Page 19 of The Bad Girl List

Had she laughed at what I’d said?

Does she think I’m funny?

That has to be a good sign, I think, filling my glass almost to the top. If she laughed at what I said, it means she’s watching me. And even if I hadn’t been trying to be funny, it’s a good sign when you can make someone laugh, right?

I systematically lay into my latest bottle, my brain somersaulting as I try to invent more funny things to say to the pretty artist girl. There’s something refreshing about the relaxed way she dresses. It’s nice compared to the way most tourist girls make themselves up, with impractical shoes and too much make-up.

“Hey, bro.” Thomas gets my attention as I’m working on my third glass of Zinfandel. “Come join us. You look like a loser down there by yourself.” There’s a suspicious twinkle in his eye, but my brain is too foggy to dwell on it.

Moving from my seat to the one near my brother would get rid of the last five barstools between me and the artist. I’m not sure how I can strike up a conversation with her over the heads of Thomas, Minnie, and Annika, but my odds have to be improved somewhat with vicinity on my side.

I call back to my brother over the noisy bar. “Yeah, okay.”

Maybe I can go around my brother and his friends and sit by the artist. Would she be willing to take a break from her Cosmos to have the last glass of Zin in my bottle? Or will she just be annoyed that I’m interrupting her?

Armed with my bottle and my finger-print laden, full-to-the-brim wine glass, I start toward my brother. My steps are heavy and slow thanks to the alcohol soaking my veins, but I’m not so inebriated that I’m in danger of falling.

Or at least, that’s what I think until Thomas looks me right in the eye and sticks out his foot. I trip and go down, the glass of Zinfandel leaping from my hands–and splashing all over the girl with the colored pencils.

CHAPTER 7

Wine Away

DOMINIQUE

Annika, the bartender, and some random guy named Thomas, are deep in a lively conversation, each of them sharing colorful stories of how they escaped from various one-night stands.

“I hid behind the bedroom curtains and pretended I was already gone,” Minnie says. “When he went into the bathroom, I made a run for it.”

“Oh, I can top that,” Thomas says. “I once hid under the roommate's bed while she was getting busy with her vibrator. She was so into it she never noticed me sneak in. I had to wait until both girls left for work before I snuck out.”

“You are full of shit,” Minnie declares.

“Maybe.” Thomas waggles his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?

I tune them out as I draw.

For the first Cosmo, my attention had been on the old farmers playing a lively game of gin on the far side of the bar. There’s something about them that drew me in. It’s like they’re extensions of the vineyards that surround this place.

The dried mud on their shoes. Their rumpled leather hats. The dirt crusting their cuticles and the shirts that look like they’ve been washed a thousand times and never ironed. I feel like I’m being transported somewhere I’ve never been before, like I’ve stepped through a time machine and these guys with their tumblers of whiskey and their battered deck of cards can show me the world through a new kaleidoscope.

They’re beautiful. That’s the only word for it.

Or at least, that’s what I thought until he walked in.

The farmer. Over six feet of tanned skin with a golden, five o’clock shadow and matching shaggy hair that curls over his ears and around the nape of his neck. He wears scuffed leather cowboy boots, a spectacularly rumpled button-down shirt–complete with dirt smudges–and Wrangler jeans that flaunt what has to be the nicest ass between here and New York.

In short, he’s dressed just like the guys playing gin.

On the old guys, that ensemble looks endearing.

On this guy, it looks two steps away from a Thunder from Down Under poster.

Maybe Annika’s idea for a vacation fling isn’t such a bad one.

Wait. That’s definitely the Cosmos talking. I could never get a guy like that. He is way too hot for me.

The hot guy, it turns out, is named Trevor. He came in with Thomas and they look like they could be related, but the two didn’t sit together at the bar. After exchanging greetings with the gin-playing farmers, Trevor sat by himself, ordered an entire bottle of wine, and got to work.

---