Page 19 of Love Is Ale You Need

I point to Nora. “Yeah. Listen to her.”

“It sounds like terrible advice, if you ask me,” Rylee quips.

Since this isn’t working, I try another tactic. “Word on the street is you like to listen to people's problems and tell them what to do? You did it with Bennett and Van. Maybe I need some of your wonderful advice.”

She narrows her gaze at me, knowing exactly where I’m going with this. “Do you need someone to listen to your problems?”

“I do actually. Thanks for asking.” I sit up in my seat. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Rylee dramatically wipes a rag along the top of the bar, encouraging me to continue.

“There’s this girl I know—”

She stops and the rag that was once in her hand hits me in the chest.

“Hey, that’s not what a good bartender does. I don’t recall Bennett and Van getting towels thrown at them.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I like them more.”

I bark out a laugh. “Where was I before I was rudely interrupted? Oh yes. There’s this girl and no matter what I do, she keeps turning me down. It’s like she’s immune to my charm.”

“You want my advice?” She leans in.

I inch closer to her until we are face to face, fourteen inches of wood between us. “Yes.”

“If I were you, I’d give up.” A slow tight-lipped smile spreads over her lips. “It seems like a lost cause.”

I rub my chin, pretending to consider her words, then square my gaze with hers. “Nah. I don’t give up that easy. Plus, she hasn’t told me no. I’m wearing her down.”

She presses her lips together and nonchalantly shrugs a shoulder.

“Same time next week. Have a good night, Rylee.” I rise to my feet. Her gaze never leaves mine. I’m unsure why she’s keeping me at arm’s length, but I’m determined to tear down her walls, even if I have to do it one brick at a time.

NINE

THE TREY WILSON SPECIAL

Trey

With one eye closed, I line up my shot. I pull my arm back and sling shot it forward. The dart soars through the air and pierces the small red dot in the center. Bullseye. I throw the next dart. Bullseye. Then I throw the last one. Triple one. What the fuck? The dart must be defective. I stroll up to the dartboard and yank them out.

On the center of the wall are two dart boards, flanked by two pub tables. Then on the opposite side of the room is a pool table and in the center is a custom-built bar, dark leather couch, and a flat screen television to complete the ensemble in my newly remodeled man cave.

The doorbell chimes and I pull out my phone to the check the app when a familiar face comes into view. I press the microphone button. “Hey Miles. It’s open.” I lift my head and stare at the man cave. Shit. I race up the stairs two at a time when I come inches away from crashing into Miles on the entry way landing.

“Oh! Where did you come from?” His hand splays against the wall to regain his balance.

“Hey man.” I prop myself up with a hand on the wall while collecting my breath.

“Is the remodel done?” He points toward the stairs and shoves past me.

“Uh. No!” I spit out.

He turns to face me. “Oh. Well, can I see the progress, at least?”

“No.”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

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