Page 69 of My Grape Crush
While I silently thank everyone from Santa to Santeria for last night’s miracle, my morning espresso ritual unfolds. Dani brings the fuzziness of my interior world into sharp focus, as precise as the burr grinder pulverizes the beans. Tamping down the grounds recalls my assault and her beautiful gray eyes, blurry and fevered from the damage. The rich scent of brewing java warms me like she’s melting the protective shell around my heart.
Even the milk bubbling in the frother is a scandalous reminder of how she took all of me on the raft, blowing my mind while she blew me. It was over in a heartbeat, and I never had a minute to process how perfectly I fit into her mouth. Can it be this real, this early on?
It has to be. My usual instinct—to flee or crowbar a woman out of my bed—is nowhere to be found. And the physical reactions always tell the true tale. Her touch makes my pulse go haywire. I felt enormous and magnificent sliding deep into her fire, and the greedy response of her hips welcomed every inch of me.
And I could see the shift in her eyes the moment she released.
She let go.
Forgot about real life and remembered only me.
Lost in the enchanted memory, a loud, growling sound snaps my attention back to the here and now.
The bright light filtering in through the front blinds suddenly darkens. Is that a car? Strange. There’s no way the taxi driver made it here that fast. Suddenly my heartbeat sounds too loud in my ears.
I pad silently on bare feet to the window, slot two fingers into the blinds and spread them to view just enough of what can only be described as a pending catastrophe. Sawyer slides out of a monstrous SUV, rocking Dita sunglasses that I almost bought and gripping an enormous bouquet of red roses.
My stomach drops.
And not because I’m a peony guy.
For Sawyer, there is a correct way to do everything—from business deals to transactional dating to spontaneous visits. No way in hell he shows up here for no reason. He must have texted me multiple times about this surprise visit. But my phone battery was dying last night before Dani and I tilted the world off its axis. And I forgot to charge it.
I forgot a lot of things last night.
I'd like to forget this nightmare too. Because I think I know why my brother is here.
A chill settles over my bones as I dash for the door, swinging it wide before Sawyer knocks and alerts Dani.
“Hi,” I say. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
“Last-minute trip,” he explains. “I flew into Kelowna this morning.” That explains the rental GMC. Sawyer would rather eat deep-fried spiders than roll in a domestic. “I’m looking for Dani,” he continues. “Any idea where she might be?”
Shit, I knew it. He’s decked out in Tommy Hilfiger weekend warrior duds. Looking all spiffy for a reason.
“Is she not at her villa?”
He tilts his head in that irritated Sawyer way. “Would I be here if she was?”
“Wassheexpecting you?”
I need to deflect because my brother has shelled out precious money to deliver flowers on a Saturday to a woman he’s met once. The same woman I fucked senseless last night and is twenty feet away patiently waiting for a latte and for my tongue to slide into her again.
Not exactly what I'd call the best-case scenario.
“No,” he says. “I wanted to tell her the good news in person.” He pauses, for dramatic effect, I suppose, aware of the sun illuminating him like the Overlord he thinks he is. “We signed Gia. And JC agreed to the gig.”
I blink, suddenly unsteady on my feet. “No, he didn’t.”
Deep down, I know it’s happening. Sawyer, for all his shortcomings—he keeps a spreadsheet on when his condiments expire, for fuck’s sake—has made a name for himself. God forbid anything stands in his way of cementing his glory.
Sure enough, with clear-eyed finality, he says, “Yes, he did.”
I look up, drawing in a deep, controlled breath. The sky is clear blue with only a few puffy clouds lazily moving across it, and in this moment of tranquility, I feel rage building within me.
Maybe it's Sawyer's shitty, patronizing smile. Or hearing Dad’s voice in my head as he griped to Mom about me:Why can’t he get As like Sawyer? Or have a shred of talent like JC? He is nothing but useless trouble.
Or it could be that I’m overtaken by a clammy sweat.
