Tap, Page 7

  “Ah, lavender. That’s the scent I’ve noticed every time I’m near you. It’s very nice.” When was the last time a man told me I smelled nice? Has it been that long since I’ve had someone interested in me? Is that why I’ve felt a little alone lately? Is that also why I’m sticking around for the weekend? Or is that just the sexy man sitting in front of me?

  “What do you do when you’re not working?”

  “I hang out with friends, go to the beach, do yoga, volunteer at the humane society.”

  “You’re an animal lover?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have any pets. I get my animal fix by helping out at the shelter.” I wish I had time to devote to a pet but I stay at the shop for too many hours at a time to leave an animal alone.

  “Are Ivy and Kelsey uninhibited like you?”

  Lucas is more aware of things about me than I thought. “How do you know of my friends?”

  His eyes widen. “Oliver has talked about them.”

  “I bet. Did he also tell you how hard he crushes on both?”

  “He might have mentioned something about them being hot.” I thought he might.

  “They aren’t like me. Ivy is a nurse so she has a completely different mindset when it comes to healing. Kelsey is a loan officer at a bank. Both of them are very analytical.”

  “And you’re abstract. I bet that causes some debates.”

  “Not really. They respect my opinion as I do theirs.” We’ve been friends for a long time and it’s never been an issue.

  “You agree to disagree.”

  “Mostly.”

  My attention is stolen when my ears perk up for a rendition of Twin Forks’ “Kiss Me Darling.” I love that song so much, and perhaps it speaks more about me than I thought. It’s been a long time indeed.

  “What is it?” Lucas asks.

  “That song. I can’t believe the band is playing it. It’s one of my favorites.”

  Lucas stands and offers his hand. “Then we have no choice but to dance if it’s one of your favorites.”

  He holds my hand as he leads me to the crowd around the folk rock band on the small stage. “No one else is dancing.”

  Lucas gestures toward a drunken man doing something I don’t classify as dancing. “Not true. Look at him. He’s gettin’ down.”

  The guy stumbles and nearly face-plants. “He’s going to get down all right.” And possibly not get up.

  “He’s having a good time.” Lucas spins me outward and twirls me back so I’m pressed against his chest. “And so are we.”

  He guides me backward, holding my hands while swaying to the beat of the music. He’s leading me to move with him. Not a bad dancer. “Come on, Wren. You don’t strike me as one who cares what people think of you on the dance floor. Let go. I dare you.”

  He wants me to let go? I can do that. There’s very little I do better.

  I grab his hands and use them to propel myself away. I release one and spin back into his arms so my back is pressed to his front. Let’s see what he thinks of that.

  He laces his fingers through mine and his arms wrap around me, holding my body close as we sway with the upbeat tempo of the folk song. And I let him. This shouldn’t feel this good with a man I hardly know. But it does.

  I close my eyes and surrender to the music. And to the way this man’s arms feel around me. Everything I told him about not needing a man to feel complete was true. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the feel of one. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this. I miss it. I didn’t realize how much until this moment.

  There’s been no one since Xavier. Not since the night he pulled my hair and held me down. “You are mine and no one else’s.”

  He was rough. Painful. Nothing hot or sexy about it. I saw a Jimmy-like possessiveness in his eyes that night. Fucking scary as hell.

  I don’t want to think about that. I prefer to enjoy being in the arms of Lucas.

  Dancing is an acceptable disguise for touching. Rubbing. It’s like making out with your clothes on. When the song ends, no one has to explain anything. It’s perfectly acceptable to pretend the only thing you did was move to the music.

  I press my body against Lucas and use my hands to encourage a tighter hold around me. Our embrace grows firmer. The tickle of his beard and warmth of his breath against my neck send a tingle down my body, a message signaling goosebumps to erupt over my skin. No man has done that, or had this kind of effect on me, in ages.

