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I sucked my lips in an attempt not to laugh. It was getting harder to hate her. To keep being angry to drive the Mr Nice Guy Revenge Plan (trademark pending).
Especially tonight since the alcohol had removed any of her inhibitions. She no longer looked worried; she was beaming, laughing and having a good time. And I’d make sure she did safely with Pete, my nowex-best friend, backing me up.
Rosie loomed right up in front of my face and grinned. “Well, do ya?”
The answer was simply yes. Because I’d tasted her once. And she’d tasted amazing.
My dick twitched at the memory of her writhing on my face, screaming my name, grabbing my hair.
And right then, I knew if Rosie offered me the opportunity to get between her thighs and make her come on my tongue, I’d do it.
“Come on then, Tom,” she taunted, much to the crowd’s delight. “Kiss me. We’re both single now.”
“I’m not going to kiss you,” I huffed.
My dick, however, thickened.
She leant in with puckered lips, making wet, smacking sounds.
“You’ve been here for an hour, tops.” I sighed. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not as much as I want to,” Rosie muttered before addressing the small group. “Richard texted me and said I wasn’t good in bed. And that’s why he slept with other women. What a jerk! I had to do all the work when we did have sex.”
He what?
Some creep held up his beer glass. “More than happy to give you a second opinion on that.”
The guys laughed, and Rosie clinked glasses with him. “Oh yeah?”
It was Doug. I narrowed my eyes, gripping my beer. Pete raised an eyebrow and gave me a look. She wasn’t mine to defend or protect. Looking at this crowd, no one was. But I would make sure she was safe as a … neighbour.
“When did he text you that message?” I pushed a bottle of water across the table which she ignored, grabbing my light beer instead.
“Tonight.” She gulped another mouthful of my beer. “When I got here.”
“After you’d had that interesting family meeting?”
“How did—?”
“Ran into Gianni at the vineyard. Then spoke to your folks. Anthea said you came here.”
“I can run the vineyard, you know.” Rosie hiccoughed. “Damn good at it.”
“I know.”
We might not like each other, but she was right, and I was glad I’d challenged her father about it. Rosie had the vision, knowledge, and skill to lead Zanetti Winery into the future, with support from her sisters and their staff. Her father was more than just stubborn; he was sexist and blind and probably a little scared about retiring.
But what Rosie needed right now was a friend to get her to bed—to sleep—and to hydrate and take some painkillers.
I leant in, whispering, “You’re wasted. I’m going to take you home.”
“Nooooooooo!” Rosie wailed. “I want to kiss every boy here because I am single now.” She jerked back, pointing at me. “Wait, did you jush shay you gonna take me home?”
God, she was slurring her words now.
“Yes, I’m taking you home. You’ve had enough.”
“I’m going to the bathroom first.”
