With a closed-mouth smile on my face, I look up at him and shake my head.
“What’s a beer-drinking girl who listens to bluegrass doing in Napa all by herself?” His eyes twinkle and crease.
I lift the glass to my lips, take a sip, and then ask, “What’s a winemaker from Sonoma doing at a pub in Napa all by
himself
?”
Brent leans in close, a lot closer than I am ready for. His nose is inches from mine, and I can smell the heady cologne pouring off his skin. I swallow back, unsure of exactly what I want him to do.
Before I can back away, he ever so lightly brushes his lips across my cheek and whispers into my ear, “Looking for the perfect girl to sit next to.”
I bow my head and blush at the flattering yet cheesy comment. Running my hands through my hair, I sit back and give myself some needed distance from Rico Suave.
The band comes back from their break, and we sit back and listen to them. Brent’s seat is getting closer and closer to mine, his arm inching in further around the back of my chair. At one point, his other hand finds my knee and uses it as a mini drum.
When the set is over, we order our third round of drinks and do some much-needed get-to-know-you talking.
Raised on his family vineyard, Brent always knew he would someday run the estate. He went to private school and then went to Europe for four years to study in Tuscany and Bordeaux. He skis and spends most weekends at his house in Tahoe and holidays in the Alps, which happens to be where he met the Swedish ex-wife. He loves animals but doesn’t have any. He enjoys sports but doesn’t have a favorite team. He’s a patron of the San Francisco Symphony. He drives a Tesla. He is on the board of a food-share program with local farms. And he still hopes to one day start a family.
He’s like Bruce Wayne—part-mogul, part do-gooder.
He is cultured, driven, sophisticated.
He is everything I’ve ever wanted.
Therefore, he is intimidating.
I tell him I grew up in Manhattan. He’s been there many times. Brent brings up other possible places I could make a living, aside from weddings and small vineyards. I ask if he drinks wine, other than what’s from his estate. The answer in no.
We have been here for about two hours, and I am starting to feel the night coming to a close. I’m happy I drove myself here. I’ve had a really nice night, but I’m not ready to endure the awkward can-I-drive-you-home moment and the do-we-kiss-or-do-we-not-kiss exchange that would occur when he dropped me off.
“I have to be up early tomorrow,” I say even though it’s a lie.
Placing his hand over mine, Brent brushes his fingers along my wrist. “I’d like to see you again. What are your plans next week?”
I have none, but I can’t tell him that. “I’m working.” I pause, feeling myself trying to brush him off. I change my tone. “I’m available on Thursday.”
Brent raises my hand to his lips and places a soft open-mouthed kiss on the skin of my knuckles. “I shall see you on Thursday.” He raises his arm to Laurie, signaling that he’d like to close out his tab.
I look toward the bar where Laurie is standing, and I see Nate next to her, looking over at us. That’s surprising. He was here and didn’t do one thing to interrupt my date in any way. I don’t know if I should be disappointed or take that as a sign that he thinks Brent is a good catch.
“Are you okay to drive?” Brent is getting up from his seat, keys in hand.
I nod my head even though I am suddenly not in the mood to leave just yet.
“I’ll walk you out.” Brent places his arm on the small of my back and escorts me out the front door and to my car parked on the street.
We do the awkward dance good night. He leans in and tells me what a good time he had. I lean back while saying the same thing. He places a hand on my arm and says he looks forward to seeing me again. I turn my cheek and say I look forward to it, too. Lips hit cheeks, and then he says good-bye with a smile that masks his disappointment. I get in my car, turn the car on, and watch him walk away through the side view mirror.
Rubbing my hands under my eyes, I hold my face and try to fight the urge to turn the car off and go back inside Henley’s Pub.
I lose.
Shutting off the ignition, I get out of the car and walk back into the bar, hoping I don’t look like a complete loser.
I could say I forgot something.
Or just slip in to use the restroom.
Maybe I could pretend my car is stalling, and I need to call a cab.
All of those excuses go out the window because at the bar is a freshly poured stout in a frosted glass and a handsome bartender standing, his arms open on the cedar with one brow raised and a lopsided grin on his face.
