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His eyes slid to the book club table. “Which one did you try?”
“The pale one?”
“India Pale Ale. There’s your mistake. Light isn’t always mild. India Pale Ale is notoriously hoppy. Extra hops were added to preserve it during shipment to India, hence the name.”
“Oh, sure,” she said, nodding as if she understood. But the truth was that she’d tried plenty of beer in her life and she hadn’t liked any of it.
“Try the amber,” he suggested.
“Okay.” She started to turn away, but he raised a finger to stop her.
“Here.” He filled a slim glass that appeared to be an overgrown cousin of a shot glass. She eyed the dark gold liquid with trepidation. She’d had no intention of trying the amber ale, but maybe he’d realized it. “Go ahead. I promise it’s milder than the pale ale.”
With a shrug of resignation, Olivia took the glass from him and tried a sip. She was already grimacing when she realized it wasn’t so bad. “Oh.”
“See? Told you.” His eyes crinkled with pleasure, and Olivia told herself that the warmth pooling inside her was the beer. “Even our porter is pretty mild, though you’re going to want to steer clear of the Blackjack Stout.”
“Oh, no,” she protested when she saw him drawing a glass of chocolate-brown beer. “No way.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
That couldn’t be a serious question. Who the hell would trust this man and his sparkling green eyes? In fact, it was a little insulting that he’d flirt with her as if he meant it. Like she’d buy that this boy would be attracted to a thirty-five-year-old woman like her. Did he think she was so desperate she’d believe it?
Olivia raised her chin and took the glass from his hand, ignoring the slide of his skin over hers. “I wouldn’t trust you in a million years,” she answered, but she took a generous sip of the beer anyway, amazed that it didn’t make her eyes water. It was actually kind of … smooth. “All right. Not bad.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that as she took her two tiny glasses and walked away. Every look from this guy was a lie, but they were pleasant lies, at least. Still, she knew better than to enjoy them too much. She’d fallen for that before. It was probably the only thing that Jamie Donovan had in common with Olivia’s ex-husband, Victor. Charm.
So it was easy for her to walk back to the table and rejoin the women. Gwen, however, didn’t make it easy for Olivia.
“Soooo,” she drawled as soon as Olivia sat down. “You were awfully cozy with Jamie over there.”
“I was not. He just gave me a new beer to try, that’s all.”
Gwen tapped one of the glasses. “Two new beers.”
“Yes, two beers. Does that mean something? Is there a secret Donovan Brewery beer code, like the Victorian language of flowers?”
Gwen collapsed onto the table, laughing so hard she snorted.
“I hope you didn’t drive.”
“Nah, I only live four blocks away.”
“I can drive you home,” Olivia offered. She’d always liked Gwen, but they hadn’t really started talking until news of Olivia’s divorce had gone public. Over the past year, they’d gone out to lunch half a dozen times, and Gwen had confessed that it hadn’t always been easy for her to make female friends, either. A wave of one hand down her body had said it all. Gwen was a natural blonde with long legs and playmate-style assets. She was not the kind of friend that women brought home to meet the husband. But Olivia didn’t have a husband anymore. And she’d rather go to lunch with Gwen than think about dating again.
Gwen finally sat up, wiping tears from her eyes. “You should totally hit that,” she said, pointing toward the bar.
“Yeah, right. I’m sure I’m exactly his type.”
“I think his ‘type’ is female, and you’ve got that covered. He’d be a really nice dip back into the old sexing pool.”
“I thought it was the dating pool.”
Gwen shook her head. “It’s a new world out there, Olivia.”
“Oh, I know about the new world, and I am not interested in being a cougar, thank you very much.”
“You’ve already been a trophy wife. Why don’t you try the other side of the coin?”
Olivia finished off one of the sample glasses. “I was not a trophy wife. I didn’t have the necessary qualifications.” She eyed Gwen’s chest with an obvious quirk of her brow.
“Yeah, but Victor was twelve years older than you, right? So go younger this time.”
Even as she shook her head, she spared a glance for Jamie. “How old is he, anyway?”
“I’m not sure. Twenty-five? Twenty-six? He’s in his damn prime.”
“My God, he’s just a baby.”
But apparently Olivia was the only one who felt that way. Amidst a lot of smothered laughter, one of the women approached the pool table and made a big show of putting the quarters in for a game. Olivia looked on, confused by the merriment, until the woman—was it Marie?—stood up and aimed an exaggerated frown at the table. “Jamie?” she called. “The pool table’s jammed!”
Jamie came around the bar, wiping his hands on a towel.
“It took my money, but it didn’t give me any balls,” she pouted.
“Well, I’d better take a look.” He slung the towel over his shoulder and crouched down, and Olivia finally understood what was going on. His kilt hitched up, revealing a few inches of strong thigh, and even though Olivia thought this was a childish prank, she stared right along with everyone else. She wondered what those thighs felt like. Hard, she thought. Thick with muscle. Strong. They looked like they’d taste damn good, too.
