Page 132 of Jace
Grant stretches in his chair, answering her, “You can shoot pool, or a gun, or a camera, or your big mouth, like Wilder.” A round of raucous cheers suddenly echoes across the barn, making him ask, “Who’s winning the competition?”
Bishop rolls his jade eyes, about to answer as two ladies in micro jean shorts and babydoll tops approach, one cooing, “Heeeyyy, Bishop. We really liked your Pussycat Pilsner. When you win, the three of us should celebrate.”
She drags her fingertip over his broad shoulders as they sashay by, clearly trying to grab more than his attention.
Admittedly, Bishop Lawless is catnip.
But she doesn’t capture his focus. Bishop curls his lip, answering Grant, “Don’t know who’s won yet. It’s a steep competition this year.”
I lean back, glancing around him, and burst out laughing at the blonde I recognize, smirking proudly behind her custom cans at the judges’ table. “Oh, is itstiffbecause Luna Labella’s in the competition?”
Luna is my mom’s prized mixologist at Elysium. She’s a true artist and apparently, an amateur brewmaster.
At the mention of her, if I could color a man livid, Bishop would be a fucking rainbow of riled up over Luna.
He clenches his molars, seething, “She’snotwinning again.”
An hour later… Luna wins.
Drinking her winning IPA out of her trophy cup, she blows kisses and middle fingers at Bishop, who’s furiously ignoring her from behind the bar.
Leaving our table, we stand at the bar to enjoy the celebration. Vivian sets her camera bag on a stool and starts taking shots of the smiling crowd, of us sipping beer, of the hand-hewn rafters above.
I grin, loving how her eye never rests.
Sasha’s sharking at a pool table. She gets wagers going with three men and purposefully loses the first game. Then, she starts giggling, using her innocent accent to get them to double their bets for the next game before she’s winning and milking those dumb fuckers for hundreds.
It’s sweet how Sasha smiles, waving at Vivian like her co-conspirator. Vivian waves back and takes a picture as Sasha puts her delicate nose down and banks another shocking shot.
The men shuffle, uneasy.
“Maybe I should…” Grant pushes off the bar, about to intervene, but I palm his chest.
“She’s fine,” I insist. “We can’t treat her like a porcelain doll forever. Not when she’s working hard to put her pieces back together. Let her have some fun. We’ll watch her.”
Vivian secures her camera in her bag and wraps her arms around my waist, nuzzling my chest with her whisper, “You’re a good man and brother, Jace Ryan.”
“Why, thank you, Smokeshow.” I grin down at her. “Let me take you into the hot side of the brewhouse, and I’ll show you how bad I can be too.”
Vivian slants me that feral-kitten look. The one I want to capture in a boudoir photoshoot. Fuck the scumbro, telling her she’s not sexy. Vivian makes the wholesome girl next door look like the one you want to have back-door fun with.
Especially with those baby-blue eyes, batting her lashes at me with her reply. “Gotta find the ladies’ room first. Excuse me.”
She pecks my cheek and swishes away. I watch her cute ass in those jeans as Grant whispers, “Delphine’s getting the throne room ready.”
“Thanks, man.”
It’s why she’s not here with him. I had a few requests for Vivian’s initiation, and I know Delphine and Vale won’t let me down.
While we sip our final round, watching Sasha clean up at the pool table, I mutter to Grant, “Did you talk to him yet?”
“Nah. Haven’t seen him.”
I scan the room. “Is Remi evenhere?”
“Should be.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
