Page 50 of Good Vibes Only
“You’re nice,” he said, disarming me with his simple honesty. “But I don’t feel like I have any business sense. I’m just a hockey player. You know?”
“Okay, let me ask you something. When you play hockey, are you constantly thinking about where you need to be on the ice to make the right play?”
His features pinched as he considered it. “I mean, when we’re on the bench after a shift, the coaches might have a word with us about something we did or how we could do better.”
“But in the heat of the moment—when you’re on the ice and you’ve got the puck on your stick and you’re trying to score— are you thinking about the little ins and outs of strategy?”
He shook his head. “Hell no. I just do it. At the level we play at, it has to be instinct.”
I smiled. “Yes! Exactly. It’s the same thing with your brewery, Brett. You’ve got an instinct for business; you just don’t trust it yet.”
“Huh.”
He still seemed deep in thought as he pulled us into the parking lot right outside 815. He parked the car, but still the engine idled. Neither of us unbuckled our seat belts or moved for the door.
“I don’t wanna eat here, Mac,” he said at last.
“Yeah?” I grinned. “Me neither.”
“I want a big ol’ greasy cheeseburger.”
“With fries, right?”
“Dude, of course.Fries are a must.” He laughed. “I know a place, if you’re in.”
My eyes rolled back in my head. “I amsoin, Brett.”
Brett flashed his confident smile, put the car in the gear, and we zoomed off.
“Hell yeah. You’re my girl,” he said, his grip on my thigh tightening.
Mm,I thought, a shiver of delight dancing up my spine. I liked being called his girl … and I was starting to believe he meant it when he said he liked me.
12
Brett
McKayla and I sat elbow-to-elbow at the dimly lit bar, a baseball game playing on the giant flat screen behind the bar. I’d chuckled when she’d ordered the same thing as me—a double bacon cheeseburger with fries—but I wasn’t laughing anymore. She hung in there with me, bite for bite, as we crushed our juicy, yet perfectly crispy, smash burgers, and munched on a big basket of salty fries.
“You weren’t kidding,” I said between bites.
“I told you! Ineededthis! Especially after the morning I had,” she said. “Question: does the lovely work crew from your brewery also come from Mike’s good ol’ boy network?”
“Of course. They all do. Everyone but Eric.”
“Figures …” she grumbled.
“Enough about my brewery, though. I want to hear about how you got your start in theadult boutiqueindustry.”
“Aw!” Touched, she shot a look at me, her eyes sparkling. “Good boy! I’m so proud of you for calling it that. I’d pat your cheek, but—” She held up her hands, her fingers shining with grease.
“Yeah, I’m good. Keep those away from me, thanks.”
We both laughed.
“So it started pretty randomly,” she said. “My freshman year of college, I had a blog. A LiveJournal, actually. Remember those?”
“LiveJournal?Holy shit. I didn’t think anyone from our generation actually had one of those. How old did you say you were again, grandma?”