He slammed a fist into the coin mechanism, then pulled several times. Ropes of muscle flexed and relaxed.
Good Lord.
“Ah, here’s the problem,” Jamie said. “You put a nickel in.”
“Oh, silly me!”
He handed the coin over and started to get up, but his eyes swept the room and caught on Olivia. His brows rose at the same time his gaze fell to his bare knees.
“Busted,” Gwen whispered, as they both whipped around to face the table.
“She shouldn’t have done that,” Olivia whispered back. “And we shouldn’t have looked.”
Gwen pressed her lips tight together to stifle her laughter.
“I’m serious!” Olivia insisted, but Jamie’s voice from just behind her chair cut her off.
“Really, ladies? You’re getting lazy. You pulled that trick four months ago. How about a little originality next time?”
“Aw, Jamie!” half the table cried in disappointment.
“And try not to break my pool table.”
He really was adorable. Like a puppy. But Olivia kept her eyes on the table. “Are you ready, Gwen?”
“To leave? It’s only eight.”
Eight? Those two hours had flown by. She’d actually had fun. But she still had to go to the grocery store, do laundry and get to bed by ten-thirty. She got up every morning at six to run, no exceptions. “I know I’m pitiful, but I’ve got to get going. Are you sure you don’t want a ride? I don’t like the idea of you walking.”
“I’ll catch a ride with someone. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, all right?”
Olivia grabbed her purse and stood before she could get pulled back into the conversation. And for once, there was actually a possibility that she could be pulled back in. These women were all friendly and relaxed and funny. No one had brought up her divorce with a pointed look. No one had snidely asked where she was living now. They actually seemed to like her.
In fact, they all expressed disappointment that she was leaving. Several stood to hug her as she edged toward the door. “So what’s next month’s book?” Olivia asked, prompting the women into laughter.
“The Kama Sutra!” one of them called, and Olivia gave in to the temptation to give them all the finger. She giggled at their outraged laughter as she turned toward the door. And, of course, there stood Jamie Donovan, his fingers curled around the handle of the door.
“I highly recommend it,” he said as he pulled the door open, letting in a gust of cool night air. “The Kama Sutra.”
“She’s joking,” Olivia made clear.
“I’m not.”
She was caught in a strange mixture of happiness and acute embarrassment, but she didn’t want to simply blush and stumble by him. So instead, she took up his challenge and let her eyes travel slowly down his body. He looked lovely with his arm outstretched, holding the door. “Big talker,” she said as she breezed past him with a confident smile, trying to ignore the sticky notes on the book ruffling in the breeze.
“Good night, Miss Olivia,” he called. “See you next month.”
And the funny thing was … he probably would.
CHAPTER TWO
JAMIE DONOVAN LOOKED WARILY around as he walked across the U campus. There wasn’t much of a chance he’d bump into someone from his family. His brother and sister were both at work at the brewery, and they had long since finished their college careers. Jamie had earned his degree long ago, too, but now he was back and sneaking around like a girl past curfew.
He didn’t know why he felt nervous. No one, not even his family, would care that he was taking courses on food and beverage management. They’d find it surprising, true, but in an admirable way. He was, after all, the grand fuckup of the family. The one who took nothing seriously and managed only the barest of achievements. That was why this felt so frightening. If you tried at something, you could fail, and Jamie had a long history of failing.
He managed to locate the classroom without any trouble at all, and he felt a touch of disappointment when he entered. He’d kind of hoped it would look like a culinary classroom, complete with commercial appliances and huge prep areas. But this wasn’t a culinary class, and the room looked like any other lecture hall. Stadium seating. Plain gray walls. A whiteboard and computer screen at the front. And only a few other students so far. He glanced at the clock. Ten more minutes. In his nervousness, he’d shown up early.
He chose a seat near the back of the room and got out his phone to check his messages. But there was nothing. If things went wrong at the brewery, people turned to his older brother, Eric. And his sister, Tessa, only called when Jamie got up to trouble, which he most emphatically had not. He’d been good. Damn good. Better than anyone ever gave him credit for. Even that disaster two months earlier with the Kendall woman hadn’t been his fault.
Well, technically it had been his fault, but he’d been trying to do the right thing, not that he’d bothered to explain that. No, he was too far gone for those kinds of petty explanations. He needed to change his life in a big way and this class was going to help him do that.
With another glance at the clock, he opened his laptop, ready to take notes. He hoped to God this course was as practical as its description had promised. If it started with a socioeconomic history of restaurants, he’d have to get up and leave. He hadn’t rearranged his work schedule so he could get a better sense of his place in hospitality history. He had plans to develop. Big ones.
The door behind him opened, and as the new arrival walked past, Jamie glanced over. Then he glanced again.
