Page 43 of My Grape Crush
Rhys rolls his eyes and turns to me. “Did you want dessert or coffee?”
“I’m fine.” I’m happy to blow this joint and all the eyes that pretended not to stare at us as Rhys shared colorful stories about their childhood, Sawyer constantly interrupting to correct his version of events.
Elaine scurries to our table with the payment terminal and a nervous expression. Sawyer glares at Rhys, dumps his napkin on the table, and excuses himself.
Meow.
“Typical,” Rhys mutters.
He whips out his credit card to pay, making friends with Elaine along the way. She giggles a little too loud at his friendly banter.
I sit up straighter, aware of the flush on her cheeks, and Rhys seemingly pleased to be the architect of it.Okay, wait. I’m not supposed to feel territorial and protective. But during dinner, our knees touched more than once under the table.
And this time, I didn’t jump.
Elaine finally glides away on cloud nine, and Rhys leans both elbows on the table, his eyes slowly skating across my face. “Hey,” he says in that smooth, suave voice. “Nice night, minus you-know-who.”
The bubbles fizz in my chest again. He’sbeautiful, in a poetic way. And he exudes an air of mystery beneath his happy-go-lucky persona. Like I have only scratched the surface of him.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s up with you and him?”
I wait for his shoulders to clench or the smile to slip, but he only shrugs. “Quality time with Sawyer is an oxymoron.”
“Is that why he doesn’t manage you?”
He reaches for Sawyer’s glass of wine, drains the remains, then spins the empty glass on the tablecloth. “One of the reasons,” he finally says. “Maybe you can tell him I’m a dream to work with. Aside from the workplace hazards.”
His eyes snap to mine, and a rush of fire comes with his wink, one that has me reaching for my water to drown out the chaotic rhythm of my heartbeats.
“Hazard is the perfect word to describe you,” I say.
Rhys chuckles, once more nudging his knee against mine. He’s done a lot of that tonight—finding ways to touch me. “I’m the wrong brother if you want safe and square.”
“In that case,” I say, “I’ll tell Evelyn she made the right choice.”
Rhys searches my eyes. The lights in here dimmed at some point, and the glow softens every edge like the wine has softened my resolve. I smile through the mounting pressure coming over me with every flicker of his lashes.
“I’m not talking about Evelyn,” he says.
I’m silent, grasping for something to say. Rhys waits patiently, and the way he looks at me, with that simmering charisma—it eats me alive. Where is the clever comeback at the tip of my tongue? And how many more times can I resist him?
After wishing all night for Sawyer to disappear, his return saves me from falling into the black hole of Rhys, where time has no meaning and words elude me.
He yanks on his Hugo Boss blazer, blunt and businesslike. “Did you pay?” he asks Rhys.
Rhys stands and beats Sawyer to the draw, pulling back my chair with a gallant flourish. “Consider it your fee for my ride home.”
“Is this normal traffic?” Sawyer asks.
Like Vegas, Osoyoos also has a strip—a far less glamorous stretch of asphalt known as Highway 3.You have to time it right on peak summer days to avoid bumper-to-bumper traffic,but the road clogged with cars at eight thirty on a Tuesday night?
“Not really,” I reply.
Sawyer aggressively noses in front of a dusty old Chevy truck, flipping the bird to whoever honks in displeasure. The sky is molten yellow, and shadows are starting to stretch longer. It's still deadly hot.
“Can anyone see in through your windows?” Rhys pipes up from the back seat.
Sawyer glances at him in the rearview mirror. “No. I had them all tinted. Why?”
