“Zach Bowen,” he said, extending his hand for mine. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I let him take my hand in his, trying to ignore the warm, buzzing energy that transferred when our skin touched.
“She’s Gemma,” Belle answered for me, since apparently my sticky tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. “Gemma Mancini.”
“So, Gemma Mancini,” he said, his hand still wrapped around mine, eyes hooded and sure. “What do you say? Let me be your practice round.”
“Say yes, stupid,” Belle whispered.
I nudged her with my elbow.
Zach held my gaze confidently, his dark eyes watching me like I really had no other choice. And in that moment, I couldn’t think of a reason not to say yes. He seemed fun. He was hot.
And it would save me from this stupid app for at least one more week.
“Fine,” I conceded, and Zach’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile, one that had a slight dimple popping under that delicious stubble.
He reached for my phone, the screen still on the unanswered message from Brad. He clicked out of it, typing his phone number into a new text message, instead, and sending himself an emoji.
“There. My number. And I have yours. See you for the game next weekend?”
“Looks like it.”
His eyes roamed over me once more, the corner of his mouth pulling up just slightly. “Can’t wait.”
Belle nudged me under the bar with her knee, her eyes wide in an oh my God fashion.
“For now, I should get back to work. I’ll check on you ladies in a bit.”
“Thank you, Zach,” Belle said, waving her fingers daintily as he made his way over to the other side of the bar.
She didn’t stop staring once he was gone, though.
“Damn,” she breathed, resting her chin on the hand she’d just used to wave him farewell. “Now I really hope you get railed into next year.”
I laughed, trying not to panic at the thought of another man touching me.
A man who wasn’t Carlo.
Shaking my head, I pulled the app back up on my phone, showing Belle the messages that had come through and letting her swipe through the pictures of guys for a while. As we talked, I reminded myself of the one thing I always needed to hear.
I am in control.
It’s just a football game. It’s just a night of sports and beer and hot dogs. If I want to have sex with him, I can. If I don’t, I can just go home alone. No harm, no foul. These are my tickets, and this is my plan, even if it was Belle’s idea.
There are eight home games this season. That’s eight different guys, eight new friends to make, and — only if I want — eight potential orgasms that don’t come from my trusty vibrator.
I am in control.
Maybe this will actually be fun, I thought, laughing as Belle swiped a hard left on a guy who stated in his bio that he was a “sex machine.” She seemed to be having more fun than I was going through the app, so I let her swipe away, content to just sip on my vodka and listen to her commentary.
Every now and then, I’d feel Zach watching me from wherever he was working behind the bar. And when our eyes met, my chest would squeeze, along with my thighs. There was something about his eyes, about the kind of heat that swept over me with that gaze. The way he looked at me, it was as if he already had me in his bed, between his sheets, one hand on my hip and the other hiking my leg up as he settled between my thighs.
He’d only just learned my name, but the way he looked at me? It was as if he knew everything — maybe even more than I knew, myself.
A practice round…
Yeah. This could be fun.
**END SNEAK PEEK**
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“How much longer is this going to take?” Prescott Lee Buchanan said in a condescending tone, his fingers drumming on the conference table.
Georgie Buchanan knew that drumming all too well. She’d lived with it for her entire childhood.
“The attorney said we’re waiting on something,” she told her father.
“I don’t understand why we’re even here for the will reading,” Georgie’s baby sister, Adalia, moaned. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Grandpa Buchanan. The last time was over a decade ago. He’s not going to leave us anything. I heard his brewery’s basically worthless.”
Georgie’s brother, Lee, who was the middle child but always acted like he was the most important one, shot Adalia an irritated glare. “Unfortunately, Adalia, life isn’t a free-for-all. Sometimes there are duties and obligations, and they’re not always fun and games.”
Adalia slapped her ink-stained hand on the table and leaned forward. “I know you don’t think much of my life, Junior, but at least I’m not Dad’s puppet.”
“That will be enough, Adalia,” Prescott snapped. Then he turned to Lee. “Junior, go and see what’s taking so long.”
Irritation flickered in Lee’s eyes. Georgie knew how much he hated to be called Junior, and if he jumped up to do their father’s bidding, he’d be proving Adalia’s point.
Lee’s girlfriend, Victoria, stood with a grace that made Georgie feel like a backwoods hick, which was saying something since Georgie had created and built a company that she’d just sold for five million dollars. Of course, her father would argue that a company that sells feminine products was nothing to brag about.
Victoria gave Prescott a smile that suggested a comradery Georgie had never shared with her father. “I’ll get answers,” she said in a commanding tone that was probably reassuring to her clients but was grating on Georgie’s nerves. “Professional courtesy.”
The woman, a corporate attorney who was tall and skinny enough to be a supermodel, walked out of the room, her gray pencil skirt so tight Georgie wondered how she could walk at all.
“They have high-priced call girls here?” Adalia asked in a dry tone.
One of the men sitting at the opposite end of the table covered his mouth with his hand, but Georgie could tell he was trying to hide his laughter. He’d walked in after she was seated and she’d let her gaze linger on him for longer than was polite. Tall, dark, and handsome was definitely Georgie’s type, and it had been far too long since her last boyfriend. Still, the reading of her grandfather’s will hardly seemed like the place to pick up a guy.
“Have you no impulse control at all, Adalia?” Lee demanded, the veins in his neck bulging.
“There’s something to be said for saying how you feel instead of keeping it all bottled up inside,” Adalia said with a smirk. Then she glanced back at Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome and the people around him. “Am I right?”
