Three Simple Words (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  “But you seemed a little inspired to write when you were with me last night. And I was—well, I was inspired to do things with you I’d never done with anyone else before.”

  Because you were the first guy to ask me what I wanted. And it was the first time I wanted to show someone what that was.

  She stepped closer now, so their lips were centimeters from touching yet not.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  She grinned.

  “We keep doing what we started last night—in secret. No one has to know, and no one has to get hurt. You get inspired to write, and I get—well, I get to keep sharing my cider with you.”

  She took another sip, then pressed her lips to his. This was the moment of truth. All he had to do was kiss her back. Which—thank the stars—he did.

  All she had to do was keep her emotions out of it.

  He pulled her body against his, and she felt him hard inside his pants.

  “You got yourself a deal, Annie Denning.”

  He kissed her, and she melted into him.

  Well, then. It was all set. This was exactly what she wanted. And needed. A win-win for both of them.

  What guy could be safer to not fall for?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wes wrote all day. Well, after a long, contemplative shower he wrote. And wrote. And wrote.

  He’d said no when Annie invited him in and instead hopped on his bike and headed back to Jeremy’s place. Jamie had given him his first shift behind the bar tonight, so whatever he was sending to Max by morning needed to happen between kissing Annie good-bye and arriving at Kingston’s at six.

  Fifty-five pages. If it wasn’t five o’clock, he would have kept going because the words wouldn’t stop. Fifty-five rough pages, but there they were. They might even be good—good enough to convince his editor he could produce a second book to rival the first. And it was all thanks to Annie.

  He scrolled through his recent calls and stopped on his dad’s name. Robert Hartley. Jesus, he didn’t even have him in his phone as Dad. What did that say about the state of affairs between them? His thumb hovered over the contact. Then he jumped when the phone vibrated and began to ring.

  “Christ!” He let out a nervous laugh and then accepted the call.

  “What’s up, Denning?”

  Wes could hear the brewery patrons in the background. The place sounded pretty nuts for this early on a Sunday.

  “Hey, man,” Jeremy said. “Sorry I missed you today. I…uh…didn’t sleep at home last night and went right in to work this morning. Any chance you could get here a little earlier? Kingston just declared half-price Sunday since the Sox hit a home run, and it’s like the whole city found out in a matter of minutes. We’re slammed.”

  Jeremy had no clue Wes hadn’t come home last night. Which meant he had no idea he’d stayed overnight with Annie.

  He didn’t hesitate. “On my way.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Jeremy said, then ended the call.

  No, Jer. You are.

  He turned back to his laptop, drafted a quick email to his agent, and attached his rough pages. So much for editing. Then he grabbed his jacket and helmet and was out the door.

  When he made his way through the bar’s doors, he literally had to push through a mob of people standing under one of the flat screens rooting on the White Sox who were now down by one run. What a difference fifteen minutes made.

  “Hartley,” Jeremy called from behind the bar. “Thank the fucking Lord you made it. You take the cash orders because I don’t have time to show you the register. Pour beers. Try not to give anyone a glass full of foam. Use a pilsner for the pale ale, a pint for the stout, and a weizen for witbier.” Jeremy pointed at each glass as he spoke. “But don’t worry too much because most everyone here is piss drunk already and probably won’t give a shit.” He paused and nodded toward a table of patrons who seemed to be the only ones ignoring the television screens. “Except the hipsters in the corner. They’ll fucking correct you.”

  Wes laughed, but Jeremy raised his brows. The guy was serious.

  “You good?” Jeremy asked, and Wes guessed the correct response was to nod. So he did. “Great. Because that was your training. May the force be with you.”

  And that was that. Wes was on his own. Baptism by fire—or ale, in this case.

  It only took him four hours to get the hang of it—four hours, three condescending hipster corrections, one broken pilsner glass, and a bandaged thumb and palm after hastily picking up the broken shards. They were thirty minutes from closing, and Jeremy had just returned to the bar after clearing glasses from a nearby table.

