Page 9 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

It was a loaded question, one that I’d asked myself countless times over the years. “Sometimes,” I admitted, my voice thoughtful. “But I try not to dwell on it. What’s done is done. All I can do now is move forward, make the best of what I have.”

She nodded, a look of admiration in her eyes. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

I shrugged, a small smile playing on my lips. “It’s the only way I know how.”

We lapsed into quiet again, but this time, it was more reflective, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The wine was half-finished, the glasses sitting forgotten on the coffee table as we both leaned back against the cushions, the evening wrapping around us like a comforting blanket.

Eventually, Angie spoke again, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. “You’re different from what I expected.”

I raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? How so?”

She smiled, a touch of self-consciousness in her expression. “I don’t know…I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so open. So…real. A lot of people I meet are guarded, or they put on a facade. But with you, it feels like what I see is what I get.”

Her words struck a chord with me, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest. “That’s because it is,” I said simply. “I don’t know how to be any other way. Even if I put my foot in my mouth more often than not.”

She giggled softly, her smile growing wider. “I like that about you, Bowie. It’s refreshing.”

Without thinking, I reached out and took her hand, my thumb brushing over the back of it in a gentle, reassuring gesture. She didn’t pull away; instead, she turned her hand over so our fingers could intertwine, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through me.

I squeezed her hand gently, my heart pounding a little faster. “I’m glad you asked me to come up tonight,” I said, meaning every word.

“I am, too,” she replied, giving my hand a squeeze back.

We sat like that for a while, our hands clasped together, the wine forgotten as the night stretched on around us. The connection between us was undeniable, a spark that had ignited and was slowly growing into something more.

Eventually, she leaned her head on my shoulder, her soft blonde hair brushing against my neck. I felt a surge of protectiveness, a desire to keep her safe from whatever shadows might lurk in her past. I wasn’t going to pry, feeling sure she’d had more than enough of that since acquiring the scar that crisscrossed her cheek. She’d tell me when she was ready. For now, we were two people with our own stories, our own inner or outer scars, but somehow, it felt like we had found something in each other that made the weight of those tragic tales a little lighter.

The night grew quieter, the city settling into its late-night rhythm, and I knew that whatever happened next, this was a moment I wouldn’t forget. There was something between us, something that had been building from the moment we first met, and I had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

Chapter Five

Angel

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I noticed was the warm weight of Bowie’s arm draped across me. It was a surreal feeling, one that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. The memories of the night before flooded back—our late-night conversation, the easy way we’d talked, and how comfortable I’d felt around him. I hadn’t intended to fall asleep on the couch, and certainly not with a man I’d just met. But there was something about Bowie that disarmed me, made me let my guard down in a way I hadn’t in years.

I carefully slipped out from under his arm, trying not to wake him. My penthouse suite was bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, and for a moment, I just stood there, looking at him, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His dark hair was tousled, and his expression was peaceful, so different from the sharp, observant look he’d had the night before. I caught myself smiling at the sight.

But reality quickly set in. I had places to be, commitments to uphold, and an identity to protect. I couldn’t afford to get too comfortable, to let someone get too close. I knew better than anyone how quickly things could change, how easily people could hurt you if you let them in.

I walked over to the window, pushing aside the heavy drapes to take in the view of the city below. Los Angeles was already awake, the streets buzzing with life, everyone chasing something—fame, success, love. I had chased those things too, once upon a time. Now, I was just trying to maintain what I had, to keep everything from falling apart.

A rustling sound behind me made me turn around. Bowie was stirring, blinking as he slowly woke up. When his eyes met mine, he smiled, a slow, lazy grin that made my heart skip a beat.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, trying to sound casual. “I didn’t mean to keep you here all night.”

He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I enjoyed our chat.”

“Me too.” He stretched, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. I looked away, trying not to get distracted. This wasn’t like me, to be so caught up in someone I’d just met. But Bowie was different. He was real, and that was something I rarely encountered in my world.

“So, uh, I really need to go,” I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us. “I’ve got some things to take care of.”

“Of course,” he said, standing up. He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers?”

I paused, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to say yes, to give in to the strange connection I felt with him. But another part of me—the part that had learned to be cautious, to protect myself—was hesitant.

---