Bad Boys Do (Donovan Brothers Brewery 2)

He slapped a hand to his chest as if covering a mortal wound. “Cruelty, thy name is Olivia Bishop.”

She eyed the glass warily. “It looks thick.”

“It’s unfiltered. In fact, you can consider it a snack if you want to. Try it.”

Bracing herself, she took a sip. It…wasn’t awful. She shrugged and nodded. “All right, this one is my favorite so far. What is it, exactly?”

“It’s an unfiltered wheat beer, less hoppy, which is probably what you prefer. Next month we’ll have our Belgian version on tap, which has hints of orange. You might like that even more.”

“We’ll see,” she said doubtfully, but she took another sip and didn’t even grimace.

His eyes rose past her and he reached for a glass. “Hang on just a second. Someone needs a refill.”

She watched his hands as he worked the tap, then turned to check out his calves when he walked to the table. Jamie had transformed her into a lecher. There wasn’t even much skin to see between the hem of his kilt and the top of his work boots, but she looked anyway.

When he got to the table, the customer, a gorgeous blonde in incredibly tight jeans, stood up, threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Olivia snapped back to face the bar, her cheeks flaming with an emotion she couldn’t decipher. Embarrassment and jealousy and a creeping feeling that she was a damn fool. He could sleep with that girl tonight if he wanted. Olivia had no doubt about that. Maybe he already had slept with her. She certainly hadn’t hesitated to touch him. Women didn’t just touch strangers like that, did they?

Then again, maybe Jamie had never met a stranger. He’d been kissed by two different women in the few minutes Olivia had been here.

If Olivia had come on her own, if Jamie hadn’t invited her, she would’ve simply downed her beer and made an excuse to leave. She would’ve run like a coward, regardless of the words Gwen had said to her earlier. She didn’t feel brave at all. She felt foolish and silly and old.

How in the world did men like Victor sustain their confidence in the face of hunky young undergrads and ex-boyfriends who were twenty years younger than they were?

Olivia took another big gulp of beer and wiped her clammy brow. Maybe that was why they couldn’t stop. Maybe every young woman in their bed was a booster shot of arrogance.

She imagined herself moving on after Jamie, dating younger and younger men to prove to herself that she still had it. Choking back a laugh, she shook her head and told herself not to turn around again, especially when she heard a round of approving squeals, followed by Jamie’s laughter. They all loved him, and she was so damn stupid.

“You already drank half your pint,” Jamie said. She looked up to find him wiping his hands on a towel. “Is there an ‘I told you so’ in my future?”

“I was thirsty, that’s all. And it’s not awful.”

He winked, his smile a warm secret. Probably the same warm secret he’d shared a dozen times tonight. She cleared her throat. “It?

??s busier than I expected.”

His smile tightened a little. “Yeah. There’s a Twitter special.”

“A what?”

Yes, his smile was definitely losing its natural curve. “The brewery has a Twitter account, and we—I—announce nightly specials.”

“So, what’s the special tonight?”

Not only did his smile curve into a very unnatural line, but his cheeks took on a suspiciously pink hue. “It’s ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish.’”

“Oh.” How many more kisses had there been? “I see.”

His face fell into misery as he leaned across the bar, his voice dropping. “Listen, don’t tell anyone this, but I’m not ‘me’ on the promo stuff. I mean, my name is on it, but it’s my sister who’s blogging and Twittering and Facebooking, or whatever it’s called. Half the time, I don’t even know what the hell’s going on until women start showing up and smearing lipstick on me and asking for half-price pints.”

“What?” Olivia glanced around at the nearly full barroom. “What are you talking about?”

“Like tonight, Tessa just waltzes out of here like she’s sweet and innocent. Not a word to me. Not even a look. Then an hour later, she tweets, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish: half price on your first pint for a kiss on this Irishman’s cheek.’ I’d expect this for Saint Patrick’s Day, but Jesus, it’s not even March.”

Olivia sat back a little, taking in his gorgeous shoulders and the hair that looked deliberately tousled for maximum sex appeal. She looked at that delicious mouth and those sparkling green eyes…then her eyes fell to the faint smear of red lipstick on his jaw. “Your sister uses you as a marketing ploy?”

“Yes.”