Bait (Wake, #1)(30)

The incoming picture was of her underwear drawer. It wasn't exactly as neat as I'd thought, and there weren't as many satin, G-string thongs as she’d said, but I did see one pair I'd like to see more of in person. Or in a perfect world, they would be lying next to a bed she was naked in.

I quickly went to my dresser and snapped a picture of mine and sent it. Turnabout was fair play. At least that was a courtesy I hoped to implement. You send me one. I'll send you one. Sure, at the moment, it was underwear drawers, but I'd hoped it wouldn't be long before it was a lot more personal.

Honeybee: A man who likes variety.

Me: Maybe, I just haven't found the right underwear yet. I like to keep my options open. Thank you very much.

Me: Go to bed.

Honeybee: Ok. Bossy.

I wouldn’t want to admit how much time we’d spend sending messages and random, nonsensical things. But it was a lot. It started to feel like a new hobby.

I'd been home for a week, and I spent some time with Cory and our sisters. It'd been nice. Mom was on me about that damn shed, but then Marc needed me at work, so I'd put some hours in on the floor in the brewery. It was nothing to complain about. I'd much rather make beer than paint a shed any day.

Blake and I had texted every day, sometimes all day. She was really excited about her new job and the opportunity to travel. I knew she had a trip coming up, but I didn't know where.

I was leaving in a few days, too. Unfortunately, I didn't get to take our friend Troy with me since it wasn't a trade show situation, which he sometimes came along for to help with. It was much more fun when he came. Instead, Aly was coming along. Her dad, Marc, wanted her to get a feel for talking to customers, or at least potential ones. He wanted her to listen to the questions I asked and how I answered theirs.

I'm not arrogant, but I'm smart and I work hard. Plus, I know everything there is to know about her company. It was no wonder Aly's dad wanted her to know how and what I did. I think deep down he wanted her to be out there doing it, too. In the past few months since I'd been out on the road we'd got a lot more attention and that had meant dollars for her and her old man. I guessed me, too.

I wasn't looking forward to being on the road with Aly. She was a cool girl and all, but she didn’t do it for me. She felt differently, but I knew how to be professional. I hoped she did, too.

Tuesday, July 1st, 2008

Aly and I flew from San Francisco to Austin that week. They loved our beer, but the distributor was lax. He might call, then again he might not. They liked our product, our packaging and our business model. All good things. They didn't like it when Aly said no thank you to her own beer because she was full after lunch. And when they told us they'd call she asked, “When?”

Aly wasn't cut out for sales. She didn't have that easy-going, everybody's friend thing that sales people needed. She was more of a numbers girl.

These are our gross sales for the year. This is our turnaround on orders. These are the awards we've won for excellent brewing. And how many cases would you like monthly?

But she tried.

She was quiet on our flight that day to Chicago. I let her think about it. When she was ready, she would ask. If she didn't, then I'd simply tell Marc he needed to hire another sales person. When we touched down at O'Hare and we were allowed to turn our devices back on, I was stoked to see an influx of texts from Blake.

Honeybee: What was that band you were talking about the other day?

Honeybee: Oh, never mind. I'll scroll up.

Honeybee: They're pretty good. You said they're from San Francisco?

Honeybee: Mayday Maggie. I like that band name. What are you doing?

Honeybee: Are you ignoring me? Is this about the steak? I said I'd eat it rare, but only if I cooked it.

Honeybee: I wish you'd text me back.

I couldn't contain my smile. In fact, the damn thing stayed with me all the way off the plane, through baggage claim and out the doors into a cab.

“I don't know why you think this is so funny. I suck at this.” Aly admonished when she climbed into the seat next to me in the taxi. She thought I was laughing at her. I wasn’t.

I was smiling because the girl who I wanted was showing signs of wanting me back. And it had nothing to do with our physical chemistry, which we had in spades.

I thought about texting her and letting her off the hook, but I sort of wanted her to dangle there a little longer. On my hook. Waiting for me.

It felt amazing.

“I'm not making fun of you. I got a funny text. That’s all,” I finally admitted to Aly on the ride to the hotel. She only rolled her eyes not believing me.

The next day we were meeting with the owner of a string of restaurants in the Metro-Chicago area. It was a pretty big deal. We were going to need our A-game. And by A-game, I meant Aly should probably sit this one out.

“Hey, you don't have to go tomorrow if you don't want to. I can go. Then tomorrow night you can meet up with us for dinner,” I said after we were checked into the hotel and walking toward the elevators. “You'll get the hang of it.”

“Okay, you do the meeting part and then I'll catch up with you, but I need to learn how you do this. You need to tell me what I'm doing wrong.” She huffed as she wielded her luggage into the elevator car. “Let me have it.”

I looked at her and thought that if it were Blake telling me to let her have it, I'd give it to her right here in the elevator. Instead, I just looked at Aly like...like a friend. Or a cousin, although that was gross considering I'd already slept with her. The feeling of attraction, that I sort of got when she first started coming around, wasn't there.