  “Please tell me you poured one for yourself at some point this evening,” he said, and Wes’s eyes widened.

  “No, asshole,” he said. “I’m the new guy, remember? Would have been nice to know I could sample the merchandise.”

  Jeremy ran his forearm across his brow. The guy was clearly just as exhausted as he was, but shit. He could have used a pint of his own at least an hour or so ago.

  “Sorry, man. My mistake. It’s not like Jamie wants us drinking all night, but the best way to talk up a brew to the patrons is to know it intimately.”

  Wes rolled his eyes.

  “You know anything intimately other than beer, Denning?”

  Jeremy flipped him off and then grinned.

  “I have my fun, Hartley. That’s all I really need. And if you’re anything like the guy in your book, I’m guessing that’s all you need, too.”

  Wes grabbed a pint glass and began pouring himself a stout. He tried to let the jab roll off his back. It’s not like it wasn’t true. He grew up watching his parents make each other miserable, only for his mom to die and leave his dad even more of an ass than he was when she was here. It didn’t make sense. Relationships didn’t make sense. So he sought out women with whom he knew there wasn’t a future. It was easier when there was nothing to lose.

  Now Annie was offering him the same thing, and he found part of himself wishing she wanted more—and that he had more to give.

  “Yeah,” he said, finishing the perfect pour. “That’s all I need.”

  He drained half the pint. He was sweating, and hungry, and he realized he really hadn’t slept much at all last night. Exhaustion swept over him like a tidal wave, and he suddenly couldn’t think of anything better than sleep.

  Jeremy retrieved a half-empty glass of his own from the back counter.

  “Cheers, my friend,” Jeremy said. “Here’s to all sorts of—fun.”

  It was quiet enough now for Wes to hear the door whoosh open. Brynn was the first to walk through. And then there was Annie. Her red waves framed her face under a gray knit cap. She wore the same black leather jacket from yesterday, but this time a pair of form-fitting jeans hugged her legs, and if he didn’t stop staring, Jeremy was going to notice. So he gulped down the rest of his pint, afraid that whatever came out of his mouth would give him and Annie away.

  “Ladies,” Jeremy said. “So nice to see you.”

  Brynn kissed him on the cheek and then narrowed her gaze at Wes.

  He lowered the glass slowly from his face. She didn’t break her gaze, so he held his ground. He wasn’t sure what Annie had told her, but one thing was for sure: Brynn was sizing him up.

  “You’re right,” she finally said. He could tell she was speaking to Annie, but she was still looking at him. “I didn’t have a chance to compare the other night. Way better than that cartoon on the book jacket.”

  Annie backhanded her friend on the arm, and Wes couldn’t help but smile. Whatever she’d said, she liked the way he looked, and Brynn knew it. This gave him enough satisfaction for the moment.

  Jeremy snorted.

  “Right? What’s with the drawing, Hartley? Not like the ladies don’t like what they see. How much did you rack up in tips tonight from that table of hot grad students?”

  Annie dipped her head, but not before he noticed her blush.

 
; “It’s not like my age is a secret,” he said. “But the less I remind readers of how young I am, the better. It’s not easy to be taken seriously in this industry.”

  Annie cleared her throat. “Maybe that’s your problem,” she said. “Taking yourself too seriously.”

  Wes raised his brows. “Maybe some people take what they read too seriously.”

  He’d meant it as a joke, but Annie shot daggers at him with her eyes.

  Jeremy chuckled. “Nice. One wedding together, and the two of you already have each other pegged.”

  Wes caught Annie’s eye and offered her a conciliatory grin before shifting his gaze to Jeremy. Annie forced a laugh. At least Wes could tell she was forcing it. He wondered if Brynn or Jeremy caught on.

  “Pretty much sums up the evening,” she said. “We even got bored and left the wedding early.”

