Page 16 of Rock the Chardonnay

Daughtry rolls her eyes. “That’s a weird stereotype. Honestly, I don’t drink much milk at all. Except with cereal, and even then I don’t eat it that often.” She shrugs and the loose mauve sweater she wears slips off one shoulder. Holy balls, she has excellent clavicles. They aren’t usually a feature I look for on a woman, but on Daughtry it’s like she’s flashed me her breasts.

With a box in my hand, I focus very, very carefully on which shelf this raspberry almond granola should go. “You used to love cereal,” I say. “The more sugar the better.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” She sounds pleased, which makes the muscles between my shoulders unclench minutely. “I did, but when I was working my way up, sometimes it was the only thing I could afford. There were two weeks after I’d been fired from my barista job when all I ate was off-brand Lucky Charms. Dry. I can’t even look at it now.”

“I get that. I mean, not totally. I’ve never been that financially distressed, but grad school pays shit. Leftover shit. I swept the tasting room for loose change more often than I can remember. My mom’s cooking saved me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, and the sweater dips another inch, almost exposing the top swell of her breast.

I close my eyes and remove a pot from the cupboard by the stove. “I’ll heat up the chili for you.”

“Thank you. You were always so thoughtful.”

Right, that’s me. The thoughtful brother, the safe brother, the down-to-earth boring brother who’s a poor stand-in for Ciaran. I’m the brother who can never quite pull the one woman he’s always wanted.

I turn on the electric stove and dump the container of chili into the pot. I need to get over myself. Daughtry’s here for the festival, that’s all. She doesn’t need me creeping on her. I never told her how I felt back then, and that’s for the best. I am a single dad. I have bigger things to worry about than getting my dick wet.

Though that’s definitely the wrong train of thought, as my long-neglected cock seems determined to stare at Daughtry’s lightly tanned skin and the curves visible beneath her top. She doesn’t have tan lines. Does that mean she sunbathes topless?

No. I’m noping right out of that thought process.

I stir the chili as it heats up, perfuming the air with rich spice. “So, why were you crying?”

That’s a good way to chase off all the wet dick thoughts.

Daughtry blanches but doesn’t move. “What do you mean?”

I point at the wall with my wooden spoon. “Your TV’s off. You weren’t watching the show.”

“I could have turned it off when you knocked. Or watched it on my phone. ”

“Maybe.” Pressing her might be entertaining, but I doubt it will lead anywhere. “But I don’t think that’s what happened.”

Daughtry exhales loudly. The roots of her hair are blond, though the rest is streaked liberally with pink, and cut into a long, wavy style with asymmetric bangs. “Fine. It was my mom.”

I wait, stirring the chili like that’s my sole purpose in life. Should I get back to Alex? Yes. Is he having more fun with Grams letting him eat his way through the snack cupboard? Also yes. Besides, I like cooking with Daughtry. It feels…nice, domestic in a non-suffocating way.

“I don’t know if you remember,” she says. “Most people here probably don’t remember my mom unless they frequented the Broken Lighthouse. She’s…she’s nothing like Zoey. Your mom, not the TV show character.”

I know this about Daughtry’s mother. So does my mom. It’s why my parents never laid down rules about letting Daughtry sleep over, despite knowing that she and Ciaran were having sex. They stocked his room with condoms, made sure there was her favorite shampoo in the bathroom, and turned a blind eye. The only one of us who didn’t realize that she stayed at our house because there was no one at hers was Ciaran.

“That really sucks.” Leaving my spoon in the chili, I go to the cupboard and pull down a bowl for her.

“Yes, it does. And it’s only gotten worse since she found out about the tour. Part of it is that I didn’t tell her, so she lords that over me. Then there’s the fact that any little success of mine, she wants to claim it. Is that fair, Declan? Shouldn’t I own my success? I’m the one who put in the work, the hours, the blood and tears.” Those tears now curl in the corner of her eyes.

There are many, many reasons why I shouldn’t contemplate what I’m contemplating. I haven’t talked to this woman in twelve years. We were, at best, tepid friends as I lusted after her from afar.

None of that matters. She is in distress.

Leaving the chili on the stove, I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her. It’s instinct, really. She shudders against my chest, like an anxious dog finally finding a spot to rest. Unconsciously, I pull her closer. She fits so well, her cheek at the right height to rest against my neck.

“Declan.” Looping her arms around me, she sighs against my skin. This is so much better than I could have imagined. Her soft body presses against mine, seeking comfort, something I can actually give her.

Oh. No.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. No amount of Fibonacci sequence or complex organic chemistry compounds can stop my erection.

Her lips curl against my collarbone. “Something you want to say, Declan?”

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