Just My Luck (The Kings)

I didn’t have many gifts, but avoiding people was one of them. It had been a week since Sloane’s wardrobe malfunction, and I’d spent those days with my head down, escaping any and all interactions with my employee.

What I couldn’t escape was the memory of Sloane’s smooth skin or the curve of her breasts. It was like once I’d seen it, the image lodged in my brain and refused to leave. Even a flash of it running through my mind and my cock would get rock hard.

The incident at the grocery store didn’t help me feel any better about the fact I was obsessing over my gorgeous employee.

A rapid series of knocks pounded at my office door.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and sighed. “Yeah?”

The knob turned, and one of my bartenders, Reina, popped her head in. “We’re swamped out here. Ken was a no-show.” She shot me an irritated look. “Again.”

Frustration grated at my nerves. It was the third time this month Ken didn’t show up for work, and I was definitely going to have to fire the guy. “On my way.”

I looked at the mountains of paperwork I had been going through and let irritation roll over me. I was still desperately looking for a loophole in the brewery’s ownership contract, but I’d have to leave that headache for another day.

I walked down the hallway toward the taproom behind Reina. “Hey,” I called to her. “Can you serve?”

She shot me a flat look. I knew she preferred to be behind the bar, but my ass would only scare more customers away, and she knew it.

“The tips are yours,” I added to sweeten the deal.

Her black eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

I nodded. I didn’t need the tips from the bar, and not having to be out on the floor was worth giving up the money to her.

She grinned, shoving a fist toward me. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Unsure what to do, I gripped her fist and shook it. “Okay.”

She laughed and sauntered into the busy taproom. Abel’s Brewery was comfortably busy—not so frantic that we were swamped but welcoming a steady rhythm of customers. A late spring breeze floated off the lake, and I was pleased to see people enjoying the open garage doors and outdoor seating.

Groups of people mingled and laughed. A few had taken board games from the community game shelf and were playing over a few beers. It was the quiet sense of community that drew me in—a community I wasn’t even allowed to be a part of, but enjoyed all the same.

My attention immediately found Sloane. With her back to me, I watched as she effortlessly gathered up used glasses and smiled at our customers. She had a natural and engaging way about her that people were drawn to. Her laughter was light, and her smiles were genuine.

I stood behind the bar and pointed at the man waiting to order. “What do you want?”

He bristled at my clipped question.

I guess I should work on that.

He ordered but cast a wary glance before leaving a few singles on the bar top. I swiped them up and dropped them into the large jar for tips behind the bar. Tending bar was steady and mindless work, so I was careful to allow myself to watch Sloane from only the corners of my gaze.

A low whistle from the corner of the bar caught my attention. My younger brother Royal was perched on a stool with a beer in his hand.

I walked over and extended my hand. “What do you know?”

Royal shook it, then grabbed his beer and laughed before taking the last sip. “I know you’re in way over your head with that one.” He gestured toward Sloane.

Blood drained from my face, and I busied my hands with drying a pint glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Royal’s flat, playful stare burrowed under my skin as he smirked. “You’ve been eyeing her since you walked out here.”

I ignored him, mostly because it annoyed me he’d seen what I had been trying so hard to hide. “Are you staying? If you’re going to bug me, I’m making you pay tonight.”

Royal grinned and stood. “Wish I could, brother. Just popped in to say hello, but I’ve got work.” The tattoo business meant Royal worked odd hours. We shook hands one last time, and I watched as he exited the brewery. Eager eyes followed him toward the door. The friendly waves and happy handshakes were a stark contrast to the way people scattered when I walked by.

Just the way it goes.

I continued working behind the bar, all while sneaking glances in Sloane’s direction. Though she was efficient and friendly, I couldn’t help but think something seemed . . . off. Her shoulders bunched, and I nearly broke a glass in my grip when I saw her flinch at a casual touch from a tipsy customer. Instead of rounding the bar and beating the shit out of him, Sloane had effortlessly slinked away and successfully avoided his attention. Still, I watched him like a hawk.

Her face was pinched in a smile, but her eyes were dulled, flicking to the entrance as though she was expecting someone to walk through the door—that, or she was looking for an escape. Something was definitely up with her, and I couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that it was likely my fault. First I’d gawked at her and then inserted myself between her and her kids. I should have just left her alone, but for some reason I’d been compelled to help her. Gone was the defiant woman who radiated sunshine, and in her place was a mother who was struggling with her son’s very public meltdown.

I couldn’t not help her.

I sighed as I wiped spilled beer off the bar top.

I thought I was doing the right thing, but I swear if she quits, this place is screwed.

A loud crash sounded in the busy taproom, and my head whipped up in time to see Sloane nearly jump out of her skin. Her eyes were wide, and unexpected tears brimmed at their corners. It was only a busted beer glass that had been elbowed off a high-top table—it happened all the time.

I rounded the bar, swiping the mop and bucket as I went. “Reina,” I called, sliding the bucket and mop toward the spill. “A little help here?”

She nodded. “On it.”

I turned toward Sloane. “My office.” When she flinched at my tone, I softened. “Please.”