There were a handful of people Georgie didn’t recognize at the table. A man wearing jeans and a button-down shirt who looked to be in his late fifties. A middle-aged Latina woman wearing a simple floral dress. The smirking man, who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, wore a black suit that was obviously off the rack and not tailored like Prescott’s and Lee’s. The man who sat next to him was around the same age, dressed in khakis, a button-down shirt that still had creases that hadn’t quite been ironed out from the packaging, and a cheap black tie. He sat stoically in his chair, mostly watching her father but occasionally sneaking glances at her and her siblings. And in the center of them all, at the head of the table opposite Georgie’s father, sat the one non-Buchanan person Georgie recognized, an elderly woman with short, curly lavender hair, who had on a bright pink business suit that looked like it was straight from the 1980s, shoulder pads and all. Dottie Hendrickson was dressed just as colorfully as she had been when Georgie had met her a few weeks ago at her grandfather’s brewery.
When Georgie had asked the legal assistant about all the nonfamily newcomers who’d shown up for the reading of the will, the woman had said, “He bequeathed a few odds and ends to them.”
They’d all sat at the opposite end of the room, as if Prescott had sectioned off a kids’ table for them. Of course. Prescott was flanked by his three children in their finest black attire: Georgie and Adalia on one side—with an empty chair between Georgie and her father—and Lee and Victoria on the other, Lee glued to his father’s side, of course, and Victoria’s vacated seat next to him.
Of the Buchanan contingent, Georgie was the only one who’d seen Beau at all in recent years. She’d paid him a visit a few weeks ago, at his request. He’d called to congratulate her on the sale of her company, something her own father had still not done, and invited her to come to Asheville in the near future. Something in his voice had told her the visit should come sooner rather than later, and with no new project yet in the works, she’d made an impulsive decision (not her usual) and hopped on a plane. He hadn’t looked like the picture of health, but then again, he’d been in his late eighties. Still, she hadn’t expected him to die so quickly.
During her two-day visit, he’d taken her on a tour of Buchanan Brewery, the oldest brewery in Asheville, North Carolina, a city which had become a hotbed for beer brewing…and apparently left Buchanan Brewery in its dust. The equipment was old, some of the staff even older, including the woman currently holding court opposite Georgie’s father. Dottie was the tasting room manager.
Dottie smiled at Georgie now, her eyes twinkling as though she was privy to an amusing secret.
Georgie’s back stiffened. Wait. Was she?
She was about to say something to her father, but Victoria and an older man with salt-and-pepper hair—Georgie’s grandfather’s estate attorney—walked in arm in arm, smiling and laughing as though they’d been close for ages.
Georgie wanted to gag.
She’d been in the business world long enough to know a woman could get ahead either by flirting her way to the top or becoming a hard-ass who took no crap.
She’d gone the latter route.
So why did she still let her father and brother walk all over her?
Georgie didn’t have time to think about it because the attorney walked in with Victoria and escorted her to her leather chair, pulling it out for her to sit down.
“Thank you for your patience,” the man said as he moved to an empty seat in the middle, standing behind the chair. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Henry Manning, Beau Buchanan’s attorney, and everyone present has been mentioned in the will. Again, thank you for your patience, but we had to be certain we had everything in order before we began.”
“I still don’t understand the need for all the pomp and circumstance,” Prescott grumbled. “Just hand us a copy of the will and be done with it.”
The attorney gave Prescott a tight smile. “These were the wishes of your father, Prescott. I am merely his instrument.”
The way he held Georgie’s father’s gaze suggested the two men had already made an acquaintance and it hadn’t gone well.
The assistant Georgie had spoken to earlier walked in, carrying a legal box with a lid. She set it down on the console table behind Mr. Manning.
“Before we begin,” the attorney said, “can I get anyone anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”
“Will you just read the damn will already?” Prescott demanded.
To his credit, Mr. Manning ignored him and turned to the people at the opposite end of the table.
“Water sounds like a good idea,” Dottie said, getting to her feet. “Everyone needs water.”
“We don’t need water,” Prescott said, tuggi
ng at his tie. “We need to find out what the old man said, and then get out of here so I can start making arrangements to sell off the brewery.”
Dottie’s smile momentarily froze, then got bigger. “Nonsense. You’ve all had a very long day, what with your mourning at the funeral and all. Water’s just what you need.”
The mourning comment was a not-so-carefully concealed jab. Georgie had been the most upset, but to be fair, none of her siblings had really known the man. Their father had made sure of that.
For some reason, her gaze shot to the handsome man in the ill-fitting suit. His jaw had a firm set, and all vestiges of humor had fled from his face. Their eyes met for a moment, and Georgie shifted her gaze, unnerved by the judgment she saw there.
Dottie turned to face the attorney. “Henry, I’ll just go fetch some glasses.”
Henry, Georgie thought. Interesting. She clearly knew him as more than a passing acquaintance. Either that, or she was at an age where she didn’t stand on ceremony. Georgie suspected it was some combination of the two.
“We don’t need water!” Prescott shouted, his face turning red.
“Just let the woman get some water,” Lee groaned, pushing his chair back from the table.
Dottie headed for the door but stopped and pinched Prescott’s cheek. “Patience, my boy. You never really understood the concept, but you’re not too old to learn it now.”
She walked out of the room as every member of the Buchanan family stared at her in shock. She’d dared to touch the Prescott Buchanan.
Georgie couldn’t remember the last time she’d physically touched her father, and she struggled to hide a grin at the woman’s outrageousness.
“This is ridiculous,” Prescott sneered. “No one needs water!”
“I need water,” Adalia said, tilting her head and giving her father a mischievous look.
Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set Page 308