I feel my smile widen, and I hope I don’t look like a complete tool. Because I am one. For some reason, the sight of him, knowing I’d be back here for my after-date beer, with that smirk on his face makes me stupidly, deliriously, idiotically happy.
And I really need to stop that shit.
“Okay, I’m ready for your assessment.” I take my usual seat, cross my legs, and lean into the bar.
“You picked a good one.”
“Oh.” My mouth puckers out.
Nate reaches behind the bar, takes the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and places it on the bar. Two shot glasses appear next to it.
“Brent Montavale is a big name around here. I’ve also never seen him in here before.” Nate opens the bottle, pours two glasses, and then hands me one. “I find it hard to believe that you met him online.”
“No. Jeremy set us up. This was date number two.”
Nate’s eyes widen. “Date two? Huh.” His brows curve in as he downs his shot.
I pick up my two ounces of amber liquid and try to dissipate the searing disappointment that Nate approves of Brent Montavale and the annoyance that it bothers me.
“You play pool, Red?”
“No,” I state, rather disappointed.
“Good. Let’s go.” Nate takes the bottle and the two glasses and walks away.
“Oh. Okay.” I swing my body around the stool and follow him to a back room where there is a pool table and no one playing at it.
Nate grabs the triangle off the wall and puts the balls inside.
“Nice rack,” he says to himself, causing me to look down at my blouse. When I look back at him, he’s smiling and then looking at the triangle filled with balls. “Yours is nice, too,” he adds.
I blush.
He hands me a stick and ushers me to go first. I hate pool. It’s a stupid game of sticks and balls and that weird triangle thing. It really is just an excuse for guys to get girls to bend over.
“What’s with the face?”
I release my lip and realize I was making that duck-mouthed face again. Leaning over, I give him my biggest, most sarcastic smile. “Better?”
“Much.” He’s standing on the other side of the table, feet wide apart, chalking the tip of his pool stick. His hand is caressing the cube and rubbing it in slow, deep circles. Only Nate can make the motion wildly sexy. “You wanna break, or should I?”
It takes a second for me to actually hear what he said. Clearing my throat, I say, “After you.”
He smiles and then leans down over the table, the lid of his baseball hat casting a shadow over his eyes. Nate lines up his shot and shoots with a force I think is harder than necessary. Three balls sink in various pockets.
“Where did you go for your first date?” He is walking over to another spot of the table, his eyes still not looking at me.
“Dinner. It was nice.” I shuffle my feet from side to side. “I assumed you approved of Brent. I’ve never finished a date without you or myself ending it abruptly,” I add with a laugh.
Nate’s brows crease in. “Disappointed?”
A little.
I need something to do with my hands, so I run them up and down the pool stick. When Nate’s eyes questioningly gaze at the wood, I realize how phallic the motion of my hands look, which makes me lose my grip altogether and the pool stick falls to the floor. I pick it up as gracefully as possible and carry on as if nothing happened.
“No. I’ve landed a great guy?” For some reason, that statement came out sounding like a question.
He is about to take a shot. His eyes lose focus, and he stands and looks at me. “Why him?”
I tilt my head at Nate. I don’t know if they’re reflective of the green felt of the pool table, but right now, his eyes are so piercing and mesmerizing. I swear, he can see right through me.
“Why was he worthy of a second date?” he asks.
I open my mouth to answer but close it for fear that I’ll say something wrong.
Why Brent? Because he’s emotionally available. Because he has the perfect career and a full head of hair and loves cats and classical music and is lukewarm to sports.
And, most importantly, because the man I really want to be interested in me is with someone else.
“He checks all the boxes.” My voice is low.
Nate’s chest rises with a deep breath. His eyes are stone cold and scorching hot all at once. He is so far away, yet I can feel his exhale on my skin.
With his eyes still on mine, Nate takes a step back from the table. “He has a lot of money. He can take care of you.”
I nod my head. “Yes.”
Nate takes a few steps, slow and steady, toward the corner of the table in my direction. His eyes curve in question, yet their focus never leaves mine. “He was married. Probably ready to settle down again. Start a family.”
I nod again.
