elle reached for her glass of Adjunct Lovers, which had become Fitzgerald Brewing’s top selling summer seasonal this year. Austin had insisted on paying Ross for the rights once he’d brewed the first batch after they’d returned from their honeymoon in Europe. Ross had agreed to it, but only if he got to supervise every batch made. A task that had become almost impossible this year, since they were selling it as fast as it could be brewed. They’d even put the words Inspired by Elisa on the label, which made her blush every time she saw it, since she knew damn good and well what part of her had ‘inspired’ it.

  She flipped through a magazine, noting that Komfort was listed yet again as one of the Midwest’s most sought after eateries. Bill Anderson had been right, times about a million. His segment on her restaurant had resulted in a deluge of interviews, photo shoots, local and more national television coverage, featuring the food, the ambiance and her commitment to giving women just out of prison a shot at a real job and a decent living.

  “Mama! Look at me!” She waved at Liesl when she slid down the slide into the water with a shriek that made her baby brother yelp.

  “I’m going to put him down,” Ross said, getting and heading for the open French doors.

  She watched them go with a smile, her happiness level so acute it almost made the superstitious person in her anxious. Baby Lukas had arrived on time—a few days past his due date in actuality—with minimal fuss. Liesl had been enthralled by him from the get-go. She hovered and fussed over him more than anyone and the baby had gotten to where he’d seek her out in the room, poi
nt and bleat out a sound that passed for her name.

  Elle spent five mornings and three nights a week at Komfort, alternating Saturday nights with Gina as head chef, and meeting with Olivia as always every morning to discuss the particulars and challenges inherent in having a near two month waiting list for their Saturday night tables. The rest of the time she spent brewing any number of beers—some pure, some laden with all manner of adjuncts—with her husband on the pilot system, while their baby son slept or played nearby and Liesl learned the finer art of interacting with children her own age at a Montessori kindergarten. Frau Poller remained, helping on the days and some evenings Elle worked, which allowed Ross to be with her, sometimes helping, many times hindering but in a pleasant way as she concocted new culturally appropriate recipes at Komfort.

  He’d recently been approached by a huge consortium out west to help them identify smaller breweries they might acquire and he’d turned that down, even though the fee would have covered their mortgage for an entire year. On principle, he claimed. But also, she knew, because he didn’t like to travel that far or be away that long from her and their children.

  She glanced over and saw that Evelyn was awake and sipping the pink-tinted Kölsch as she watched Austin, who was keeping an eye on baby Ryan and tossing balls for the girls to catch on their way down the slide. She reached across the table. Evelyn took her hand with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Elle said, her eyes burning and her chest tight.

  “You’re welcome. For what?”

  “For being my friend. For hiring me so I could meet Ross. For all of it.”

  Evelyn squeezed her hand then let go and held up the glass. “Well, thank you. This damn beer is going to make my quarter.”

  Elle grinned and picked hers up, clinked it to her friend’s. “You’re welcome,” she said, smiling at her husband when he reappeared with fresh beers for everyone.

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  Brewing Passion: Lightstruck

  Liz Crowe

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Ross woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed so fast if felt as if his brain had whammed against the front of his skull before settling back into place again. Sunlight streamed through the windows, piercing him in the eyeballs, not helping the dizzy, unfocused, mushy sensation.

  “Ow,” he muttered as he swung his feet around to the side of the bed. When his mind registered that he couldn’t do that, that something warm was blocking his way, the something made a noise, rolled and exposed a perky pink nipple to his befuddled gaze. At that same moment, someone else touched his shoulder, making him flinch as he stared at the nipple, trying to get his bearings.

  Ross licked his lips as the memories rushed back in on him, bombarding his battered, hung-over system with the force of an invading army. The hand on his shoulder became two and together, they slid down his bare torso. As he watched, the lovely nipple disappeared, then materialized as one of a matched set, on a gorgeous set of breasts, suddenly at his eye level.

  “Wait,” he said. But waiting wasn’t on the agenda. The hands behind him tugged him onto his back and into the soft nest of stark white sheets and soft cotton blankets. Ross let his mind fuzz back over and his body take the lead as he reached out and his hands landed on hair. Hair on the head of the woman who had his dick down her throat. He arched his back and let her do her thing while some other chick kissed him, then sat on his face.

