Screwmates(11)

“Another burst pipe?” he asked.

“Same burst pipe. Apparently it did more damage than we’d realized.”

“I see.” He rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment, seeming to assess the situation, probably wondering as I was if it was a good idea or not to embark on Couch Night Part Deux.

It only took a few seconds for him to decide. He nodded to the open wine cooler on the side table. “If you’re interested in relinquishing your current drink, I could open a bottle of the real stuff.”

Oops. I’d forgotten I’d snagged one of his peach-flavored Bartles and Jaymes. It actually wasn’t half bad. I’d been missing out on this and the bubble bath for months, and I had lost time to make up for. Although I hadn’t necessarily planned on him noticing.

“Relinquish? I’ll just finish it off.” I chugged the last quarter of the cooler then set the bottle back down. “Bring on the wine.” Perhaps I hadn’t learned my lesson last time, after all.

But this was wine. Not Bourbon. Totes different.

Ten minutes later, my toes were dry enough to admire off the coffee table and Marc was handing me something red in a mason jar. Neither of us, it seemed, were fancy enough to have owned appropriate stemware. Or were we hip? It was so hard to tell the difference between poor and hip sometimes. I’d probably just break nice glasses anyways, so.

“What is it, anyway?” I asked, as he took a seat next to me. Not so close to me that we touched, but not on the complete other end of the couch either.

“I don’t remember. I just liked the label. Had a sandal on it. Made me think of vacations,” he winked, and I remembered the whole French sex plan he’d told me about.

“We should try to guess what it is.” I had no idea why I suggested that. Sometimes words just emerge from my mouth and surprise everyone, including me. I mean, I enjoyed a glass of Merlot now and then. That didn’t mean I knew a damn thing about specific flavors.

But when I don’t know what I’m saying, I seem to say even more of it. “Wine is very important in France. You need to know this stuff so you don’t look ignorant on your bangcation.”

“That sounds like a challenge. I’m up for it.” He held his glass toward me. I hesitated only a second then met his with a clink.

We swallowed in unison.

“Bitter,” Marc said.

“I can definitely taste the grapes.” I took another sip.

“Grapey. That’s a perfect description,” Marc agreed, and I flushed a little. I was proud he agreed. I smiled over at him and he held my eyes for a moment longer than necessary. The hotness! Swoon!

“Check the bottle,” I told him. “Let’s see how we did.”

He ran to the kitchen and came back with the opened and the unopened bottle, as well as a corkscrew. “We can move on to the other when we’re finished,” he explained.

Obviously Marc hadn’t learned any lessons the other night either.

He handed me the open bottle and set the rest down on the side table. Then he resumed his place on the couch, an inch closer to me than he’d been before, which was probably just accidental.

“Hmm.” I had really thought we’d nailed it, but I was way off. “Plum and mocha.”

“I didn’t get that at all.” He took another experimental sip. “Still don’t, really.”

“Me neither. Maybe we’ll do better with the next one.” I topped off our glasses and handed over the box of Fruit Loops I’d been munching from before he’d arrived.

“Dry cereal and wine?”

“I prefer to call it whole grains with my fruit salad.”

Reluctantly, he reached into the box and pulled out a handful. I watched him out of the corner of my eye while he snacked. Unlike me who ate bunches at once and then picked the residue from my cleavage, Marc popped one loop in his mouth at a time. It was kind of weird and kind of adorable all at once. Definitely neater than my method. Deliberate.

After he’d eaten a few, his brows knit in confusion. “They’re all the same flavor,” he said bluntly.

“Ding, ding, ding. You might not know wine, but you can ID cereal like nobody’s business.”

“That’s just. That’s dumb. They should be different flavors. Lime. Lemon. The red one should be cherry. I was really looking forward to that being cherry.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” I bit back a laugh, but my cheeks hurt from smiling. “I’ll try to have more varied snacks next time.”

“No. This is perfect.”

My heart tripped at his remark and I had to turn away from him before I tried to read too much into it. We got caught up with the action on the television then. Or, he did. I, on the other hand, stared quietly at the screen while my brain freaked out. Was this night going where I thought it was going? My hands were sweaty just thinking about it. Maybe I should slip away and freshen up. Another round of mouthwash would really clash with the wine, though, so I decided against it.

But too soon, Daredevil ended, and the silence felt heavy so I rushed to fill it. As I do.

“How is your mom?” I asked. I really did want to know. I’d been naked in a bed with him and still barely knew anything about him. Also, how else to make things sexy than to bring up someone’s mother? This was why I didn’t date.