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“Classic,” I murmur.
He moves toward the kitchenette area and awkwardly points to the fridge. “You already know this, but there’s a bottle of wine chilling in the refrigerator. Would you like a glass?”
“Oh, that’s yours,” I reply, putting my hands up. “I didn’t know if you liked wine or beer, so I went ahead and put both in there.”
“I’m more of a wine guy,” he says, shooting me another wink like he did earlier today. Once again, it has me blushing.
“Noted,” I reply, clearing my throat.
As he pulls out the bottle, I go to the cabinet where I know I placed two wineglasses earlier today. Deciding it would be unfair to make him drink alone, I set them both on the counter as he uncorks the bottle and pours us each a glass in comfortable silence.
Normally, in situations like these, I feel pressured to make conversation. But honestly, I kind of hate small talk, so I’m relieved that the air between us isn’t thick with tension.
It’s actually kind of nice.
After handing me my glass, he gives me a crooked smirk as he holds up his and says, “Cheers.”
I tap mine against his before taking a sip.
His eyes are on my face as I take my drink, but not in a predatory sort of way. It’s more of a kind and curious way.
Dean seems so harmless. And I have experience with dangerous, cruel, selfish men.
Or should I sayman?
My high school boyfriend, who turned into my college boyfriend, Sean, was possessive and manipulative. And at the time, to my young, naive, lovestruck mind, that was the sincerest form of affection.
I thought he was possessive of me because he loved me so much. Wanted to control me because I meant so much to him.
His love was a cloak over my eyes, and it was eventually Caleb who helped me lift it.
Dean moves to the couch, and I follow. He takes one side, and I take the other.
For a while, we sip our wine in silence and watch an episode of the show, laughing at all of the appropriate moments. But then a commercial break comes, and I feel obligated to make conversation.
“So you work at Sage’s club?” I ask, instantly regretting the question after it comes out of my mouth.
He nearly chokes on his wine.
Coughing, he replies, “Um, yeah, I do.”
“You don’t have to elaborate,” I say, stuttering apologetically. “I was just making small talk.”
“No worries,” he says with a lazy smile. “It’s okay. I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to talk about it if you’re not ashamed or embarrassed to hear about it.”
“Of course not,” I reply quickly. “I like Sage. I think she’s great. I’ve never been to the club, but I’m sure it’s wonderful.”
God, I sound like a bumbling idiot.
“It is nice,” he replies plainly. “I didn’t see it before she got ownership and changed a few things, but I’m really impressed with how she runs it now.”
“That’s good,” I say. “She’s a smart girl.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“Have you…” My words trail. “…been in this business for long?”
“About two years.” Now it’s his turn to blush, and the color looks so nice on his tan cheeks.
