Stirred: A Love Story (3 page)

“Well, if you need me to cinch anything in for you or troll the aisles of Walgreens for condoms, let me know.” Kenna took out her laptop.

Sage was confused. “I don’t think I’ll be needing condoms.”

“Honey, I’ve known you for almost three years and unless you’ve been holding out on me, you haven’t had any in all that time.”

“What about that guy with the huge fish tank that I went out with a couple of times before we ended our online dating nightmare? That got pretty intense.”

“Uh huh, until you found out he had a wife and three kids. Besides, close may count in a lot of things, Sage, but sex is one of those where you either have it or you don’t.”

“Said the woman clearly having it.”

Kenna blushed, which made Sage tease her more. Kenna and Travis were engaged and although it took them a while to figure things out, Sage had never seen two people more right. Kenna was a fantastic, sassy woman all by herself, but she was better with Travis. And Travis looked almost lit from within now that he had Kenna and her daughter Paige. Sage wanted that someday, but it appeared her prince charming was on a turtle instead of a horse. Which was fine. She didn’t need a prince. What she needed were experiences and to keep growing. Naughty might be a fun part of that process. And even if it wasn’t, no way was she letting Hollis gloat that her nice sister was simply a fake goody-goody bartender.
Challenge accepted, big sister.

By the end of the day, Garrett knew more than he ever wanted to know about produce bands, he’d had to fire a guy who kept showing up to work in flip-flops insisting they couldn’t make him wear closed shoes, and he was starving. Logan wanted more Japanese eggplants, so Garrett agreed to hand deliver them if his brother made him dinner. When Garrett pulled into The Yard’s parking lot, it was packed. He parked in the back lot by the onsite garden and walked around through the front door. Summer, the receptionist, waved and led a large party back to the private dining room. Garrett made his way to the only empty table in the bar. Servers were buzzing by in a controlled frenzy as he spotted Sage pouring some frilly drink into a very tall glass with what looked like a piece of pineapple.

Garrett liked his brother’s place. Even with the noise and the craziness, the energy at The Yard was special. He’d often tried to figure it out: Was it the food or the location? Were the servers’ personalities or the music that was playing important? Looking at the menu, he was pretty sure it had a lot to do with the food, but the other stuff was vital, too. His stomach growled, and not wanting to be another demanding diner, he waved off the tall blonde server who gestured she’d be with him in a minute and approached the bar to put in his order.

“The thing is, I’ve never understood why
Taxi Driver
was such a big hit,” some guy in a shirt that looked too tight said to Sage as she finished making his drink and carefully moved it across the bar to him.

“Seriously, Brett? It’s a classic. ‘Are you lookin’ at me, cause if you’re lookin’ at me,’” Sage said out of the side of her mouth in a spot-on De Niro, complete with the narrow, intense eyes, all while pouring two glasses of white wine and wiping up the spill from a server who nearly lost a beer on his way back to the floor. The Brett guy laughed and said something about her being “fun” and how he “wondered what else you’re hiding behind that bar.”

Sage’s face almost fluttered in a gesture Garrett found odd and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

As she batted her eyes and turned to the register, Garrett looked over his shoulder, checking to see if he’d slipped into some alternate world. Apart from the drinks and fun conversation, the whole scene wasn’t Sage at all. Not that he knew her, but it sure looked like she was flirting with this tool who had “I want in your pants” all over his face. She had to see that, right? They both laughed again, and Sage moved down the bar. She kept talking, her hands in constant motion. Garrett had no idea how she did it, but he decided watching Sage tend bar had to be another piece of The Yard’s success. Finally noticing him standing at the end of the bar, her eyes shifted in that way they often did when she looked at him. Her flirty banter was gone. Garrett never thought of himself as an intimidating guy, but he clearly made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was that he was her boss’s brother or that he wasn’t usually all that talkative. His sister Kenna was forever telling him to “lighten up” or “smile for Christ’s sake.” Garrett lifted a hand in greeting to Sage, who dropped a few olives and eventually made her way over to him.