  Wes closed his eyes. Shit. This was it. They should have collaborated on a lie so they’d both have the same story for Jeremy once he found out they didn’t come home last night. But Wes was too flustered after Annie’s proposition and too overflowing with story to think of anything other than getting it down on paper. Or his laptop. Whatever.

  Jeremy tousled Wes’s hair like he was a toddler.

  “Aw, I bet you had my little sister home safe and in bed before midnight.”

  Wes let out a nervous laugh. He definitely had her in bed before midnight.

  “Yep,” Annie said. “Home safe and sound before I turned back into a pumpkin.”

  Brynn opened her mouth to say something, but Annie cut her off.

  “Isn’t Jamie working the upstairs bar tonight?” she asked. “You should go let him know you’re here.”

  Brynn pouted at her friend, but she didn’t say another word before marching upstairs.

  She knew.

  Jeremy tossed back the rest of his pint, then laid the glass in a bus bin.

  “Take a load off and let me pour you another, Hartley. You look like hell.” Jeremy filled his friend’s empty glass and set it back down.

  Wes laughed. “Thanks. I feel like hell.” He pushed the fresh beer to the patron side of the counter, then slid past Jeremy and out from behind the bar to where Annie still stood.

  “This guy saved my ass tonight. He’s even got the battle scars to prove it.”

  Wes collapsed onto a bar stool, thankful that it had a back rest because once he was off his feet, he didn’t think he could support even half his body weight anymore. Annie took the seat next to him. Jeremy gave her a small peck on the cheek. He looked past her and winked at Wes.

  “Hey, I’m…uh, spending the night out again. There’s this flight attendant I met last year when I went to L.A. Long story. Anyway, she’s in town for one night at The Four Seasons—”

  “Enjoy your fun,” Wes said.

  “Ugh, Jeremy,” Annie said. “When are you going to date someone I can actually meet?”

  He picked up the bus bin and chuckled.

  “Didn’t you hear Hartley?” Jeremy asked. “I have fun. There’s no room for dating there.”

  She backhanded him on the shoulder, and Wes barely had the energy to shake his head at his friend.

  Jeremy started back toward the kitchen. “You’re off the clock, Hartley!” he called over his shoulder. “Make sure my sister gets home safe.”

  Wes let out a long breath.

  Annie spun on her stool to face him.

  “I’m fine getting home, by the way. I was out with Brynn, so I told her I’d drop her off and get a cab home. Jeremy needs to stop treating me like I need a babysitter.” She groaned softly. “He’s the child, you know.”

  Wes smiled.

  “He loves you. It’s gotta be nice to have someone looking out for you like that.” He lifted his glass and offered a nod of cheers. “And even if you did want a ride home, I think I’m leaving my bike here after this.”

  She crossed her arms and grinned.

  “Well, then. While I don’t need looking after, it would be economical for us to share a cab. Your place is on the way to mine.”

  “I was gonna walk—” he said, then stopped himself from going any further. Just because Jeremy’s apartment was walking distance didn’t mean he couldn’t take a cab. He had ridden the bike here, after all.

  He was practically dead on his feet. Plus, a few minutes alone with Annie, even if it was just sitting next to her, would be a really fucking good way to end a long night.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. That sounds good.”

  She hopped off the stool.

  “Stay there,” she said. “You look—well, like Jeremy said. So, just rest. I’ll let Brynn know I’ll talk to her tomorrow, and I’ll pop back to let the overprotective baby brother know I’m getting home safely.”

  He didn’t argue. He had no energy for that.

  She was back in minutes, enough time for him to finish his pint, the smooth stout coating his insides and finally allowing him to relax after practically forty-eight hours of being on.

  “Leave the glass,” she said. “Jer said he’ll grab the last of what’s left out here.”

  He nodded and pushed himself up from the stool. Annie gasped and grabbed his bandaged palm.

  “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

  A small laugh escaped his lips.

  “Broke a glass. It’s no big deal.”

  She brushed a thumb across the heel of his hand, just below the bandage. He sucked in a breath.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I’m too fucking tired to know.”

