“How the hell am I supposed to work on the new IPA when I don’t have barley?”
Jamie shrugged, used to the man’s temperamental rages. “I thought you were working on the spicy chocolate stout.”
“Yes! And the cranberry wheat and the dark ale. I work on more than one batch at once, in case you’ve never noticed, Mr. Donovan.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake. What the hell was up his ass today?
“What are you doing?” Wallace suddenly asked, his hot gaze dropping to the measuring tape lying on the floor between them.
“What?” Jamie croaked.
The brewmaster gestured toward the object in question.
“Oh. Right.” Jamie swooped down to grab the tape, then stuffed it into his pocket. “Measuring things.”
“I get that. But what—”
“Hey, is everything okay, man? You seem really tense.”
Wallace rolled his big shoulders and seemed to throw off his question about the tape. “Eh. You know. Personal shit.”
“Girl troubles?” Jamie asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. “Or boy troubles?” He could never keep track of who Wallace was dating.
“Yes,” the man answered, so Jamie just nodded.
Wallace put one of his giant hands on Jamie’s shoulder and leaned closer. Jamie found himself staring up into fierce gray eyes. The guy had to be at least six-eight.
“You know how it is, Jamie. Everybody thinks it’s all fun and games when you play the field. But I care about every single person I date. And sometimes…it gets complicated.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I knew you’d understand.”
Jamie nodded, and Wallace’s fingers squeezed his shoulder gently.
“I’m sorry I exploded. I’m just feeling tense. Maybe I need a good, hard workout.” He winked.
“Um…Wallace?” Jamie cleared his throat.
“Yeah?”
“Are you coming on to me?”
“What?”
Jamie slid his eyes toward his shoulder and the big paw that engulfed it.
Wallace’s bushy beard twitched. His grip loosened. “Good Christ, man,” he barked, then threw his head back to howl with laughter.
“What?” Jamie demanded. His only answer was a hard slap on the back that nearly toppled him. “What’s so funny?”
“You…You…”
Jamie crossed his arms. “What?”
“You’re hardly my type, are you?”
“Well…” Jamie scowled. “I suppose not.”