Page 54 of Romance Languages

“So what’s Lorna like?” I asked

“She’s cool.”

I waved my hand in a circle to prompt a deeper explanation.

“She’s always launching into a joke or an impression of someone she doesn’t like. Oh my God is she funny. She’s always reposting memes on social media and talking about causes we should be paying more attention to. She seems like one of those people who likes to unwind after a long day with a martini. She’s in no hurry to get back into dating, according to Ethan. I think she enjoys being on her own. Oh, and she got a dog. Her fiancè was allergic, so the week they broke up, she got some little dog from a breeder.”

“You seem to know her well,” I noted.

“Social media helps.”

My brain crunched all the data. “She strikes me as someone who would prefer a dry red. I don’t see her drinking white wine.”

I pointed at Seamus to put down the prosecco that he was still carrying. He hurriedly placed it on an endcap as if it were a bomb.

“Now that I think about it, I think she does prefer red over white,” he said.

“If she likes a martini, then she probably goes for something especially dry, maybe one with a bouquet that includes hints of grapefruit and oak. Yes, oak. It has to be oak. Something a bit masculine as a way of sticking it to the patriarchy.”

“Oh yeah. She’s always talking about the patriarchy! I used to think that was a nickname for the government, but let’s keep that between us.”

He wasn’t far off.

“Yes, Lorna relaxing on her designer couch at the end of a long day, martini in hand, gazing at the river in silent meditation, savoring everything she’s built in her life. She’d go for an older blend. Definitely a cabernet,” I said as we arrived in the cabernet aisle. I plucked a bottle from the top shelf with a gold label. “This is from my favorite winery in Napa. They ferment the wine in aged oak barrels that were imported from France and are nearly half a century old. Lorna will be able to tell a wine that was aged in an industrial steel container and one aged with care in oak. The flavors of the barrel seep into the wine, infusing it with a crisp, powerful taste.”

I handed Seamus the bottle. His eyes were wide and awed, staring at me like I was a mystical shaman. Our fingers touched, sending a current of heat up my arm.

“Damn, Jules.” He kept looking at me, staring at me with those dazzling blue eyes, his lips parting slightly, making it very hard to not think about wanting to kiss him. “You are incredible.”

I shrugged. “I just know about wine.”

“You are the smartest person I know. You are…wow. Thank you.” Seamus stepped forward, and then his arms were wrapping around me in a hug, squeezing me tight. I inhaled his woodsy scent because I loved to tease myself.

Seamus also loved to tease apparently, because he gave my ass another slap with a squeeze tacked on. Baseball coaches might’ve slapped their players’ butts, but they did not squeeze. Fortunately, I was wearing a thick pair of jeans, but my dick was still pushing their limits. I was hopeless against the power of Seamus’s hands on my body.

He stepped back and gave me an awkward smile, kind of owning what had just happened but kind of not.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Friday night.” Why the hell was I bringing that up now? My timing could not have been worse, but maybe it was something I had to own. I couldn’t let Seamus heap praise on me without clearing the air. “I was…I probably should not have been driving, we’ll just say that.”

Lie. A total lie. I was one hundred percent sober.

“I had a good time.” Seamus blushed.

Same. If only all nights could end like that.

“I don’t know what got into me.” I still didn’t. I had a cute, smart gay musician who wanted to take me back to his place, and yet I chose the straight guy who wanted to stay friends. “I was just looking to move onto the next session. Time’s a ticking and all that.”

“No need to apologize.” He stopped me from blathering anymore apologies and excuses. “I meant what I said. Use me for my body.”

“Will do!”

He clapped me on the shoulder in the most bro-friendly manner imaginable then walked up to the counter to pay.

At least I knew where I stood with him. Seamus was happy to offer up his body; his heart was off limits.

Seamus handed the cashier the bottle.

“This is a good one,” the cashier said.

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