  She reached over the bar and pulled his jacket out from the shelf where he’d shoved it.

  “I know all the good hiding spots,” she said. “Come on. I’m taking you home and making sure you clean this properly. Then I’ll head back to my place, okay?”

  He wanted to protest. He really did. Because that would have been the right thing to do. The safe thing to do. Despite their little arrangement, all he could think right now was how good it would feel to be taken care of for once. So he simply nodded and followed her out to the street where she hailed a cab, gave the driver Jeremy’s address, and then sat with him in silence for the few minutes it took them to get there. It was the perfect ride.

  When they got to Jeremy’s place, she still didn’t speak, just led him to the bathroom where she turned on the sink, let the water run warm, and peeled the tape off the gauze that covered his hand.

  “It’s not so bad,” she said softly.

  The wound wasn’t deep, but it was fresh, and the skin stung when it hit the open air. He hissed softly when she pulled his hand under the water.

  “Sorry.” She massaged the skin around the cut, washing away tiny flecks of dried blood.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “I can handle it. I was just—caught off guard.”

  Annie shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with hurting, Wes. Or admitting that you’re hurt. It doesn’t diminish your testosterone or anything to say ouch.”

  There was a hint of annoyance in her voice, but the water was off now, and she was gently patting his palm dry with a towel, taking care not to hurt him even though she’d just called him on something no other woman had. Sure, he’d been called on plenty of other bullshit by plenty of other women, but Annie knew him for a weekend and already hit it home.

  It wasn’t okay to hurt. Not when he had to pick up his own pieces when he did.

  She rifled through Jeremy’s cabinet and produced a small first aid kit, continuing to tend to his hand while he did his best not to let her touch get to him in any way.

  “Have you always been like this?” she asked, tilting her head up so her eyes met his.

  “I’m a lot of things, Annie. You’re going to have to elaborate.”

  She sighed.

  “Closed off. Emotionally unavailable. Afraid of your own feelings.”

  He raised a brow.

  “You got all that from cleaning off a cut?”

  S
he gave him a pointed look, and he wanted to hold his ground, but the longer he stared at her, the more he was afraid she could see. He dropped his gaze to his palm. She had one piece of tape left to secure the gauze in place, so he pulled it from where it dangled on her finger, slapped it over the loose corner, and gently freed his hand from her grip.

  “Thanks for the first aid,” he said, making himself busy by closing up the kit and putting it away, then slipping past her and out into the hallway. “Do you want a beer?” he asked. “I need a beer.”

  He strode toward the kitchen, hoping she’d take the not-so-subtle hint and change the subject.

  “Come on, Wes.”

  Nope. She was on his heels when he spun to face her at the fridge, two beer bottles in his hand. Christ, he was too exhausted to defend himself. And everything he was about to say would come out wrong, but so be it. Their comfortable silence seemed to be at an end.

  He handed her a bottle, twisted the cap off the one in his hand, and then traded her for the other so he could twist the cap off that one, too. He wasn’t even sure they were twist-offs, but he was too flustered to find an opener, even if it meant nicking more flesh from his appendages.

  “No, Annie. I wasn’t always like this, but this is what I am now.” He tilted the bottle to his lips and drank it halfway down before stopping for air. When she didn’t say anything else, he stepped around her and out into the living room where he collapsed on Jeremy’s brown leather couch.

  He threw his head back and closed his eyes, wishing he had more to bang it against other than the plush material.

  Jesus, you’re an asshole.

  But then again, this was his M.O. He used it to keep everyone else at bay, and it always worked. But Annie—she pushed his buttons. Instead of being proactive, with her it was all reaction.

  He felt the cushion dip to his left, then felt the warmth of another body in the vicinity of his.

  “Are you trying to scare me away?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes. She’d taken off her jacket and boots and was curled up all comfy with her beer. Next to him. Like he hadn’t just acted like a total dick.