No fucking way.
His initial surprise gave way to a pleased grin. It was the straitlaced woman from the book club. Amelia. No … Olivia. That was it. She was even more straitlaced today, in a pale gray dress topped by a blue cardigan. Her hair was still shiny and perfectly brushed, but today she wore little black glasses. She was just so … neat. Jamie felt an almost irrepressible urge to ruffle her hair, just as he had that night at the brewery. Compared to all the other women in the book club, she’d looked cool and sleek and removed.
Before he could give in to the urge to shake her up, she’d moved past him. Good thing, because he could just imagine her reaction to him reaching out and touching her.
He almost laughed out loud, but he was distracted by the fact that Miss Olivia didn’t take a seat in the audience. Instead she walked straight up to the table at the front of the class and set her computer and papers down there.
Holy crap. Miss Straitlaced Olivia was his teacher.
He hadn’t really meant anything by flirting with her last week, but he kind of wished he’d put more effort into it now. Because how hot was this?
She adjusted her glasses and tugged her sweater straight while Jamie noticed how slim she looked in the dress. She wasn’t exactly petite—if he remembered correctly she’d been average in height. Five foot five maybe, but her slim hips and delicate arms made her seem smaller than she was. Not that she wasn’t tough, though. Her eyes didn’t give an inch.
Those eyes were currently sweeping coolly over the classroom, but they didn’t seem to notice Jamie. He tried not to feel insulted.
“Welcome to Restaurant Development and Management,” she said, her voice ringing clearly up the slope of the room. “I’m Olivia Bishop. It looks like we’ve got a good mix of students for this session, as we usually do during the summer. Some of you are current restaurant owners. Some of you are dipping your foot into the idea. Some are just passing through for the air-conditioning.”
Laughter rumbled through the room and Jamie found himself grinning at her as if he were somehow responsible for her good work.
“As this is a community class with no credits, it’ll be fairly laid-back. Please remember that when I give an assignment, it’s not for a grade. It’s an opportunity for you to increase your knowledge and maybe work toward a dream of opening a restaurant. Later, I’ll invite some discussion about what each of you is looking for out of this session. But we’re opening with information that applies to everyone regardless, so let’s just jump into it, shall we?”
She fired up the computer screen and started with statistics about the restaurant business in the real word. Jamie relaxed. This was exactly the kind of class he’d been looking for. He had plenty of ideas, but he needed to understand the practicality of it.
It was just an added bonus that Olivia Bishop was going to be the one to teach him.
He typed notes into his computer and only occasionally took a break to let his gaze wander over her tight calves. She wore black flats, but he could just imagine those legs in spike heels and a short black dress. Did she ever dress that way? She’d worn dark slacks and a sleeveless sweater to the brewery. Tight black dresses probably weren’t her thing. But there was something about her that made him itch to find out.
And when she finally looked up at him, when her eyes finally found him and widened, Jamie felt a sharp stab of interest. When she stumbled over her words and lost her place in the lecture, the interest grew into something more solid. It wasn’t the first time he’d flustered her, after all.
Maybe Olivia Bishop wasn’t as cool and calm as she thought she was.
HAD THAT DARK BEER he’d fed her damaged her brain? How else could she explain the vision of Jamie Donovan sitting in her classroom?
It’s not so strange, Olivia tried to tell herself as she swallowed hard for the tenth time in a minute. He’s a partner in a brewery. Why wouldn’t he be here? But logic couldn’t make her mind stop skipping like a scratched CD. It didn’t help that he was smiling as if he knew how flustered she was.
She should’ve noticed his name on the enrollment sheet, but she’d gone over it two weeks ago, before the trip to the brewery. So here she was, facing him with no warning at all.
Olivia smoothed down her sweater. She clutched the delicate cotton of her favorite dress, then made herself let go before she creased it beyond repair. “Um, so … Yes, on to first-year failure rates. You hear a lot of numbers thrown about, but they mean nothing unless we … um, unless we take a closer look at the causes of failure.”
She finally got back on track and made it through the full ninety minutes with a few shreds of dignity intact. Whenever she’d accidentally looked in his direction, he was diligently typing on his laptop, apparently taking the class seriously. That helped her relax, but that relaxation disappeared in an instant when she dismissed the class and Jamie started down the stairs instead of up.
There was no kilt for her to peek up, thank God. Today he wore ancient-looking jeans and another T-shirt. This shirt offered a faded Road Runner racing across his chest.
“Well, hello there, Miss Olivia.”
“Don’t call me that,” she corrected.
His eyebrow quirked. “Ms. Bishop, then. I kind of like that. Makes me want to bring you an apple.”
She couldn’t stop the blush climbing up her cheeks, so she shuffled papers around and let her hair fall forward. “This is a community outreach class. It’s just Olivia.”
“All right. Olivia.”
