Conditional Offer (7 page)

He looked up and met the eyes of the redhead from Blake's party where he'd "rescued" Sara from Jack. He leaned on his elbow, watching her. She smiled at him and his heart sped up alarmingly. She was petite, her facial features distinct and lovely. He let his eyes flicker down her simple black blouse, getting a little breathless at the sharp contrast of her porcelain skin against the ebony silk. He clutched his beer and ignored the semi-conversation the women held – Suzanne trying to get Sara to talk about Jack and Sara refusing steadfastly to participate. He flinched when her hand touched his arm. He took a breath, and sucked in an intoxicating combination of malt and hops with an odd undercurrent of…something he struggled to identify. He leaned into her, and had to suppress a shudder when she met him halfway. "That's me," he said, realizing a response was required and going with what he assumed was still the topic. "Caught in the middle."

The women talked, or better yet Suzanne tried to talk, and Sara deflected. He watched their interchange and found himself unable to stop staring at Suzanne. Her eyes snapped, and she talked with her hands as she tried to convince Sara – his date – to reconsider her rejection of some other guy.
Jesus.
It was surreal, but he found himself wanting to reach out and touch Suzanne's cheek, run his finger down her soft-looking skin. He gulped, refocused on Sara. His family's advice flashed across his eyes.
"Let her go. Suck it up."
Lillian had been adamant, and was so very right.

He looked at the compelling woman who owned the brewery, all five-foot-nothing of her but with a personality that took over the entire room. He had to force himself to close his mouth. "Uh, yeah," he said when he realized they were looking at him as if a verbal response was required.  "So, what's your advice?" He dragged his eyes from Suzanne's wry grin.

"Don't know if that's a safe place between those two, dear," she gave his arm a squeeze and walked away. He followed her with his eyes, then turned, embarrassed to see that Sara had not even noticed.

That night he lay awake, alone, and dreamed about her – Suzanne, not Sara for a change.

* * *

He sought Suzanne out after that, showing up at the Tap Room more than once and engaging her in random chatter about her business. He was content to sit and listen to her for hours, he'd admit, and she got him talking, too. About his sisters, and the loser-ish feeling he was starting to shake now that he'd made some money selling houses. One night after a long, comfortable discussion and more than a few beers, he noticed it was midnight. They'd been talking,  drinking and watching a Tigers baseball game on the west coast for nearly three hours. He should go. But it was the last thing he wanted to do, period. She leaned into his shoulder, startling him a little. "Better head home Craig," but she didn't move, and he put a tentative arm around her. "Aren't you and Sara…."

"Yeah, I guess." He sighed. The chaos that was his relationship with Sara had not let up. They screwed and argued fairly regularly, but he was getting a sick feeling from the whole thing. He wanted that supreme asshole Gordon to see him with her-watch him fucking Sara, kissing her while she got pleasure from his lips, tongue and fingers.

And that was wrong. He knew it. But once again, he was trapped in an unhealthy relationship and didn't know how to disentangle. He suspected she was talking to Jack again, but knew they'd had no real physical contact other than the necessary work stuff. His inner competitor kept forcing him forward, making him draw her even deeper into his life. By now, he could touch her in three places and make her shudder from a quick orgasm. And God help him, he loved kissing her. Loved the little noise she made down in her throat when she molded herself into him.

But with Suzanne he felt … better somehow, relaxed and natural, not trying to prove anything. While he was turned on, as any man would be by the close proximity of a very attractive female, he didn't feel at all compelled to push things with Suzanne. He wanted this. Wanted her tucked into his side with her scent in his nose, a simple, comfortable feeling between them. Suddenly, it made him very nervous. He slipped his arm away. She looked up at him, the dark pools of her eyes intense. "I should go." He looked down. "I don't like being alone," he blurted out. "Sorry, I'm hanging around too late. Don't mean to be a stalker." He drained his glass.

