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Transparent. Boring.
Tipping the glass back and finding it empty, she slid to the side of the tub and reached over the edge to grab the bottle and refill it. Her phone screen lit again. Probably a reminder that she had an unread text. Maybe even one encouraging her to renew an auto warranty she never had. Either way, she scrambled placing one knee onto the floor mat and lunged for it. Hunter called her earlier, but what if he called again? What if he lost his phone and called from another one? What if he needed her and she never answered him?
Repositioning herself, submerged in the hot, foamy heaven, she punched in her passcode and saw two text messages from the earlier unknown caller.
So, she opened the messages as any normal, curious woman would. They weren’t from Hunter.
They came from Gavin. It’s not as if she hadn’t thought about him since they parted ways earlier. She just hadn’t thought about the possibility she would ever hear from him again.
She didn’t know if she wanted to, either. Too many red flags. They met at Victoria’s Secret. He was hot. He was young. It all spelled a huge weird beyond belief coincidence.
The first message read as a cordial, generic text. The second implied the opposite.
He sent them fifteen minutes apart. The first, a ‘nice meeting you’ message. And he next said, “If by chance you aren’t otherwise engaged, I purchased a case of Sauvignon Blanc from a new vendor today. Come see me and give me your honest opinion.”
Had they talked about wine? Obviously, they had. She swore she remembered every single word they shared, but any discussion of wine escaped her memory. Then again, she forced herself to stop replaying their conversations in her mind soon after he left. A waste of time. She assumed it would be nothing but a waste of time.
After having three glasses already, should she consider going? Probably not. She shouldn’t drive. She shouldn’t—do anything fun and out of spontaneity. But be it liquid courage or absolute determination, she wouldn’t deny herself and fill the mold of the meek and passive companion any longer. She didn’t have to.
She could be whoever she wanted to be.
“Give me an hour and a half. I’ll happily come sample your wine,” she wrote.
Get out of the bath. Dry and dress herself. Call an uber. She was not a hypocrite. Practice what you preach. Never drive under the influence. And she would be hanging out at a bar. A very upscale bar. Having wine in the company of a dream dude.