“Hey, you’re not normally here for the dinner madness,” she said, taking a credit card from an older woman in a green sweater.

“I brought eggplants for Logan. He promised to feed me.”

Blowing her bangs out of her face, Sage handed the card and a pen back to the woman. “Oh, great. So what are you having? Or did you want me to see if Logan can come out?” She looked toward the kitchen.

“No, leave him. What’s good?”

Sage met his eyes and then quickly focused on his chin. “I think I’m supposed to say it’s all good.”

Garrett smiled, wondering if she was going to get all flirty innuendo with him, and she dropped her pen.

“The meatballs are incredible”—she bent and picked up the pen—“that’s what I had, and the pork. If you’re hungry, go with the pork because it comes with these amazing potatoes and squash that look like flowers.”

“Summer squash.”

“I’m sure you grew those, right?” Her eyes were now on his forehead. Had she always been this reluctant to look at him?

Garrett nodded. “I’m sold. I’ll have the pork.”

Sage entered it into her computer, which printed out tickets in the kitchen, and turned back to him. “Beer?”

“Please.”

She reached down and opened the bottle of Duck Duck Gooze from somewhere under the bar. She always picked his beer. There were too many new ones to choose from, so one day Garrett had asked her to pick one and she’d been doing it ever since. It was a talent, Garrett thought, because she somehow managed to give him the beer he wanted, needed, every time. There were some that hit harder on the days he was in a shit mood, lighter beers in the summer, warm heavier ones toward the holidays. She knew his beer, but she probably did that for everyone.

Handing him the cold bottle, Sage’s eyes finally held his and for a split second it looked like she was going to say something else, but she must have changed her mind. She released the beer into his hand and was gone, working her bar like no one’s business.

Garrett took a seat right as Logan came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Big brother in the house,” Logan said with a casual tone that told Garrett his brother was not fazed by the crowds or Summer’s long wait list at the hostess station.

Garrett pushed the box of eggplants across the small round table and Logan put it under his arm. “It’s a shame no one wants to eat here,” he said, taking a pull of his beer.

Logan laughed. “Did you order?”

“Yeah, pork.”

“Good choice. You look tired.” Logan glanced over his shoulder, and Garrett recognized the need to get back to work.

“You too. Do you need to get back?”

Logan quickly told him a story about Kara’s shop and that some lady wanted her to make stained-glass sconces, and on his next breath, he was back in the kitchen. The blonde brought out Garrett’s dinner and after the first bite, he knew he would travel infinite miles and sit on a damn cardboard box for this food. His brother and Travis were good at what they did, which made Garrett proud. Logan was only a couple of years younger than him, but Garrett had always felt much older. Maybe it was because he’d grown up a little faster working with their dad, or that he’d driven, dropped off, and made sure his brother and sister were able to participate in activities and be kids. Whatever it was, Garrett was protective of them both, and he genuinely liked the people they’d grown into.

Finishing up his last few bites and washing it down with the rest of his beer, he sat in the dimly lit bar and witnessed “pride and purpose,” as their dad had often said. Those two things were the keys to a good life. He’d told them that before they were even old enough to understand. Logan’s place had both, and maybe the magic of The Yard defied explanation. It worked, and that was all that mattered.

Chapter Three

S
age had managed to try several exercises from Chapter Two—“Get Comfortable with You,” while working her shift on Wednesday night. She’d “talked about things other than work” with Brett and practiced her “sexy laugh.” Even though the whole being naughty business still felt a bit like when she tried to eat a caramel apple with braces at Tim Strough’s Halloween party, she kept trying. Brett wasn’t exactly her type, and his shirt was a little tight, but she didn’t have to marry him. According to the book, Brett could be a “practice man,” which sounded ridiculous when Sage read the chapter, but she’d secured a date for New Year’s Eve and an opportunity to try out Chapter One—“Dress Like You Were Just. . .” She still had a hard time saying that title but had received confirmation from Brett that her look was spot-on when she’d arrived at The Yard a few hours ago. Now, however, in an effort to “work” her naughty outfit, she’d had too much to drink. She’d been tired of everyone looking at her boobs or her legs, barely noticing that anything was coming out of her mouth, so she nervously kept accepting drinks.

