Real Men Will. Victoria Dahl

to keep her hurt feelings at bay anymore.

      Logically, she could tell herself that it didn’t make a difference. It was a name. Nothing more. And he was a man she’d had a brief physical connection with. She didn’t love him. She didn’t know anything about him. Even less than she’d thought, apparently.

      But she felt so stupid, and she thought she’d left all that behind. Feeling stupid about sex and her body. Feeling used. She’d built a whole life designed to put her above that. And even if she hadn’t been totally successful, she sure as hell hadn’t let a man bring her shame. Not until now.

      “I have nothing to be ashamed about,” she muttered, slicing open a box with a vicious slash. But she immediately regretted her anger. She couldn’t sell damaged erotic toys, and she held her breath as she opened the cardboard to inspect the damage. Thankfully, she hadn’t even sliced through the plastic packaging. She needed to calm down. She needed to let it go. He was the one who had to live with what he’d done.

      So Beth made herself turn on the lights in the back room and focus on what she was doing. After all, she should be paying close attention to the toys. She might be spending a lot of time with vibrators in the near future. It was either that or arrange a date with super-smooth Davis.

      Maybe that would be okay. Cairo seemed to think it was…luscious.

      Beth bit back a shudder and grabbed the first packages out of the box. Personally, she wasn’t interested in a toy with a vibrating appendage shaped like a wolf’s head, but werewolves were popular right now. Whatever her personal likes were, Beth didn’t judge what got other people off. The dildos with chillable inserts were especially in demand as well, and if people wanted to fantasize about cold vampire sex, that was fine with her. “You go, girl,” she murmured as she hung the wolf toys up.

      Once the box was empty, she polished the glass cases—nobody wanted to look at intimate toys through fingerprints—and straightened the displays.

      By nine o’clock, she felt better. Solid and nearly okay. And then her cell phone rang. She knew without a doubt that it must be Eric Donovan. He had to get in touch, didn’t he? He had to apologize again and maybe grovel. So it had to be him.

      But it wasn’t.

      “Hi, Mom,” she said, trying to keep the weariness from her voice.

      “Hey, sweetie. Where are you?”

      “I’m at the store.”

      “Oh,” her mother said, that tiny word conveying so much.

      “Mom,” she said, sighing. “I wish you’d come see it sometime. It’s not what you think it is.”

      “Oh, Beth, I couldn’t. I don’t want to see all those…things.”

      “All those things are in the back room. The front room is all pretty lingerie and fun gifts. It’s a place for women, not some sleazy video den.”

      “But you sell…” Her mom took a deep breath, and Beth heard the muffling sound of a hand cupped over the phone. “Dildos.”

      “Yes, we do.” Beth glanced up at the twelve-inch-long black glass beauty they kept behind the counter. “But that’s okay, you know. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

      “No, if your father ever found out I’d gone into a place like that…”

      Right. And if he ever found out that Beth ran a place like that… “I still think you should tell him.”

      “No, ma’am,” her mom gasped. “He’d never forgive either of us.”

      “I’m not sure what he’d blame you for.” Granted, he was conservative. Old Argentina conservative, not to mention Roman Catholic conservative. He still complained that women no longer covered their hair in church.

      “He’d blame me for all of it!”

      Beth rolled her eyes. “Well,” she muttered, “I hope he’s happy thinking I’m managing a women’s under-garment shop.”

      “Oh, he is! He’s very proud of you.”

      She had no idea what to say to that. Sometimes her mom was a little off. Or a lot. “Is anything going on? Are you both feeling good?”

      “We’re wonderful, sweetie. We’re ready for some cool weather, though. It’s been so hot here.”

      “Turn your air conditioner up, Mom.”

      “You know your father hates it when I use it in September.”

      “Tell him you’re a delicate Anglo and you can’t handle the heat. And September or not, it’s still hot as hell.”

      Her mom giggled, even as she chided Beth for her language. Poor Mom. She’d probably drop dead if she heard her baby talking cock rings and anal plugs with customers. Or maybe she wouldn’t even understand what was being discussed.

      “I love you, Mom.” Beth hung up with the same mix of frustration and comfort she always did. Her parents had provided her with love and a safe home and plenty of emotional support. But they couldn’t support the choices she’d made. They just couldn’t. There were lines they couldn’t cross, and she’d found that out the hard way.

      But they still loved her, and that was a hell of a lot more than some of her friends had. So Beth chose to feel a little stronger as she walked into the front room and turned on all the lights.

      The room blinked to life and she looked over it with pride. Fuck Eric Donovan. He was lucky she’d remembered his fake name, much less bothered to find out his real one.

      She wasn’t going to let him make her back into the girl she’d once been. No chance in hell.

      ERIC HAD BRIEFLY CONSIDERED calling in sick today. After all, he felt sick. He hadn’t gotten one damn hour of sleep the night before.

      He’d known better than to lie, but he’d still done it, and look what he’d done to Beth. And to his newly forged relationship with Jamie.

      In the spirit of punishing himself, Eric had dragged himself from bed and hauled his ass into work. Jamie had been there to greet Eric with a glare as soon as he’d walked in. Luckily, they’d spent the first half hour in separate areas of the brewery, so Jamie’s anger hadn’t yet burned a hole in Eric’s skull.

      But once Eric had the mechanic settled in, he had no excuse to lurk in the bottling room and oversee the work. When he stepped back into the tank room, Wallace grabbed his elbow in one meaty paw.

      “The new stout,” he said, as if that explained his tight grip on Eric’s arm.

      “Yeah?”

      “It’s ready.”

      Oh, that was why Wallace’s eyes glinted with worry. The last batch hadn’t worked out, and Wallace had been frustrated, to say the least. Eric had thought he’d been thinking about Faron again, but maybe he was already fully recovered.

      “Come on,” Wallace growled. “You and Jamie can taste it at the same time.”

      Eric opened his mouth to say no, but even he couldn’t justify that kind of immature answer. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes, either, so he just waited for Wallace to grab the glass of stout, and followed him into the kitchen.

      Jamie was already there, an uncharacteristic frown on his face when he glanced up from examining the pizza oven. He jerked his chin up. “Hey, Wallace.”

      “It’s time,” Wallace said ominously.

      “Time for what?” Jamie asked.

      “The chocolate stout.”

      Jamie stood and wiped his hands on the rag he’d thrown over his shoulder. “The Devil’s Cock?”

      Eric shook his head. “We haven’t decided on that name yet.”

      Jamie