Page 14 of Playing Dirty
"This one is grand." He takes another sip of the Sauvignon Blanc. "Almost... is it green apple? And something deeper underneath it. A mineral quality."
"Yes!" I say, nodding with enthusiasm. "Green apple andlemon zest up top, and that mineral note is the flint. That's exactly what you're supposed to find in this profile. You have a remarkably good palate, actually."
"Don't sound so shocked, Ace." He grins. "I'm a pretty quick study. Besides, learning wine is mostly confidence and a good nose, right?"
I shoot him a sidelong glance, realizing he's quoting my own earlier lecture back to me almost word for word. "Good memory."
“Well, I like hearing you talk.” He tilts his head, his gaze shifting into something dangerously flirty. "So I pay attention to the details."
A flush starts at my neck. "Alright, alright. Let's keep the focus on the vintage and not the flattery."
He laughs, a warm sound that vibrates through the small room, and I reach for the next bottle, carefully arranging the stemware for the sparkling selection.
"Nowthis." I pour the third wine. "Is the one I'm proudest of. It should be the easiest for you to promote, since it's a sparkling. Marketing is leaning hard into theyour celebration drinkangle."
"Right. Pop it after a big win, that sort of thing."
"Exactly. White peach, a little apricot." I slide the glass toward him. "It’s like summer in a bottle to me. No matter where you are, it just transports you to a dreamy dinner outside, maybe on the coast. Nostalgic almost, the sort of…"
I trail off, realizing I'm waxing poetic to a man who probably could not care less. He came here to put his face on a label, not to listen to me get sentimental about a bottle of sparkling.
I clear my throat. "What you actually need to know is that it pairs really well with goat cheese and grilled stone fruit."
He smiles. "You're really passionate about all this, huh?"
"Yes," I admit. "I know it sounds ridiculous, caring so much about wine. But I think a good bottle ends up tied to a memory, the way a meal does. A sister's graduation. An anniversary. Arandom Tuesday night when you're cooking at home and reach for something nice without thinking about it."
"I don't think it's ridiculous at all." He turns the stem of his glass slowly, his expression surprisingly sincere. "And hey, I was the kid who decided he was going to play professional hockey. In Ireland. Where roughly nobody plays hockey. So I'm no stranger to loving something other people might not get."
I find myself smiling at that. He's not nearly as insufferable as I thought he’d be. In fact, he's actually kind of lovely.
"It certainly seems to have worked out for you," I say. "Though I should probably confess that I have no knowledge of hockey whatsoever."
"How dare you." He laughs, and I’ll admit it is a really good laugh. "I'm devastated. Here I thought we were developing a rapport."
"I'm sure you'll manage to endure the heartbreak,” I say dryly. "I don't follow any sports, if that helps."
"Not a sports person at all?" He leans back.
"Not really. Though I'm sure hockey is..."
I stall, hunting for an adjective that isn't a total lie or a flat-out insult. There has to be a diplomatic middle ground betweenI cannot fathom the appealandwhat a lovely pastime.
"It seems quite... spirited," I continue. "And it clearly takes a serious amount of athleticism."
He studies me for a second, then that dimpled smile makes an appearance. "You're so full of shit, Ace."
The cork nearly slips out of my fingers. "I beg your pardon?"
"You're lying through your teeth." He sets the glass down, looking amused. "You can just say you hate it. I promise my ego won't shatter, so please don't feel the need to lie on my behalf."
My eye gives a faint, involuntary twitch. I retract every charitable thought I've had about him, because he is actuallyveryannoying.
"Fine," I say. "I find it to be a barbaric display of recreationalviolence and I don’t get the desire to watch grown men slamming each other into plexiglass. And the teeth situation is frankly absurd. There. Happy?"
He laughs, flashing a row of irritatingly perfect teeth. "See, I prefer this honest version of you infinitely more than the one praising howspiritedit is. That was painful for both of us."
"I was attempting to preserve a shred of professionalism, which is apparently a foreign concept to you," I say, reaching for the next bottle.