  Lucas rubs his hands up and down my pimpled skin. Oh, God. He’s taken notice. He feels and sees the proof of what he’s doing to me. It’s a physical reaction I can’t control. There’s no denying or hiding it. Shit.

  I hear the chorus of “Kiss Me Darling” coming from his lips, the ones so close to my ear. More goosebumps. As if I didn’t have enough already. “You know this song?”

  “Listen to it all the time.”

  Lucas knowing this song is unexpected. Him singing it is hot. Hearing him say those words against my ear is a huge turn-on.

  He squeezes my hand when the female’s solo approaches. “Your part.”

  I tilt my head from side to side to keep tempo and follow his cue to sing when the girl’s lines start. I can’t sing for shit. I should be embarrassed. But I’m not. I’m having too much fun to care how pitiful my voice sounds.

  The crowd claps and yells when the song ends. Lucas releases me, and we join in praising the band, but it’s over too soon. I wasn’t ready for him to let go.

  “That was fun.”

  “It was. I wish I could hang out here longer but I’m judging a home brew contest in twenty minutes. I should probably make my way to the judge’s tent so Porter doesn’t send someone looking for me.”

  “Probably a good idea.” I’m sure I’ve kept Lucas from his responsibilities long enough.

  “Wanna come with me?”

  I want to but Lucas is a host at this festival. This is work for him. He should be networking and ensuring things run smoothly. Not entertaining me. I’m preventing him from properly doing his job. “I don’t want to hinder you.”

  “Not possible, so come with me.”

  He acts like he wants me to go. I think he would have dropped it if he didn’t. “Okay.”

  We pass all kinds of activities on the way to the competition booth. Cornhole boards. Life-size mechanical . . . something. Beer pong. I had no idea there were so many things to do. “Whoever organized all of this did a great job.”

  “We hired a professional event organizer, but she’d never done a beer festival before. Stout, Porter, and I mostly came up with this stuff.”

  “Who suggested beer pong?”

  “That was Stout.” I knew the answer before I asked.

  “I figured. He was the beer pong champion in his fraternity.”

  “There was a 3K this morning. The organizer insisted we do that.”

  I’m not a runner but I might have walked it had I known there was one. “A marathon before a beerathon. Nice.”

  “I thought it was a mistake but Lisa was right. We had a huge turnout.”

  You can never go wrong with a race. “People like stuff like that.”

  “I guess.”

  “You’re not a runner?”

  “No. You?”

  I’m fine with exercise but running is not my thing. Too jiggly. I prefer something calming. “I’m more of a yoga and meditation sort of girl.”

  “I can see that about you.”

  I’m surprised by the large crowd at the judges’ tent. “Looks like you had a lot of entries.”

  “Yes, I think there’re fifty-five.”

  Shit. That’s a lot of beer even if you only taste them. “You’re going to be drunk as a skunk by the time you finish sampling all those beers.”

  Lucas chuckles. “I’ll probably have to take a cab home.”

  “I have my car. I’m happy to give you a ride.” I bet the police will be out and about looking to handout DUIs.

  “Po
rter is splitting the categories with me. I’m judging IPA and the pales, reds, and browns. He’s taking the porters and stouts and anything falling into the other category: sours, lagers, etcetera.”

  “A sour beer.” The thought of it makes my face pucker. “That sounds weird. I’m not sure who’d want to drink that.”

  “You’d be surprised.” His brows lift and the corners of his mouth turn up. “You should do the tasting with me.”

  I can’t judge beer. “I’m not familiar enough with it to know what the different types should taste like.”

  “It’s called quantitative parameters. Stout and Porter taught me. I’ll teach you.”

  Beer is my brother’s livelihood. I wouldn’t mind learning more about it. Maybe then I’ll understand what sparked his interest in brewing. “I think I’d like that.”

  Lucas holds up a single finger to a man wearing a Lovibond T-shirt. “We need another chair at the judges’ table for Miss Thorn.”

  Porter approaches me from behind and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to help Tap judge his categories?”

