Page 28 of Whiskey Darling
Chapter Ten
Allie
A decadent mix of Gruyere,fontina, and mozzarella cheeses on homemade bread makes this the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever eaten. And it’s fantastic paired with a spicy Syrah.
“I don’t usually drink wine,” I tell Flynn as he extracts the cork from the second bottle. My eyes gravitate to his powerful forearms. Before he began pulling items out of the fridge, he rolled up his sleeves. As he cooked, I couldn’t stop staring. I can’t stop staring now.
“Oh, you don’t like it?” He asks. “Inconvenient, with your family owning a winery. I stick with whiskey, but everyone should have a glass of wine occasionally, simply for the experience of it.”
“Oh, it isn’t that! I just rarely drink it. Wine messes me up.” I take a sip from the glass. This is good. Better than good. Somehow, the second bottle tastes better than the first. “I forget my limits. Dangerous, right?”
Flynn’s lips tighten. I’m still trying to figure out his motives. How we leapt from nearly screwing up against the foyer wall to this intimate meal.
“Many things in this world are dangerous.” Leaning over the marble island, he fills my glass again, watching as I consider his words.
Taking a big gulp of wine, I giggle nervously.Giggle? I don’t giggle. Except when Flynn Alexander is eyeing me like a hawk contemplating a helpless rabbit for dinner.
“How did you decide the family business was not for you?” Flynn asks, one eyebrow cocked high. He sips his wine with slow, deliberate intent.
“My first taste of whiskey did it.” I explain how my boyfriend and I ended up in the back of our vineyards the night I turned seventeen. How we laid in the bed of his truck under the stars, drinking lukewarm Jack Daniels pilfered from his dad’s liquor cabinet.
“Once you were done with that bottle, did this… boyfriend… take advantage of the situation?” Flynn’s voice is soft. Is he asking if Brady and I had sex?
Yes, I think that’s exactly what he’s asking.
I laugh, tilting my empty glass. The silky red velvet liquid is all gone. I motion for a refill, shaking my finger at him. With a slight frown, he hesitates, then does as commanded.
I’m a bit woozy, and the counter stool I’m balanced on is really high off the floor. “You wanna know if I gave him my virginity, don’t you? Well, too bad, Mr. Alexander. I don’t drink and tell. You know, my dad hates that I’m working for you. Said you’ll be another Connor Morgan. My mom says I’m stronger than that. Iamstronger. You know, I don’t need to sleep with anyone to get where I’m going. But Connor… he couldn’t handle that.”
I spin on the barstool, curious if I can do it without falling off. “He thought, just because he snapped,” here, I try snapping my fingers but fail, “snapped his fingers, I’d sleep with him. That I would do whatever he wanted…”
Flynn is instantly alert at the mention of Connor’s name. I should chomp down on my tongue. Damn wine. Makes me silly. Loose-lipped. It’s like a crazy truth serum. And I don’t know how he is keeping up with this disjointed, scrambled conversation. I’m all over the place and not making much sense.
I really should stick with whiskey.
“Ahh, Connor Morgan.” Flynn’s tone turns thoughtful.
“You don’t need to worry about him,” I confess in an abnormally loud whisper while trying to stay balanced on the barstool. “You got him beat.”
Flynn appears bemused by my abrupt proclamation. “How, precisely?”
A wave of my arm almost sends me tumbling to the floor. Folding the upper half of my body against the surface of the island, I laugh at my clumsiness and trace the veining of the marble.
“You, you are more handsome.” I squint up at him, taking another swallow of wine. “More ruth—ruthless. A better kisser. Better than Brady, too, and he was amazing.”
“Brady?”
“My pickup truck boyfriend. Anyway, you are much worse than Connor.”
“We’re back to him now? And that’s a contradiction. You said I was better, not worse.” Flynn smiles, placing the second wine bottle in the recycle bin. My tendency to jump from subject to subject doesn’t appear to faze him.
“Oh, you are better!” I assure him, devastated there is no more wine. Then I clap my hands in delight because Flynn is slowly opening a third bottle. He doesn’t seem too sure about it, however.
“But you are scary sometimes. So dark. Moody.” My admission tumbles out without compulsion. “I can’t figure you out so that makes you worse than Connor. Know what I mean?” I hold out my glass for obvious reasons. “And you’re always scowling at me. Like I disappoint you or something.”
Flynn looks surprised by this. Shaking his head, he refills my glass. “No doubt you’ll regret this tomorrow because you’re saying things you probably shouldn’t. And I know we’re doing things we’ll both regret. But Allie, I’m far from disappointed in you.”
A grin splits my face from ear to ear. “I’m glad. And I don’t mind telling you things, Flynn. I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.”