Even closer, he places his pool stick on the table. I have no idea what his mission is, but it’s making my palms sweat and my breathing erratic.
“Did he tell you that you’re beautiful?”
My breath hitches, and I nod my head again. Nate is now just a few inches from me. His gaze is hard and stern on mine.
“He’s an idiot. He should have told you that you’re fucking gorgeous.” His words are hypnotic, but the tone he delivers them in is rough, raw.
“That wasn’t a requirement. I don’t need a man to tell me I’m pretty.”
“I know what your boxes are. He is the perfect guy for you. That’s why I have to know…”
Nate’s chest is now flush with mine, his forehead bowing down to meet mine, and I lose all air from my lungs.
“Why are you here with me and not with him?”
I swallow hard. “Because he’s not you.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than Nate’s lips are on mine. Warm and strong, they meld into me, and I can’t close my eyes for fear that I’m mistaking what is happening. His hands rise to grip my face, and his kiss sinks deeper. The pads of his fingers press firmly into my hair, possessive. I close my eyes and give in to his kiss, so mesmerized by the moment that I can’t even think coherently enough to ask questions. Our mouths part, and when his tongue slides into mine, the warmth entering me is like heaven. Fingers and hands are gripping and pulling as he claims me with a visceral groan. My arm falls to the side, dropping my pool stick.
Nate grabs me by the waist and lifts me onto the pool table. His kiss is intoxicating. I’m overwhelmed as he takes my body in his hands and delves deeper, searching for something. I don’t know what it is, but I let him. Our kisses are hard and fast, like we’re making up for lost time, yet there’s no time lost at all. We’ve only just begun, and it is glorious.
He sucks on my bottom lip and then moves to my neck, licking and sucking along the tender skin. I moan, which causes him to groan, and I don’t know what’s sexier—his lips on my skin or that sound coming from his mouth. I wrap my legs around him and use my hands to explore the skin under his shirt. A low growl vibrates against my neck, and I shiver. His body is firm and strong, contoured in the most perfect way.
Nate’s hands slide up the sides of my shirt, his fingers lingering dangerously close to my bra strap. He continues exploring my neck, jawline, and my mouth with his lips. I’m breathing so heavily that I can barely speak. And when his groin lines up perfectly with mine, my breath hitches as I quiver right down to the core. I’m throbbing with need, so much so that I clench my thighs around him.
I don’t care that we’re in a public place. I don’t care that someone could walk in at any moment. I want Nate, and I want him right now.
My hands trail down his torso and stop at the top of his belt buckle, causing him to inhale through his teeth. His hands rise to the sides of my face, and his kisses turn frantic. His mouth and hands are on a mission, now traveling over my breasts.
Nate is in a daze, and I am fighting to keep up with his rhythm. His lips are back on mine. It’s causing me to lose focus—not on the world, but on him. I break the kiss, and his mouth finds my skin again and starts moving down my neck to my collarbone.
I take the moment to catch my breath and use what oxygen I do have to speak, “Does this mean you don’t have a girlfriend anymore?”
Nate’s mouth stops mid kiss. His lips on my shoulder, his breath heated on my skin.
The passion is lost from his body.
His back is stiff, and his hips between my legs are like stone.
Nate backs away from me with such force that the hold my legs had around them is broken, and he backs up until he hits the wall behind him. His eyes are so wide, almost frightened.
He falls down the wall, his body almost hitting the floor. He’s in a squatting position. Hands on his head, he looks down and shakes his head profusely.
He’s scolding himself.
“Fuck!” he shouts as he slams the wall behind him with his fist.
I slide off the pool table. My right arm wraps around my stomach, and my left covers my chest, my fingers brushing against the skin of my neck where his lips just were. I’m trying to control my breathing, steadying my heart, but my body is so full of angst that I can’t restrain the nerves running through me.
What just happened?
My only guess is that I said the wrong thing—or quite possibly the right thing, stopping something that shouldn’t have been happening.
“You need to leave,” he says.
All I can see is the top of his hat.
“Nate, I—”
“I said, leave!” His head shoots up with the demand.
When it does, I see his eyes are red-rimmed and on the verge of tears. He is more exposed and vulnerable than any man I have ever seen.