  I’ve heard Ollie call Lucas by that name. “Tap’s an interesting nickname.”

  “Yes, it is.” Porter leans his head toward mine and lowers his voice. “You should ask him how he got it. Rather interesting story.”

  I can think of three ways the word tap is used. “I’m going to assume it’s related to sex since you’re laughing like a thirteen-year-old boy.”

  “Not for me to say, Law.”

  He brings up the name and then leaves me hanging. It’s like he’s trying to pique my curiosity enough to make me ask Lucas about it. He’s stirring the shit and backing away. I hate when people do that.

  “Then it’s not for me to ask, Porter.” If Lucas wants me to know, he’ll volunteer the information himself.

  Lovibond T-shirt guy is back with my chair. “Where you want this, boss?”

  “I got it.” Lucas takes the chair from his employee and places it next to the empty one. “It’s about that time. Ready to get started?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  There must be at least thirty bottles on the table. “We have to taste all of these?”

  “Yeah. Think you’re up for the challenge?”

  My stomach bloats just looking at them. They’re going to be heavy. I just know it. “I don’t know. That’s a lot of beer.”

  “Probably not as much as you think. Consider how many drinks you take from a single beer. You probably will end up drinking two full beers by tasting each of these.”

  “That’s good because I never have more than three.” I’m not a fuddy-duddy but I never allow myself more than I can handle. I refuse to be out of control like Jimmy and Christie.

  There are rows of glasses in front of Lucas. Each is a different shape and size. “I wasn’t expecting help with the judging so I didn’t send an extra set of glasses. I hope you don’t mind drinking with me from the same one.”

  There must be at least a dozen here. “I don’t mind sharing but why would we need to? Looks like there are plenty here to me.”

  “Glassware makes a huge difference. The vessel is the first thing you see. Beer that looks pleasing to the eye has already started the mental process for positive thinking and enjoyment.”

  “Like food. The aroma is a huge percentage of what one tastes.”

  “Exactly. And the shape of the glass affects the formation and retention of the head, which acts as a net to catch the hop oils, spices, and fermentation byproducts evaporating from the beer. Those compounds produce the aroma.”

  “This is an IPA. India pale ale.” Lucas pops the top of the first beer and pours it into a wide-mouthed goblet. A thick foam forms on the top. “A healthy head of foam can help retain volatiles, and using different glassware allows for different levels of head retention, which affects the aroma of your drink.”

  “This one gives good head?”

  A deep chuckle leaves his chest and I realize the innuendo. “Yes. It gives good head.”

  “Copper in color.” He watches it settle in the glass. “There’s lace around the edge of the goblet. That’s a very good sign.”

  He looks at the label. “Eight percent alcohol. Impressive.”

  Lucas brings it to his nose and sniffs before passing it to me. “Sweet golden malt with a touch of Belgian candy sugar. Slightly fruity hops with hints of lemon and wheatgrass. Also a hint of very light spice.”

  He passes the glass in my direction and I mimic his sniffing method. I’m lost. I pick up on a little citrus and spice. Maybe. “My nose needs training. Nothing about that smells like candy to me.”

  “It takes time and experience. I didn’t learn it in one sitting.”

  Lucas takes a drink and then another. “Smooth malty body. Warm golden malt with a dry sweetness.”

  He passes the glass to me, and again, I mimic what he did. “I’m picking up on fruitiness.”

  “Exactly. Fruity hops of apple and berry. There’s a touch of Belgian yeast at the end with fruitier notes on the aftertaste.”

  “It’s good. I like it.” That sounds like a dumb response after the detailed description he gave.

  Lucas scribbles his thoughts on a scorecard. Lord, that looks like chicken scratch. “Well balanced. Very drinkable. A nice way to begin the competition. This one is a definite contender.”

  He pushes the card across the table in my direction. “Have anything you want to say about it?”

  “Will the brewer see this?” I don’t want my comments to look amateur if he or she will be given the scorecard.

