Same Ol Situation - ebook Final Read online

  Same Ol’ Situation

  Burgers and Brew Crüe, book 3

  Copyright © 2021 Lacey Black

  Cover Design by Melissa Gill Designs

  Photographer Wander Aguiar

  Model Zach Bradford

  Editing by Kara Hildebrand

  Proofreading by Joanne Thompson & Karen Hrdlicka

  Format by Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved.

  Index

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Also by Lacey Black

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Isaac

  “I think we should take a little break.”

  I stop in my tracks, her words registering like nails on a chalkboard. Slowly, I turn around and face the woman I’ve called my girlfriend for the last few months. Hell, off and on for the last three years. “Excuse me? A break?”

  She flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder and props her hands on her hips. “Well, yeah. You know, you’re always so busy with work and never have time for me,” she whines.

  “Always busy? I’ve been opening a new business, Savannah. We’ve been busting our asses to open Crüe Brewery these last few months. We’ve put everything into this new venture. I told you it was going to be intense for a little bit, but once this place opened, it would mellow out again. You said you understood that.”

  She wrinkles up her nose and tsks. “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I’m tired of being alone every night because you’re working.”

  I let out a long, frustrated groan and run my hands through my hair. “Tonight’s opening night. Literally, tonight is our night to celebrate what we’ve accomplished these last few months. We have a building full of family, friends, and patrons all here to help us celebrate. Why are you doing this?”

  Savannah shrugs her shoulders, as if she isn’t ripping my heart from my chest and crushing it with her French manicured nails. “Listen, Isaac, I have to go. I’m meeting friends down at the Burberry.”

  All I can do is gape at the woman I’ve been in love with for the better part of three years. Sure, we’ve had our share of differences, but at the end of the day, she’s the one I love, the one I plan to spend the rest of my life with.

  “I’ll talk to you later, Isaac. Maci is texting, wondering where I am,” she states, her fingers tapping away on her cell phone. The one that’s always in her hand.

  When she takes off down the empty hall, black heels clicking on the tile floor, I finally seem to snap out of the stupor I’m in and go after her. “Wait! You can’t just leave, Savannah. Everyone is waiting for us.”

  She stops and turns, an unaffected look on her face. “Everyone? You mean your friends? The grumpy bartender, the playboy chef, and that loser who plays guitar? Please,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You’re too good for them. They use you, and you’re too blind to see it.”

  I can’t believe what she’s saying. My friends—my best friends—and business partners are nothing but loyal, hardworking, and caring men. We built our business from the ground up, all contributing equally in different areas. Walker’s the man behind the bar and has built quite a following amongst patrons, keeping them happy and entertained all week long. Jasper’s in the kitchen, the creator of our menu and often makes the food himself, since he is a bit of a control freak regarding the grill. Jameson’s talents include security at the bar, playing guitar on Friday and Saturday nights, and now, serving as manager of our brewery.

  And me? I’m Numbers, the man in the office. The one who makes sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed. I have a dual major in accounting and business management and have put them both to good use in these last five years since we started Burgers and Brew.

  Five years of late nights, barely getting by at times, and stress beyond comprehension, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

  “I don’t understand this,” I start, trying to wrap my head around her words. I knew she didn’t always get along with Jameson, but to call him a loser? He’s anything but.

  Savannah sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes once more. “Of course you don’t. You’ll never understand. You don’t even try, because I’m not your first priority. They are.”

  With both hands in my hair now, I just stare in shock at the woman I love. How can she not see how important this is to me? “They are, yes, but so are you! If I’m not at work, I’m with you. Taking you out, making sure to spend time with you.”

  “It’s not enough,” she says bluntly. “I want more, Isaac! More than just spending time in your restaurant or bar. More than just a quick phone call on your way home from the office. You own this place. You shouldn’t have to work every day.”

  “I’ve adjusted my hours tremendously since we started dating again. The only reason I’ve been gone extra nights is because we were getting the brewery ready to open,” I counter, my blood boiling in my veins.

  “Yeah, a brewery. What kind of business model is that anyway? Clearly Jameson pulled one over on you with that plan. This brewery is going to bleed you dry in no time. Don’t come crying to me when you’re flat broke and need a handout.”

  Shaking my head, I turn away from the only woman who has the ability to build me up and then strike me down with a single blow. “Jesus, do you hear yourself right now?”

  “I do,” she confirms, slipping her phone into her clutch and flipping her hair once more. “It’s long overdue, Isaac. We’re just too different. We want different things.” Another annoying fucking hair flip. “I’m out of here. Good luck with your brewery, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she sasses, walking right by me in her designer pantsuit and leaving through the only exit in the empty hallway.