Although technically she could pass for tipsy, Sage was drunk. As she sidestepped through the crowd of pending New Year’s Eve revelers on her way to the bathroom, she wanted to tell Brett, who’d been swiping free samples of her ass all night, that he was an idiot and the shirt stuffed under his ugly blazer was still too tight. And, she wanted to add that she wouldn’t “ring in the New Year back at his place” if he were the last person on the planet. But that wasn’t a nice thing to say, nor was it naughty, so drunk she must be.

Sitting on the toilet in the cramped bathroom stall, Sage watched the tips of her favorite tall black boots with a fascination only tequila could incite. They came up a little past her knees; she always wore them with shorter skirts because she never liked her legs in short anything. Her calves were thick, or as her mother would say, she “thought herself into insecurity.” Although she didn’t wear them all the time, the boots were favorites because they made her feel different. A few years ago, she’d decided to make a statement with her clothing, and she hadn’t looked back since. Flair always had a place when she dressed herself in the morning, but these boots were sexy and Sage had never been too sure how to do sexy. She blew her bangs out of her face with a puff and knocked her knees together as she scrolled through her phone for Kenna’s number. Pursing her lips in that my-face-is-numb way she’d seen so often as a bartender, she tried to concentrate.

A few women in sparkly festive heels—she could tell the black ones were Jimmy Choos from below the stall door—came and went as Sage attempted the normally simple task of texting. The music in the bar switched to something pulsing. She couldn’t make out the song, but the beat was alluring. It reminded her of the music she’d put on when she was getting ready to go out that evening: club music. She’d been excited for The Yard’s New Year’s party, happy she wasn’t working, and ready to try out her. . . new skills. But as with most things in her world, what she’d envisioned had not been based in reality. Getting dressed proved the easy part and about an hour into the party, Sage found it was hard not being herself. By Brett’s second ass grab, she started feeling the weight of the fifth coat of mascara she’d applied before leaving the house. In fact, all of her makeup started to bug her, and her blouse, although cut super naughty low in the front, was itchy. Still searching for Kenna’s number, Sage decided she felt sexier right after an hour of yoga.

She pulled out a few squares of toilet paper, cleaned the screen of her phone, and remembered the photo of the
Nice to Naughty
author when she’d googled her a few days ago. She was in a jean shirt and black leggings. She hadn’t looked all that naughty, and Sage wondered if she ever actually wore a tiny skirt. If she had, she would have put a few paragraphs in there about what a pain in the ass it was to shimmy into the seat of a high-top bar table or get out of a car without flashing the valet. She could hear Hollis, who by the way, her tipsy mind told her, wasn’t all that naughty either, saying, “What’s the matter, sis? In over your head?”

The problem still remained that even in her completely “fuckable” clothes and having become well versed in the proposed steps all the way up through chapter seven, which was more than she ever imagined possible on the subject of role-playing, Sage was beginning to think Kenna was right. She wasn’t wired for naughty. She was more of a talker, a snuggler. Simply wearing sexy boots did not a naughty girl make, and the desire to mask her discomfort with her outfit was how she ended up having that last shot of tequila. Looking for liquid courage, she of all people knew, only led to sloppy.

Damn it, she didn’t like to fail. Maybe she should stay; there were hot guys out there, and Brett had joined some of his friends anyway. She was free to throw caution to the wind and “hook up,” as Travis used to say before he fell in love with Kenna. Even in a tequila haze, with great music and the New Year only hours away, Sage couldn’t find her naughty. She didn’t want to hook up, she wanted. . .
Don’t do it, don’t go there.
She closed her eyes and felt the tiny stall spin.