Page 22 of The Bad Girl List

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I like the look he gets in his eyes when he’s talking about his work. Like he really likes what he does. Someday, I want to look like that when I talk about my job.

“You use gravity in farming?” I ask, just to keep him talking.

“That’s part of it, yeah. I’m a biodynamic farmer. It’s not like the farming stuff you see on TV. It’s all about giving back to the soil and working with nature and … I’m Trevor, by the way.” He sticks out his hand.

I shake it, savoring the feel of his callused skin and strong grip. “I’m Dominique. You can call me Dom. Nice to meet you.”

He tries to duck into the passenger side of the car, smacks his head, curses, then tries a second time. I hear him rummaging around in the glove compartment. “You from out of town?”

“Yeah. My cousin and I are here with our moms and aunt for our annual family girls’ trip.”

“That sounds fun. You guys planning to do Passport?”

“Yeah. It’s the reason we picked this weekend. My Auntie Dee found a Groupon.”

“Passport has a Groupon?” Trevor pokes his head momentarily around the open hood to look at me in surprise.

“If there’s a Groupon to be found, my Auntie Dee will find it. My family is really into coupons.”

“My Gramps would love her.” Trevor emerges from the passenger seat, a white spray bottle in one hand. He looks from me, to the bottle, then back to me.

I should probably do something, like take the bottle from his hands, but my stomach is doing terrible things. The alcohol is doing something highly unpleasant just below my esophagus, while Trevor’s eyes seem to set loose a flock of wild birds under my rib cage.

“I, uh, better get some towels. Come on.” Trevor breaks eye contact and goes around to the back of the car, which faces the vineyards that surround the bar. I trail after him as he pops the trunk.

“Why does your brother have so many towels in his trunk?” I ask, blinking in surprise when I see not one bundle, but almost a dozen bundles of white dish towels.

“He’s working Passport tomorrow. He picked these up earlier and must have forgotten to drop them at the winery. Okay, let’s hope this stuff works.” He holds up the white bottle and starts to squirt it. Since the majority of the wine ended up on the front of my shirt, it means he’s aiming directly at my breasts.

He seems to realize this at the same time I do. We look at each other. The moment stretches a little too long. We seem on the brink of awkward laughter, but neither of us quite manages it.

“Uh, here.” He shoves the bottle into my hands.

I dutifully get to work spritzing while he snaps the plastic tie that bundles the towels together. I douse the front of my white tee, then move onto my pants, which got soaked from the contents of the wine bottle.

“It smells like orange,” I say.

“Wine Away is made with orange oil.”

“It’s really called Wine Away?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty much a must-have around here. Living around wineries without Wine Away would be like having a diaper bag without diapers. Here, let me see if I can get that out.”

He gets to his knees in the dirt and tackles the red wine stain on my leg. One hand wraps around the back of my thigh as his other hand scrubs furiously across the damp fabric of my pants with the towel. My skin sizzles in the heat of his grip.

His mouth sets in a line of determination as he increases the pressure. He looks like he’s absorbed in a very complex puzzle instead of a ruined pair of pants. There’s no way in hell he’s ever going to get that stain out, but since I’ll probably never buy a ticket to a Thunder from Down Under show, I keep my mouth shut and let myself enjoy the view.

The towel–and his hand–are suddenly right by my crotch. He’s scrubbing so hard that he doesn’t notice at first. When the towel catches on my zipper, he jumps back as if he’s been burned.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He sits back on his heels. “I’m not trying to feel you up, I promise. I’m just … I’m just really wasted right now. I’m not a sleazeball, I swear.”

“I don’t think you’re a sleazeball. I–” My stomach choses that moment to break dance. “Oh, God.” I hunch over, willing the wave of nausea to pass.

“Do you need some water?” Trevor gets to his feet. “You took down quite a few of those Cosmos.”

So he had been watching me. A warm heat shoots through me at the idea that he may have been watching me as much as I’d been watching him.

Alcohol always makes me ridiculously honest. “I can’t drink any water. I have to drink until I puke.”

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