  Ross wondered for about a half second who these women were, where he’d found them, what he’d said to convince them to engage in his favorite position for a threesome. But the half-second passed, and he no longer cared what the answer to any of those hypotheticals was.

  The woman on his face came, then slid off him and onto the bed, purring with satisfaction. Ross swiped the back of his hand across his wet lips and focused on the stellar blow job he was receiving. As he groaned into the sun-struck room and pumped his hips at his climax, something about his life felt one hundred percent wrong. Something important was missing.

  And he knew damn well what it was.

  “All right, you ladies had your fun. Time to vamoose. I gotta get to work.” Ross sat up and sniffed the air, frowning at the aura of pot and spilled booze. “Jesus, this place is a fucking pigsty,” he said as he lurched up and stumbled into the bathroom, forcing all thoughts of what was missing from his life out of his head. He couldn’t afford to think about it—about her—ever again.

  He nearly scalded his skin off in a thirty-minute shower, blessing the gods of tankless hot water systems and his own luck for finding this palatial mansion to rent while its owner was on sabbatical from the University. Once he emerged, he saw that the bed had been made, the crap picked up off the floor and the women, thankfully, were absent. Rubbing his hair with the thick white towel—these owners were obsessed with the whole tabula rasa thing—he stood naked at the bank of windows overlooking the mountain view.

  Stunning, really. Wish Evelyn could see it.

  No, stop. Not going there.

  “Hey, sweet buns, you want some coffee?”

  He whirled around, heart in his throat. One of the women stood at the large kitchen island dressed in one of his brewery T-shirts, flapping her eyelashes at him.

  “Thought you’d left,” he half-said, half-grumbled to himself as he headed back to the bedroom for clothes. As he zipped and buttoned his jeans, he forced the anger down and out of his head. It would do no good to come across as an asshole. Who knew when he’d like to have this woman over for another round?

  Frowning at himself in the mirror, he made a mental note to get to the barber. Both his hair and his beard needed some professional help. He’d let them both grow out since bolting from Michigan and they were wild-looking, unkempt. Very much unlike him.

  Even as he tied his hair back with a bit of leather string, he could hear her voice. “I like your hair long and your beard short,” Evelyn would say. Ross blinked at the memory, attempting to banish her yet again from his brain.

  His skin tingled, though, and all he could hear was her voice, all he could feel was her soft curves under his hands.

  “Ross,” she’d whisper in his ear. “Make me come…”

  “Shit!” he yelped when someone pressed up against him from behind. “Cut it out.” He peeled the woman off him and stomped into the large living room, dining room, kitchen combo room. The space was huge—almost a thousand square feet of open living—fronted by a whole wall of the glass. Smells of coffee hit his nose, calming in that Pavlovian way it always had. He filled one of the professor’s stainless steel travel mugs and grabbed his keys off the magnetic rack on the wall next to the fridge.

  He could sense his temper lurking, somewhere down deep in his gut. While he didn’t want to be a dick to the woman still prowling around in his space, he had no interest in being anywhere near her either. She needed to get the fuck out. But in lieu of telling her that, he left instead, absenting himself from the area she was making proprietary little circles around, like women tended to do on his mornings after.

  He shook his head as he climbed behind the wheel of the late-model truck—another perk of renting this house. Something about a night in the playground of his bed always seemed to bring out the clinginess in women. Especially lately. Maybe it was the rarified air up here. Maybe it was his own air. Did he come off as desperate somehow, desperate for love versus seeking to get laid? He needed to work on that, ASAP.

  As the truck took the hairpin turns and inclines on his way into town and toward the brewery, Ross had to open all the windows wide to let the cold air clear his head, lest he give in, grab his phone and call her. Hell, to call Austin for that matter.

  He’d pulled a classic dick move, and he knew it. And refusing to talk to either of them beyond the basics of, ‘Yes, I’m alive. I’m fine. I needed to get out of the way of your happily ever after or I was gonna go nuts’ wasn’t helping his cause.

  “I don’t care
,” he insisted to himself, sipping and driving the truck with one hand, not caring one bit whether or not he made it or if the fucking thing slid off the ever-loving mountain, which would, he figured, put him out of his misery once and for all.

  Order your copy here

  About the Author

  Amazon best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.

  With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.

  Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.

  Email: lizcroweauthor@gmail.com

  Liz loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.

  Also by Liz Crowe

  Brewing Passion: Tapped

  Brewing Passion: Lightstruck

  Brewing Passion: Conditioned