  “This is for our eyes only. Molly will provide entrants with professional feedback based on what we say. It’s okay to say it sucks. Because I promise we will come across plenty that do.”

  I take the pen from his hand. I read my comment aloud as I write while biting the inside of my bottom lip to prevent my lips from curling at the corners. “Gives good head.”

  I slide the scorecard back to Lucas. “How’s that?”

  A series of quiet chuckles leaves his chest. “I’ve always thought good head deserved recognition.” I don’t think we’re talking about beer anymore.

  He reaches for the next bottle. “And . . . moving on.”

  Lucas Broussard

  I watch Wren’s plump lips wrap around the inner and outer rim of the glass as she samples a nutty brown ale. Her tongue darts out to catch a dribble from the corner of her mouth. Sexy as hell. Who knew a home brew competition could be such a turn-on?

  “It’s definitely nutty.” She reaches for the dark bottle. “What is that? Hazelnut?”

  “Maple Pecan.”

  She brings it to her nose and deeply draws breath into her lungs. “Maple Pecan, huh?”

  She samples it again. I watch for a trickle of ale in the corner of her mouth a second time, hoping to see the tip of her tongue catch it. I get nothing. “It’s good but it doesn’t beat Lovibond’s hazelnut.”

  “That was the last one. Time to choose a winner for this division.” I’m a little sad we’re finished. I’ve enjoyed spending this time with Wren.

  I drag the three best bottles of home brew in front of us. “These are the top contenders. Which one was your favorite?”

  She pushes one bottle backward. “The hops were too heavy on this one. Its aftertaste was too bitter and long-lasting for me.”

  Her assessment is correct. This one is a quick learner. “The bitterness definitely lingered longer in that one than the others.” I already know which I like best of the remaining two but I’m interested to see what she says. “Did you favor one of these over the other?”

  “I think so but I should probably compare these two again since the others have now been eliminated.”

  I pour samples of the remaining candidates into glasses side by side.

  “Both have good head.” I cut my eyes over at her and see a suppressed grin. Is she flirting?

  “And lacing is mostly equal.”
/>
  I analyze all components and grade the beers on a point system including aroma, appearance, flavor, mouth feel and overall impression. “It’s close but I am partial to one.”

  “For me, the saison beats out the IPA by a narrow margin. I’m sucked in by its fruity essence.” And I’m also sucked in by those baby-blue eyes.

  Glad we share the same opinion. “We agree on the winner. I think our work here is done.”

  Wren leans forward and rests her elbow on the table with her chin propped in her palm. Head tilted. Dilated pupils. Rosy cheeks. Nibbling on her bottom lip. I know that look. It happens to be one I like very much.

  “You’re feeling pretty good, aren’t you?”

  “I have no complaints.” She giggles as she leans over and pokes me in my ribs. “You said I’d have two beers, tops. You lie.” The last word comes out sounding like a hiss.

  “I didn’t know you’d take your job as judging assistant so seriously.” I expected Wren to sip the first few beers and then leave the rest to me. I had no idea she’d sample most of them multiple times.

  People aren’t always fans of craft beer. It’s different from what they’re used to tasting. But then again, she is the sister of a craft brew master. She’s probably accustomed to the different tastes by now.

  “Allow me to tell you a little something about me, Lucas. I don’t halfway do anything.” She leans closer so we’re eye to eye. “I go all the way.”

  I go all the way. Damn. My dick twitches the instant those words leave her pouty pink lips. I could kiss the fuck out of her right now.

  Porter’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “How’d it go over here? Discover any good ones?”

  “We had two high scorers. Each was pretty impressive.” I pour samples of both and push them in his direction. “A Belgian IPA and a saison.”

  One brow lifts. “Nice. I haven’t had a new saison in a while.”

  Porter and Stout taught me everything I know about craft beer. Some factors depend upon personal preference, but I’m curious to hear his opinion.

  His eyes widen. “This saison is excellent stuff. I definitely prefer it.”