Page 30 of My Grape Crush
I start the truck, if only to drown out the unpleasant stillness.
On the short drive to the highway, out of the corner of my eye, I clock Rhys’s jaw and how it grinds back and forth. His right leg shimmies up and down like it has a pulse all its own. I dream of a painless packing up of this afternoon, storing it deep in a locked basement.
But what can I say to fix this, aside from nothing?
On the highway, I gun the engine. The momentum feels liberating, and Rhys lets out a deep breath that sounds like it's been brewing for half a century.
“I don’t know how you process stuff,” he says, “but I need to talk this out.”
My heart starts to race, triggered by his words. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this.
“I’m sorry,” my voice is small, “I get a little adventurous after drinking.”
He glances over, an eyebrow cocked to high heaven. “A little?”
“That is not who I am in real life.”
“Interesting. What would the real Dani have done differently?”
“Found a legit model and spared myself a lifetime of embarrassment?” The question squeaks out, and I ignore the twist in my stomach that says this could all blow up because of me. “I’m not unbothered by what happened,” I add, pitifully aware of how lame that sounds.
He snorts a laugh. “Could have fooled me.”
The way he locks eyes with me says it all—my lunchtime avoidance didn’t win me any favors.Rhys tried hard to turn our fleeting eye contact into something lasting, and his ability to act unfazed while my insides raged? Tragic.
I gather my breath and what's left of my pride. “Look, I want to do a great job for Evelyn. This collaboration with you is important. Can we just…”
“Pretend it never happened?” he finishes.
I crack the tiniest remorseful smile. “Is that okay?”
In my mind, amiable Rhys replies with,No sweat. The next five weeks fly by, uncomplicated. I spend every morning power-meditating on how I never thought it was possible to hate Brett Winn more.But the longer Rhys says nothing, the more I think he might not answer.
Then, “Only if you promise never to pull a stunt like that again. Guys can also have their hearts broken.”
He searches my face, and I can see the naked truth of his words playing out in the tremor around his mouth. Heaviness settles in my stomach—fathomless, ceaseless guilt. I’m mortified it’s come to this.
“Understood.” There is no point begging forgiveness in a broken voice and making matters worse.
It’s a struggle to keep the speedometer under a hundred and twenty clicks per hour. My skin feels too tight. My mind is a disordered wreck. I try to focus on the orange sun and the blue sky without a single cloud, the light brown hills covered in scrub.This job was supposed to be my second coming. A reboot of my life. Are the wine gods working against me? Is it cruel fate that Heather bailed today? How did I allow this to happen? Because what went down today is not what I’d call taking the initiative.
The road winds and dips and climbs again.
Out of the blue, Rhys asks, “Did that turn you on?”
I go very still, while every second of that aching moment rushes through me. I can taste every beat of my heart, seehis lips full and softly parted, and hear the heaviness of his breathing.
Why has Rhys asked an impossible question, kickstarting a conversation I’m not ready to have? Pressure builds in my lungs, all of me blowing up, doing everything in my power not to admit it. Despite my runaway drunken revenge train, being close to him felt natural.
It felt right.
But if I utter those words, then what?
“Do you need me to repeat the question?” he nudges.
No, actually. What I’d like is for this commute to be something other than a cringeworthy reminder that a wine-fueled woman knows no bounds.
Or boundaries.
