The book's secondary characters were every bit as much fun here as they were in the previous books of the series, particularly Aunt Dottie, who was as lovable and quirky as ever. I also enjoyed Jack's half-sister Iris, who was a good kid despite experiencing some growing pains as she attempted to navigate the challenges of young adulthood and complex relationships with her brother and his newfound Buchanan half-siblings. Speaking of the Buchanans, Jack's half-brother Lee had quite a shock at the end of this book and it seemed to open his eyes to the fact that he needed to make some changes in his life. He's been kind of a jerk up to this point, so it will be very interesting to see how the authors plan to redeem him when he's paired up with Maisie's friend Blue in the next book.
Getting Lucky, an all-new must read standalone romantic comedy in the irresistible Asheville Brewery Series by New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank and A.R. Casella is available now!
One night. Just one night.
Or at least that’s what Maisie tells herself when she brings Jack Durand home. Because even though his arms are a thing of beauty and he can charm wild animals (a huge turn-on for an animal lover like her), she’s in no position to start anything with anyone. So she pretends she’s just scratching an itch.
Jack is pretending too. His little sister is moving to Asheville as his ward, and between getting her through her senior year of high school and working at the family brewery, he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend. Even a sexy, no-nonsense powerhouse like Maisie.
But he can’t stop thinking about her, and it turns out he doesn’t have to. Her best friend, River, announces his engagement to Jack’s half-sister, Georgie, and—surprise!—they’re both in the wedding party.
Fate keeps throwing Jack and Maisie together, reminding them of how good they are together . . . which would be a whole lot less complicated if she hadn’t spent half her life in love with River.
“You’re gonna make me a drink?” Maisie asked, raising her eyebrows. “I think I saw this play out in a Lifetime movie once. The guy made the girl a drink, and when she woke up, she’d been sold into some sex cult.”
He laughed as he looked in the cabinet over Dottie’s fridge, where most people kept their liquor. “That doesn’t sound like a Lifetime movie to me,” he said, pleased when he saw several bottles. Vodka. Gin. Rum. Triple sec. “And I used to be a bartender. I take it you like sweet and fruity drinks?”
Her brow shot up. “Are you judging me, Mr. I-Watch-So-Many-Lifetime-Movies-I-Can-Spot-a-Fake-Plot? Seems like I should be judging you.”
Turning to face her, he shook his head. Damn she was prickly, and for some bizarre reason he liked it. “Judge me all you want, but I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to figure out what to make you.”
Her face froze and her irritation faded. “Oh.”
He laughed, then spotted some lemons on the counter. “How about a lemon drop martini? I’m limited on a few key ingredients, so it won’t be my best, but I guarantee it will be better than Lurch’s punch.”
An appreciative look filled her eyes. “Okay, then. Wow me.”
He laughed again, and damn it felt good. His life had been serious for far too long, but Maisie brought out a playful side of him that had been buried forever. Tonight he wanted to pretend that he didn’t have a narcissistic mother and a seventeen-year-old sister who felt like the world was caving in on her. He was going to pretend he wasn’t creeping up on thirty without much of an idea of what the hell he was doing. Tonight, he was just a man who was captivated by a beautiful woman.
After slicing the lemon, he pulled the bottles of vodka and triple sec out of the cabinet. He rooted around the kitchen and found a mason jar and lid, plus a bottle of agave nectar since he didn’t have any simple syrup. He added the ingredients to the jar and shook it up with some ice, while Maisie watched him with an amused grin.
“Were you like those bartenders in Coyote Ugly who took their shirts off?”
“Sorry to disappoint. That would violate many health code standards.”
“So you’re a rule follower,” she said, studying him more intently.
“Why do you feel the need to label me?” he asked, searching for an appropriate glass to pour the drink into and only finding a wine glass.
But Maisie must have realized his dilemma because she snatched the mason jar from his hand and took the lid off.
“You’re supposed to pour it into another glass.”
She looked up at him with a smug expression. “See? Rule follower.”
Then she took a sip.
Was it wrong that he watched her lips as they cradled the rim of the jar? Or that his gaze drifted to her bare neck as she swallowed? Shit. That should not be turning him on, yet here he was, shifting uncomfortably and grateful his boxer briefs had shrunk in the dryer, binding him more tightly than usual.
“I don’t follow all the rules,” he found himself saying in a husky voice.
She lowered the jar and stared up at him. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”
Jesus. What was she doing to him? Was she insinuating what he hoped she was? He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them and wrapping an arm around her back. When she didn’t protest or knee him in the balls, he slowly pulled her flush against him.
“Was this what you had in mind?”
***
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