She smiled and hopped down off her barstool and took their dishes around to the sink. He followed her, compelled and terrified all at once. Her small frame seemed so fragile for some reason. For all her bluster and big words about making her way in a man's world of beer, he was starting to sense an inner core of vulnerability, and it brought out something in him he didn't really recognize at first. A protectiveness that he'd felt somewhat with Sara, before the whole thing started to feel like a contest, washed through him making him shiver. He walked to Suzanne, put his hands on her shoulders. She sighed and leaned back into him. He turned her around, kissed her lightly and stepped back. Everything in him said "go forth and seduce" but for a change he listened to his bigger brain – the one that said,
"Wait. Take it easy. You'll scare her away and you don't want that."
. He choked back words he wanted to say.

"You're alone a lot Craig, but you just don't see it that way. All that swimming – hours a day, you say. You don't get much more alone than that." She was quiet a second. "I like having you here. You're a good friend."

He ran a hand across his stubbly jaw. Exhaustion crept up on him. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him again, let him feel the tip of her tongue, just parting his lips before she ended it, rubbing her arms and looking nervous. "You're right. You should go." She turned away and he hesitated, but after a few minutes he slipped out into the night.

Chapter Eleven

Two weeks later, Craig parked his bike a few blocks away in someone's yard and made the trek past the tailgating revelers over to the Ann Arbor Golf and Outing Course to a huge party hosted by Arbor Title for the Michigan vs Michigan State game. He was tired, would gladly skip the whole damn thing, but he'd told Sara he'd be there, and he needed to make the effort, he supposed. If they – he and Sara – were to be together, he had to attend. He'd put in the hours and he truly did feel something for her, but what it was he couldn't name anymore. He stood at the red light at the corner of Main and Stadium with the giant group of eager football fans waiting to cross and shivered with a quick memory, or rather the moment, shared with Suzanne just the night before. How he had managed to be here, in this situation, he had no idea. But last night had been amazing and not for the usual reasons.

"Hey," Suzanne said, looking up from her laptop. "What's up?"

He gulped, stuck his hands in his suit trouser pockets. His voice seized up, his throat felt as dry as a bone. He took a look at her, her small frame encased in jeans and a brewery tee shirt, tendrils of dark red hair curled around her neck. He ran his hand through his hair, more consumed with nervousness than he could ever remember being. She looked up at him again, her gaze neutral and expectant, polite.

"I, uh, thought I'd take you up on the brewery tour offer. You know, if you're not busy." He suppressed an inward groan at how incredibly lame that sounded. "Never mind." He sank into a bar stool across from where she stood behind the bar.

She shut the computer, leaned on her elbows and smiled at him. His heart skipped a beat. Typically, a hot woman would intrigue him, make him want to flirt, impress and ultimately seduce. Suzanne brought out a completely new feeling in him – one he didn't understand and that scared him.

"Here," she handed him a beer and walked away. He was mesmerized by the sway of her hips but still trying to force his usual A-game down under a layer of chivalry. One thing he'd never been around women was tongue-tied. Yet, there he was, smiling, and slamming down half the beer she slid across the bar at him while she talked with the bar manager and put all her stuff away. She glanced at him once, a puzzled look in her eyes. He shrugged, smiled and forced his eyes up to the television and away from her.

After about fifteen minutes of messing around behind the bar, chatting with other customers and other diversions, she was back in front of him, leaning in, way too close for his comfort. He sat back, sipped more and tried to ignore her.

"And so," she said, sipping her own beer, "a tour, huh?"

"Yeah, well, you mentioned it last time and I thought…." he heard his voice trail off, and started to stand and leave to escape the horror of his lame-ass behavior. But he couldn't. Not when she leveled that intense gaze at him. He had to clench his fists to stop himself from touching her hair, from pressing his lips to that sweet spot just near her ear. He blinked. "Um sorry? What did you say?"

She leaned her head back and laughed, making him tingle all over. "I said, you adorable thing you; if you want a tour, then follow me." She lifted the service arm and came out from behind the bar. He leaned back, unsure what to do now, but wanting more than anything to follow her wherever she went. Something about her was so compelling, so tempting and so right. He smiled, and grabbed his glass.

She stepped up into the brewery, holding up the superficial chain barrier between it and the Tap Room. He ducked under and listened as she launched into what was obviously a well-practiced spiel. He sipped, looked around, and  pointed to a glass jar of small candies. "Hey, are those M&Ms?" He walked over to a tall, makeshift worktable.

