Dare Me. Jo Leigh

After seeing her work calendar on her website, he could understand why.

      “Let me take a look.” He grabbed his menu again. “I haven’t been here in a while and I don’t know what they’re serving anymore.” It took him a minute to focus on the liquor selections instead of Molly. The beer list wasn’t extensive, but the offerings were excellent. “If you’re game, I’d go with the Green Flash. It’s a great India pale ale, really complex flavors and strong hops.”

      The smile he got in response was a knockout. “I’m game. That’s one I’ve never tried, and it sounds excellent.”

      After the waitress had taken their orders, Molly turned to him again, crossing her arms on the wooden table as she leaned in. “Now that we have that settled, I’m anxious to hear about you. You’re my first hot guy.”

      Glad he hadn’t been drinking, he stifled a cough. “Uh...”

      “I mean, first trading-card guy. I’ve met hot men before.”

      “Well, you’re my first trading-card woman, so we’re even.”

      “Fair enough,” she said, “but none of that gets you out of telling me about your life. I know you make craft beers and that you come from a tall family. Your turn.”

      “You didn’t look me up?”

      “I can now see my error in judgment regarding that, but no. I didn’t. I spoke briefly to Emerald and took a chance on your card.”

      “All right. I have four sisters, all of them tall and athletic. My family owns a bar in Queens called, strangely enough, The Four Sisters, and you’re right. I’m into craft beers.”

      He could have mentioned the job in Syracuse, but he didn’t bother. Besides, he wanted the spotlight back on her.

      “Why’s it called The Four Sisters? What are you, chopped liver?”

      “Ha. I’ll have to remember to mention that to Emmy. It got its name before any of my sisters were born. My dad had four sisters. So I guess he’s chopped liver, not me.”

      She grew flushed again. “I just meant—”

      “I know,” he said, grinning. “Personally, I think it should be changed to One Brother and Four Pains in His Butt, but that might be hard to put on the label.”

      Giggles like champagne bubbles were made even better by Molly’s efforts to stem them. Man, giggles could go bad in so many ways, but hers made him want to be funny for a living.

      “For what it’s worth, I’d think twice before picking up any beverage that had butts on the label. No matter what the context.”

      “And that’s why I stick to creating the beers, not naming them.”

      The waitress came by with the drinks, and Molly visibly relaxed as she closed her eyes and brought the mug up close.

      He found himself sniffing when she did, even though his beer was still on the table. And when she parted her lips to take her first sip, he mimicked the move, hoping like hell she would use that much intensity when they were kissing.

      “Oh, yes,” she said, except it sounded way too much like something he’d hear in bed.

      God, he was in trouble.

      “You and I are going to get along well.” Molly looked into his eyes, her gaze rapt, a whole new kind of brightness lighting her face. “This is exactly what you promised. A big, juicy hop-forward aroma with citrus and piney hops.” Another sip, this one rolled around on her tongue before she swallowed. “Ah. Grapefruit, mango, pineapple. It’s difficult to get too much nuance with all the competing smells in the room, but the strength of the hops and pine resin really come through. Delicious.”

      He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until morning. Instead, he picked up his lager. “To hops and grapes,” he said.

      They clinked.

      * * *

      HALFWAY THROUGH HER SALAD, Molly put her fork down. There hadn’t been a word spoken between her and Cameron for what had to be two minutes. A completely comfortable two minutes.

      On a first date.

      With the best-looking man in the restaurant.

      He’d worn a short-sleeved shirt, silky gray, that begged to be touched and jeans. Worn jeans. And he’d tucked that silky gray shirt into the worn jeans so that every time she thought of him in a whole-picture sense, it was all about broad shoulders tapering to tight hips and long legs.

      She sighed as she took another bite of lettuce. Here was a man who not only understood winespeak, but who made her laugh, whose smile did something wicked to her insides and who’d spent a considerable amount of time asking her questions instead of talking about himself.

      Huh.

      “What?” Cameron’s steak-filled fork hung suspended between his plate and mouth. “Is everything okay?”

      She nodded. “Everything’s fine. Surprisingly so.”

      “What do you mean?”

      She wondered how much to tell him. This was a very temporary situation, after all. One of the great things about the one-night-stand concept was that she didn’t have to go into detail. To think that the easiest thing in her life right now was having sex with a man whose eyes were the color of crème de cacao made her feel almost giddy. “I’m usually not so relaxed on a first date.”

      He shrugged. “You’re easy to talk to.”

      “You’d be surprised. It’s better with you because of what we have in common, I think.”

      “Maybe,” he said. “But after seeing the kind of schedule you keep, I have a feeling you’re just grateful there won’t be a test. Is that page on your website real? I mean, how do you even have time to date? I’m busy, but your life’s insane.”

      “It’s real. Well, it’s just a sample, but it’s a great visual aid when I have to turn down social engagements. On the other hand, most people I know are in the same boat. Everyone’s working ridiculous hours, handling more of the load than is feasible, and so scared to lose their jobs that they never even think of taking time off. That is, if they’re not spending all day hunting for work.”

      “I know. Especially in New York. I see that every night at the bar. We have to be careful about how much we serve to people, make sure they’re not driving home. It used to be that folks came by to relax, play some pool, taste some brews. Now a lot of customers come in to get hammered. It’s a problem.”

      She’d been about to ask for a second beer, but maybe water was a better option. “At least I’m in charge of my time. No one else to blame. Besides, it’ll all pay off in the end.”

      “Which will be...?”

      “Becoming a major player in the world of fine wines. I want to be at the top. I think I can do it, too, if I keep my priorities straight.”

      “Impressive,” he said. “With your drive and ambition, I can see it happening.”

      “If I don’t weaken,” she said, hearing the fierceness in her own voice.

      He jerked his head back a bit, as if she’d startled him. “There’s always something tempting on the horizon. But you clearly love what you do. That’s the key. We’re lucky. We’re both working in fields we’re passionate about.”

      Although he was being really nice about it, she knew she’d gone too far. Sometimes she became too strident, didn’t explain herself well. It wasn’t always easy for people to understand that she had only herself to rely upon. No sisters to bug her, no thicker-than-water blood ties. So she smiled, relaxed her shoulders. “So, tell me about your brewery.”

      His eyes lit up. And there was equilibrium again. Damn if she hadn’t hit the trading-card jackpot.