  I must stand there for ten minutes, recalling the entire conversation. We had been up in my office, making sure everything was set before heading over to the brewery. Well, I had been making sure. Savannah had been on her phone, sighing and tapping her foot impatiently while she waited.

  That’s the thing. Tonight’s a huge night for us. She knew that. I’ve been talking about this invitation-only opening night for weeks. Ever since we began planning the event, it’s been a top priority f
or us. Hell, Savannah helped me with some of the pertinent details. As an interior designer, I relied on her expertise to help with the setup of the rooms to make sure traffic flowed, that everyone had their set duties. Walker is in charge of the beer tasting, Jasper the appetizers we’re serving, and Jameson and I are giving tours.

  Now it’s all screwed.

  No, that’s not true.

  The night isn’t screwed, just me.

  I run my hands through my hair once and make sure I have my keys. It’s a Friday night and Burgers and Brew is closed. Not because we don’t trust our team to be able to handle the business while we’re all next door at the brewery, but because we had to pull so many of them over to help. Some of our kitchen staff are working with Jasper to provide food, waitstaff is helping clear tables, and bartenders are helping with beer tasting.

  In fact, not only is it all-hands-on-deck for staff, it’s that way for family too. Mallory, Walker’s wife, is working tonight as a server and Lyndee, Jasper’s girlfriend, provided us with desserts from her bakery across the street and is in the kitchen with Jasper. Hell, even Lyndee’s brother and Jameson’s sister are here helping.

  Why?

  Because we’re like a close-knit family, dammit.

  The fact that Savannah doesn’t see it, or flat-out insults it for that matter, downright pisses me off.

  Before I can push through the door to head next door, I hear a small commotion behind me. “What are you doing out here?” Jasper asks after pushing through the swinging kitchen door, a large tray in his hands.

  “Thinking,” I reply, pressing my back against the wall so he can pass.

  He doesn’t, though. He stops directly in front of me and pierces me with an intense gaze. “About what? Everything’s going fine.”

  I sigh, not wanting to get into what just happened with Savannah right now. It’s no secret my friends haven’t always been big fans of hers, but they’ve never not supported me. In fact, most of the time, they’re quiet about my whole relationship with her. Well, except Jameson, who has made his feelings known on a few occasions. The difference is, he says his piece and then moves on.

  I almost dread hearing what he’s going to say when he finds out she fucking broke up with me.

  Again.

  “You’re right, it is fine. Let’s get those over there, shall we?” I state with a fake smile plastered on my face.

  Now isn’t the time.

  Tonight, we celebrate.

  Tomorrow, I can deal with this painful broken heart.

  ***

  “What can I get you?”

  The question startles me, mostly because I thought I was alone. I’ve been hiding at the corner of the bar, trying to keep my surly mood away from everyone here to have a good time.

  For three hours, I smiled, shook hands, and showed off our new business like the gracious host I was expected to be. Now, as the open house winds down, I feel like I’ve been run through the wringer all night, my nerves frazzled, and my heart aching once again. It was easy to push the bullshit with Savannah out of my mind earlier, but now, it settles over me like a storm cloud about to let loose a downpour.

  Slowly, I turn to find the owner of the voice. It’s feminine, yet a touch husky, and smooth as silk. But it’s not her alluring voice that grabs my attention, nor the long dirty blonde hair with bright pink streaks. Even in the low lighting in the corner I’m hiding in, I can see the striking contrast of colors. It’s her eyes. They’re a lighter shade of brown, like aged whiskey, but hold a hint of apprehension.

  So familiar.

  So gorgeous.

  “Last time I saw you your hair was black,” I mutter, wishing my gruff attitude wasn’t so obvious.

  She flashes me a quick grin. “Life’s too short to stick with boring hair colors your entire life.”

  I nod, taking in her attire. She’s wearing a formfitting green polo with our Crüe Brewery logo on the left breast, the dark ink of a tattoo peeking out from the sleeve and moving down her arm. She’s paired it with black pants that do nothing but accentuate the curve of her hips. They’re tight, but not overly so, and I can practically picture how her ass looks in them from the back view.

  When I don’t say anything else, she sighs and moves farther down the bar. Mentally chastising myself for my bad attitude, I’m surprised when she returns a few seconds later with a shot glass. She leans over the edge and slides the glass toward me. “You look like you could use one of these.”

  I can’t stop my snort. “Only one?” I ask, reaching for the small glass.

  She shrugs and watches me intently, studying me. It’s as if she knows something’s not right, which is crazy, considering we don’t really know each other. Not well anyway. Sure we’ve seen each other a few times over the years, have even had brief conversations, but standing with her now, with those soulful brown eyes focused on me, it feels so much more intimate.

