Page 22 of I Wanna Be Your Lager

She turns to me, waiting to see if I’ll say anything, but I keep my gaze locked on the closed garage door in front of me.

A small sigh escapes her. “Good night,” she murmurs under her breath. She waits a beat for me to respond, but I don’t. With a push, she opens the door and slams it closed, causing me to flinch.

I watch as she walks to the back door. Once she’s inside and turns off the porch light, I throw my truck into reverse. My tires squeal as I stomp on the gas pedal. This is what I wanted. But why do I feel like an asshole?

THIRTEEN

THE PLAN

Eve

I’m at a loss with Lach. Besides Jake, he’s the only person I know here, and he wants nothing to do with me. For the past week, he’s kept his distance whenever I’ve worked with him. When I tried to talk to him, he kept his replies to a minimum and went searching for anything to get away from me, which included alphabetizing the liquor shelf, picking up cigarette butts in the parking lot, and even removing all the broken tips out of the dartboard.

Now I’m pulling a play from Lach’s playbook and trying to avoid Jake. He keeps prying into my life plans. I get he’s being the protective older brother, but I don’t even know what my life plans are. There are only so many places I can hide from him since I not only live with him but also work at his bar. Locking myself in my room only works for so long; he knows I’m not a recluse. Currently, I’m sitting in his office across from him, waiting for my interrogation.

“It’s been a week. How long is your vacation? What’s your plan?”

Indefinite. But I can’t tell him that. “I don’t know.” Deflect. Deflect. Deflect. Sitting up straighter, I lean toward Jake. “What’s your plan? You seem to be in the same place you were when I left town nine years ago. You’re still single.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“But we could make this about you.”

His gaze meets mine. Concern etches his features. “Is something going on? Are you in trouble?”

The permanent scowl on his face fades away, and his soft tone guts me. It’s rare for Jake to show his soft side. I can’t continue to lie to him. My shoulders sag. “I’m not in trouble per se, but something did happen.” His eyebrows raise, waiting for me to continue. The words are seconds from spewing out of my mouth, but I swallow them down. “As you know, I’ve been working as a photographer’s assistant.”

“Yeah.” He nods.

“Well, my boss…” I inhale a sharp breath, and I meet Jake’s gaze. For once, he’s not scowling. There’s genuine concern on his face. “He’s been thinking about selling the business.” The lie tumbles out of my mouth. I can’t face the look of disappointment that would have followed if I told him the truth.

“Are you thinking about buying the business? If you need some money, I’d be happy to help you.”

My shoulders sag. “I was thinking of trying something else. Or maybe a location change.” Moving back to Harbor Highlands has jumped to the forefront of my mind since meeting Lach. At this point, there’s nothing keeping me in Knoxville.

“Where would you move to?”

Damn Jake and all his questions. “Maybe back to Harbor Highlands. I would already have a job.” I point at the Porter’s t-shirt I’m wearing and wiggle my eyebrows.

“If you keep breaking everything, that job may be no longer.”

“Hey! I’ve only broken a couple of things.”

“Three. That I’m aware of. The last one being a bottle of vodka.”

“I still maintain that the bottle broke itself. Companies really need to make those bottles out of thicker glass.” Jake shakes his head, and I laugh.

He uncrosses his arms, resting his elbows on his desk. “If that’s what you want, you know you are always welcome.”

I nod. I certainly can’t tell him I want to explore whatever is developing between me and his best friend.

“You okay with catching a ride home with Lach?”

And he’s back to business. It would be better if Lach talked to me, but it’s a ride. We can sit next to each other in fun, awkward silence. Again. “Yeah. That’s perfect.” I fake enthusiasm.

“Okay. But later, we’ll talk more about your plan.” Jake rises to his feet, and I follow suit.

“Looking forward to it.” I flash him the most exaggerated fake smile I can muster. Truth be told, I’d rather stab myself in the eye with the broken vodka bottle than rehash my lack of life plan again.

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