Page 2 of Love Is Ale You Need

“Guys. Guys! Let’s rein it in. Anyway, we can all thank Jake for allowing us use of Porter’s backroom. Also, we can’t bring our own snacks, which might be for the best since Owen got sick from the cheese dip Darren provided at the last meeting.”

“Sorry. I had no idea the cheese went bad.” Darren’s tone is somber as he drops his head.

“With the cheese in the past, Porter’s has apps and beer. But everyone is responsible for their own tabs.” I glance around the room. “Where’s Tim?”

Owen raises his hand.

“You don’t need to raise your hand,” I say.

His hand slinks to his lap. “He texted me and said he can’t make it today. Something about needing to pick up the kids from school because their mother is too busy”—he reaches into the breast pocket of his red polo and pulls out his phone. He glances down at the screen and then at me—“and I quote, ‘fucking her piece of shit boss.’”

“Fucking Tim,” I mutter under my breath.

The other two guys gasp, while Owen nods his head in confirmation. I’m not sure if it’s because how Tim worded it or because his ex is still sleeping with her boss who is also Owen’s boss. They’ve bonded over their mutual dislike of the guy.

After Tim caught his now ex-wife cheating last year, he eventually filed for divorce. Granted, she wasn’t doing much to conceal it, but for the longest time Tim put on blinders for the sake of the kids. When Owen invited him to come to SBL, we all welcomed him with open arms.

“We can use this as a learning experience. First,” I hold up one finger, “avoid having kids at all costs. Things will always turn to shit, then you’re left with nothing but a pile of shit. Tim’s already a lost cause, but we’re slowly guiding him back toward the light. And second,” I hold up another finger, “if your wife, girlfriend, or partner says they have to work late and come home smelling like cheap perfume. Run. Run like Forrest Gump. Right the hell out of there.” I hold up a third finger. “Most importantly, paternity tests are your friend. And always confirm she’s actually pregnant. Ask to see a test. Go with her to an appointment.”

Miles pulls out his phone and types notes on the screen, absorbing everything like a sponge.

“Learn from mine and Tim’s experiences. Now that we got that out of the way, let’s continue with the rest of the meeting.”

Over the next hour, we discuss everything I’m doing with the man cave remodel, including installing a state-of-the-art bar. Miles tells us about the new drone he purchased and the three-camera system it has. Owen animatedly discusses the ins and outs of a new virtual reality video game console he bought. Darren rounds out the conversation by debating if perhaps the reason his cat is acting out is because he’s lonely and maybe he should get another cat so he can have a friend.

As they continue to discuss the pros and cons of Darren acquiring a second cat, I excuse myself. I stroll through the crowd, meandering in and out of tables filled with customers. Along the way, I duck and weave away from previous hookups, vying for my attention, but get stopped by a few acquaintances to talk business. At the end of the long bar, I claim an empty seat. I drum my fingers on the smooth, worn wood bar top as I wait. My gaze drifts to the opposite end of the bar where Rylee, a bartender squares her shoulders at a guy across from her. By the way she’s clenching her jaw, I’m sure she’s ready to rip his jugular out Mortal Combat style.

He reaches across the bar, and she pulls away. My molars grind together. That’s all I need to see. I shove off the wood edge, the screeching of the metal on the linoleum tile draws the attention of a few customers around me. The stool nearly topples over, but someone behind me catches it and I stalk to the other end.

TWO

BANTER STRANGLEHOLD

Rylee

In one smooth motion, I slide the knife through the lime. The two pieces fall to the sides. I toss them into the condiment tray and set another lime on my cutting board and repeat the process.

“What are The Boy Scouts of America doing back there?” Nora, the newly hired bartender, asks from next to me as she fishes olives from a jar. She’s been on the job for two weeks and luckily, I haven’t had to do too much handholding, so I know she’ll fit right in.

“It’s some bachelors forever meeting. I don’t know. Jake said they could use the backroom for the next few Thursday nights.” Clamping the lid tight with a snap, I tuck away the container into the bottle cooler and grab the lemons.

“Do they call themselves bachelors because they can’t score any dates? Especially the guy on the end with the plaid collared shirt, khakis, and black rimmed glasses. I bet he sells car insurance and still lives in his mom’s basement.” She pulls her long, beach wave blonde hair back and secures it with a hair tie. “All of them except that dark haired Greek god. White button down flexing all his forearm deliciousness. What’s his story?”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Without glancing up, I know exactly who she’s referring to. Every time he’s here, he’s the topic of conversation. “That’s Trey. I don’t know his deal. Women flock to him like he has a golden dick. But also, it’s a different woman every time, so it can’t really be that special.” I slice through a lemon.

With a loud stomp, Jake passes by us, the liquor bottles shaking on the shelves as he beelines it to the backroom where Trey and the others are hanging out. We exchange glances and shrug simultaneously.

“I won’t lie. I’d be willing to take one for the team and test it out.” She rises to her tippy toes, peering over the heads of the bar patrons for a better view of Trey.

I roll my eyes and continue slicing the lemons. “Have at it, but double protection might be necessary. Anyway, Jake said we don’t need to wait on them. If they need anything, they have to come to the bar.”

Nora turns toward me, resting her elbow on the edge of the cooler. “Have you ever hooked up with him?”

“Hell no.” I shake my head. “He’s not my type. In fact, my type and him are in completely different area codes. Not even in the same state. More like opposite ends of the country.”

“Okay. Okay. Got it.” She raises her hands up, palms out in defense. “You seem a little riled up over someone who’s not your type.”

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