She barely nodded, but she moved past me and hurried across the room and down the hall to my office. I entered behind her, closing the door to give us a bit of privacy.

I raked a hand over the short hairs on the back of my head. “Sloane, is something—you seem . . . look, if this is about the other day⁠—”

“What?” Her eyes darkened as her eyebrows furrowed.

Jesus, she’s going to make me say it.

I gestured between us. “You seem uncomfortable, and if it’s because I saw you . . . you know . . .”

Realization flickered over her features before she barked out a laugh. “What? No. Oh my god. No.”

I paused, not expecting that reaction. I searched the ground, fumbling for what to say next.

“They’re just boobs.” Her laughter was directed at me, but I preferred it over the near-tears version of her from earlier. “It’s really okay, boss.”

“Don’t call me that.” I gritted my teeth. They were definitely not just boobs. I’d seen enough pairs to know that Sloane’s breasts were the perfect size and shape—so much so I’d even jerked myself off to the thought of how they might fit in my palm.

Fuck, I need to get myself together.

Sloane ignored me and folded her arms over her stomach. “I’m just off-kilter tonight.” Her neck rolled to stretch. “I can feel it.”

“Is everything okay?” I hoped my question came across as supportive and not like the prying jerk I was.

She huffed out a breath and tipped her face to the ceiling. I took the opportunity to steal a glance at the slender column of her neck. Her pulse thrummed at the base, and I imagined running my tongue over that exact spot.

“No. Not really.” She looked at me. “The other day—at the store when you helped me? My son saw my ex.”

She didn’t offer any more explanations, but I was able to fit the pieces together. I breathed a sigh of relief that she saw my intervention as helpful. An odd sense of pride swelled in my chest, and a protective ache followed closely behind.

I risked a look at her. “Are you okay?”

Her hazel eyes searched mine. “I’m not sure. I think so? I haven’t seen him, but Ben swears he did. I want to believe him, but I mean—why would he come here? Just to fuck with us?” She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m just stressed about it. Every time the door opened, I worried it was him.”

Rage bubbled dangerously close to the surface. I didn’t know anything about her ex, but if he was the type of man who’d put this kind of fear into a woman who’d given him children, he was immediately on my shit list.

I’d known a whole host of scary men, but her ex had never met me. “What does he look like?” I ground out.

Her face pinched as she thought. “Um . . . blond hair, blue eyes”—she held her hand only a few inches above her own head—“about this tall? A pompous air about him that makes you want to punch him in the face?”

A humorless laugh escaped me at that last part. “A picture would be helpful. That way we can make sure everyone knows he’s not welcome here.”

I was lost in the greens and browns of her eyes as they went wide. “You’d do that for me?”

I nodded. Protecting Sloane felt like the simplest thing in the world. “Of course.”

For the second time in a week, Sloane surged forward and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. Her body pressed against mine as she tucked her cheek into my chest.

Instead of freezing this time, I shifted and held her close, pulling in the sweet smell of her shampoo and letting it brand itself into my lungs. Her soft frame was dwarfed by mine as I held her.

Slowly, she shifted and tilted her head back to meet my eyes. I couldn’t look away. The air buzzed with electricity. Blood surged beneath my skin, settling low between my legs. Sloane’s breasts pressed against my chest as my arms banded us together. Her soft breath tickled my neck, and my eyes fell to her lips.

Blood whooshed between my ears, and time stood still. My right hand smoothed up her back, settling between her shoulder blades. Sloane’s head tilted as if she was granting me access to those tempting, plush lips.

My muscles flexed, every inch of me rock hard and coiled tight. If I snapped, I’d devour her and incinerate us both.

A reckless part of me didn’t care. I was drawn to her in ways I couldn’t explain. Her fingertips toyed with the hem of my T-shirt, skating across the skin at my back as a finger dipped below the hem.

I lowered my head, ready to plunder, and fuck the consequences.

As I pulled her closer, a sharp knock at the office door jolted me upright, nearly pushing Sloane away from me.

Without hesitation, Reina’s face burst through the doorway. “Abel, what the hell? I’m drowning by myself out here!”

“Yeah!” I grumbled. “One minute.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Reina pulled the door shut, enclosing Sloane and me in the charged atmosphere of my small office.

“Abel, I—” Sloane’s hand brushed her bottom lip as if we hadn’t been interrupted and she could feel the kiss that almost happened.

Irritated—either by the fact we were interrupted or that Sloane made me weak, I wasn’t sure—I shouldered past her toward the reprieve of the taproom. “I’ve got to go. It’s busy tonight.”

Without looking back, I flung the door open and stomped toward the front of the brewery, hating myself and my inability to articulate the riot of emotions I was feeling.

Minutes later, Sloane appeared, her smile perfectly in place, as though I hadn’t nearly mauled her in my back office. If Reina hadn’t interrupted us, I imagined hauling her onto my desk and stripping her bare before sliding my cock into what I could only guess was the tightest pussy on the planet.

I pressed my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets and willed my hard-on to go away before someone noticed I was pitching a gargantuan tent behind my jeans.

Jesus Christ, I’m losing it.