  It’s probably just the lighting.

  And the shit-tastic night I’ve had.

  I down the shot, hating the burn of the liquid as it goes, yet reveling in the harsh taste. Actually, it’s not that bad. Definitely not something we keep available behind the bar. “What was that?” I ask, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

  She flashes a grin. “It’s a bottle of Don Julio 1942 tequila. Jameson thought it’d be good for after you were all wrapped up here. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to hand out one shot beforehand.”

  I take in the bottle sitting on the bar top. The long, slim design with a wider base that looks like it costs more than I make in a night. And knowing Jameson, it probably does.

  Leaning against the bar, she keeps her gaze locked on me. “There’s only three reasons a man like you looks as miserable as this on a pretty big night. Either he lost his job, his fancy car, or his girl.”

  I snort, knowing her assessment is spot-on. “Well, my brand-new Maxima is in the parking lot out back, and, as you can see, my job is very well intact.”

  Realization flashes through those whiskey-brown eyes, and she tsks. She leans forward, her mouth drawing dangerously close to my own as she whispers, “A Maxima, Isaac? Really?”

  Okay. Not at all what I expected her to say, which makes me laugh.

  “I’ll have you know, the Nissan Maxima has the highest safety rating, receiving the top safety pick for mid-sized sedans again this year.”

  A single eyebrow arches upward. “Really? Talk about living on the edge. What do you do on a regular Saturday night? Help old ladies cross the street on their way to bingo?”

  Sobering, I think back to what I’ve done the last several Saturday nights. “No. I work.”

  Again, she tsks as she refills the shot glass. “All work and no play makes Isaac a dull boy.”

  “The Shining?”

  She shrugs, sliding the full glass back toward me. “Is there anyone better than Jack Nicholson? Really, I’m in no position to judge you for your work schedule, Isaac. I work six days a week myself, most nights until eleven or midnight.”

  I reach just to her left and retrieve a second glass before grabbing the tall bottle of expensive booze. Once it’s filled, I push it in her direction, feeling her eyes watching my every move. “It’s no fun drinking alone.”

  She’s silent as she takes the glass and holds it between her fingers. For some reason, I take notice of her nails. They’re trimmed short but painted the same color as what’s streaked through her hair. Savannah always had long nails, expertly manicured by a salon two towns over.

  With a shrug, she brings the glass closer to her full, pink lips. “I don’t mind drinking alone. Less chance of someone hurting you that way.”

  I bring my glass up, positioning it beside hers. “But more opportunity to think,” I counter, holding her gaze.

  The corner of her lips tick. “Here’s to not thinking.”

  “And to not drinking alone,” I add, tapping our glasses together with a resounding cl
ink.

  Holding her gaze, I tip my head back, letting my second shot of tequila slide down my throat. She drinks the liquid like a pro, not even the slightest wince crossing her stunning features. We both set the empties down on the bar top, eyes locked the entire time.

  What is it about her? Why am I suddenly so drawn? To her eyes, to that pretty pink mouth. Is it because of Savannah and our split? Is this what a rebound feels like? In all the times Savannah and I have taken a break, I’ve never felt this…attracted to another woman before. Especially not mere hours after the relationship ended.

  Worse, this sudden attraction is aimed at someone I’ve never looked twice at in the past. Someone who has always been there, and frankly, probably always will be. Someone with very kissable lips and eyes I could drown in. Someone I shouldn’t want, yet…do.

  “BJ! Quit drinking my tequila!” Jameson hollers, grabbing his sister’s attention, and just like that, essentially dowsing me with a bucket of ice-cold water.

  Yeah, there isn’t enough liquor in that bottle to help me forget how messed up this night has been.

  Chapter Two

  BJ

  Isaac looks downright miserable, has most of the night. Even as my brother makes his way toward us, he wears his discomfort, his guilt like one of those fine suits he owns.

  He flashes my brother a big smile. “Great night, wasn’t it?”

  Jameson nods, though his all-knowing eyes are assessing his friend. “It was. I see you’ve started without us,” he says, eyeing the bottle and two shot glasses. Though, if I know my brother, he’s not mad about it.

  “Sorry, been a long night,” Isaac replies, running his hands through his dark hair.

  My eyes are drawn to his arms, to the way the shirt molds to each one and stretches tautly against his hard muscles. I wouldn’t say he’s built, not by a longshot. He’s not muscular like the meatheads that come into my tattoo shop, anxious to put a phoenix on their pec or an armband around the bulging bicep. No, Isaac is lean, but you can tell he’s fit. He works out and takes care of his body, even if he hides it behind those stuffy suits.