She followed him putting her hand over his when he started to take the lid off the giant container. "No, Reese's Pieces, thanks." He looked at her, loving the feel of her palm on his hand. "They're mine. I'm an addict." She shrugged and stepped away.

"So give me the real story here Suzanne. I mean, you guys are successful, rolling in dough, expanding twice inside ten years. All is great?" He lifted the lid and scooped a handful of the peanut butter candies.

She sighed and held out her hand. He put one chocolate covered morsel in it. She glared at him, ate it, and leaned back on a long, low stainless steel table. She seemed to relax, for the first time since he'd arrived, and drop her façade of business woman in control. He leaned with her, held out his hand and gave her a few more candies. "It sucks sometimes, but I wouldn't do anything else. I love it."

"It sucks. And you love it." He mused, crunching down on the chocolate peanut butter confection. "Damn I haven't had these in years. I forgot how good they are."

"I know," she said, holding her hand. "So, Craig, why are you here, really? You obviously don't give a shit about my standard brewery tour."

He seized up a half a second, then pushed away from the table and grabbed more candy from the jar. "How do you work here anyway? With these damn things around all the time…Jesus." He popped a few more in his mouth.

She joined him, perched on a backless stool nearly right under his arm. He started to move away from her, but then didn't. She took a few more peanut butter morsels, then put the lid back on the jar. "I have to keep it stocked, that's the only rule. Because I eat the most of them, I guess. You gonna answer my question, or what?"

He draped his arm around her shoulder and they munched on candy like little kids. "I came to see you," he said suddenly, needing her to know.

"I figured." She said, leaning her head into his shoulder. "I'm glad you did."

He startled out of the memory when someone jostled him from behind at the traffic light. He joined the cattle call and crossed the street, ducking between the fences at the corner of the golf course. He saw the giant yellow tent not too far away. Exhaustion stole over his brain, but he kept going. He was supposed to meet Sara; they were going to the game and then to dinner and then…he sighed, wondering what the fuck he was doing with her anyway.

By the time he entered the loud tent, the party was well underway. He found some food that he desperately needed, a beer and leaned on the bar at the Big House station right next to The Local, Blake and Rob's brew pub. He looked around as he ate and drank while he sought her out – the redhead. When she showed and they chatted, it felt like the most natural thing in the universe to be here, with her, laughing and talking. When she mentioned an ex-husband and money to invest in the brewery, he didn't push for the whole story. He'd never in his life felt such a compelling need to go slow. Until now.

Then a commotion nearby caught his eye. Sara, arguing with her brother. Suzanne put a hand on his arm as he started to move towards her.

"I created that mess in some ways. I loved him. A lot. But he…it wouldn't work."

He stared at her a minute, then over at the argument between Sara and her brother. "And how did he feel about you?"

"He loved me too. And he was crucial to my functioning at a really shitty time."  She moved away from him, sipped her beer, and he sensed a barrier dropping over her- and between them. "But it had to end. So, I ended it. Go find her. She's in a tough place right now. Jack has a way of bringing out the worst in people, unfortunately.  He's not a bad guy, really. I don't know how he gets himself tangled up like this but...." She walked away without another word.

Craig straightened up, finished his beer, and followed Sara out. Unsure what he was doing, why he was doing it, or what the hell he could do to help her. He took one last look around, seeking Suzanne without realizing it. He saw her engaged in conversation elsewhere. He ducked outside, heard angry words, and faced the serious reality of the Jack/Sara connection as he stared at the three people caught in the bullshit drama moment.

His eyes darted between Jack, Sara and Heather, the woman Gordon had been fucking around with since Sara had broken off their engagement. He heard her drunken and tearful accusations about Sara and Jack talking "every night" and how she, Heather, was with him in his bed, not Sara. He walked away. He'd heard enough. Then turned at one point and doubled back, his temper boiling, needing to confront Sara once and for all. Even as he kissed her, the words she'd said burned a hole in his brain: "You don't love me Craig. You love the idea of me not with Jack." She stalked away in the opposite direction from the loud party leaving him standing, empty handed, heavy hearted and pissed as hell.