Reina was right in that it was another bustling night. I found myself working tirelessly behind the bar, pouring pints and being an outsider to the witty banter that defined our small town. Despite the lively atmosphere, an undercurrent of tension lingered in my neck and shoulders.

Memories of my past mistakes played like an unwelcome reel in my mind, especially when Sloane’s kids popped into my head. The shame I harbored resurfaced, whispering that I was forever defined by a single dark moment, marked by my own shortcomings.

The door opened, and Bootsy Sinclair’s familiar face sauntered in. Bootsy, a simple soul with a loyalty that ran deep, worked for my father. It was his innocence that made him dangerous, as his loyalty was unquestioning, and his curiosity was often a subtle form of espionage for Russell King.

“Abel,” Bootsy greeted with a wide grin, sidling up to the bar. His innocent eyes sparkled, but there was always a lingering sense that he was sniffing around for information.

“Bootsy.” I returned his greeting with a curt nod. “What brings you in tonight?” My tone remained neutral, though resentment simmered beneath the surface. His allegiance to my father grated on me, a constant reminder of the complex dynamics within my own family.

“Just thought I’d drop by for a cold one,” Bootsy replied, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents surrounding him as he fumbled for crinkled dollar bills that spilled from his pocket and onto the floor. “How’s everything going?”

“Busy as always,” I replied, pouring him a pint. “You know how it is.” I slid the pint toward him and waved away the cash. “On me.”

“Appreciate that.” He nodded with a grin. As Bootsy took a sip, he glanced around the brewery, his eyes always observant. The regulars engaged in conversation, and the atmosphere was relaxed despite the underlying tension in my own neck and jaw.

Bootsy leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. “Heard anything interesting lately, Abel?”This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

I raised an eyebrow, not fooled by his feigned innocence. “Just the usual, Bootsy. What’s on your mind?”

He chuckled, his simple demeanor masking a shrewdness that unnerved me. “Oh, you know, just curious about the town gossip. People talk, and I like to listen. Matter of fact, people been talking they seen you at the bank.” He sipped and his eyes watched me over the glass.

A greasy knot tightened in my stomach. I looked around, and Sloane caught my eye from across the room. Her eyes narrowed as she finished with her table and made her way toward the bar with a tray of empty glasses.

I couldn’t let Bootsy’s probing go unchecked. “Just regular business. Nothing exciting around here lately.”

He shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “Just doing my job, Abel. Mr. King likes to stay informed.”

The mention of my father irked me, but I kept my composure. The brewery, with its eclectic mix of patrons, was a melting pot of stories and subtle alliances. It wasn’t as divided as the Grudge—where Kings sat on one side and Sullivans on the other—but old habits died hard. I couldn’t afford to let Bootsy’s loyalty to Russell King disrupt the fragile balance I was trying to create.

To my surprise, Sloane marched up to the bar, settling next to Bootsy. “Hey, you’re the guy who sells jewelry on the beach, right?”

I slid her tray toward me and made quick work of cleaning the dirty glasses, all while listening in to their conversation.

Bootsy chuckled, taking another sip. “You’ve got me pegged, young lady.” Bootsy was proud of his creations, and Sloane was feeding right into it. “That’s me.”

“Wow.” Sloane angled her body so Bootsy paid attention to her and forgot all about the probing he was attempting only moments earlier. “You know, I’d love something simple. Maybe something matching for my daughter and me.”

“Oh yes. I have something perfect.” Bootsy rifled around in his pockets, depositing old receipts, gum wrappers, and bits of sand and trash on the bar top.

Sloane glanced over with a sly smile and winked.

It was a wonder she didn’t hear my visible gulp.

Bootsy, lost in the attention Sloane was giving him, held up two not-at-all-matching bracelets made of broken shells and what looked like bits of plastic trash.

“Oh!” Sloane fawned. “That’s perfect. I’ll take them.”

Bootsy stated his price—far too much for beach trash if you ask me—and Sloane slipped a bill from her apron to pay for the bracelets with her tips.

High off her attention, Bootsy all but forgot his reason for digging up dirt in my brewery.

I wiped down Sloane’s tray and pushed it across the bar toward her. I leaned in so only she could hear. “You know that’s just broken bits of trash he collects on the beach, right?”

Sloane flicked her wrist, and the pair of bracelets swished and sparkled on her arm. “Some of us can see beauty in what others would call trash. Even something broken can be loved.”

With a lift of her shoulder, she reached over the bar to retrieve her tray and walk away with the flick of her ponytail.

As the night continued, I juggled the demands of the bar, the echoes of my past mistakes, and Bootsy’s ever-watchful presence, though he’d softened after his exchange with Sloane. Her unwavering support offered a semblance of comfort, but the fear of being forever defined by my past lingered at the edges.

Even something broken can be loved.

My chest was hot and tight as her words rolled around in my head. The brewery, with its quirky charm and familiar faces, remained a sanctuary of possibilities. The dream of making this brewery truly mine, independent of my father’s shadow, burned brighter than ever, fueled by the sunshine lent to me from one irresistible woman.

I’d never believed it before, but a tiny ember of hope sparked to life.