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Sweet torture is what he dishes out to me as a result, made of casual touches, brushes of skin on skin, and whispered words when no one’s watching. By the end of the first half of the tour, I’m so turned on I’d gladly skip the wine tasting and go straight back to the hotel. But, of course, we can’t.
The degustation room at least is air-conditioned; this way I won’t have to fan myself when Archie unleashes his next move. The décor is similar to what I imagine a European monastery would look like. The ceiling is a vault of stone. Three of the four walls are made of the same material, while the front one is glass. In its middle, a door—also glass—opens onto a square courtyard.
The only furniture in the room is a rectangular wooden table that takes up the entire length of the space, chairs, a wine refrigerator, and a cabinet for glasses.
On the table, fifteen stations, each equipped with four empty glasses, have already been prepared. I sigh in relief that the two groups are being kept separate for the tasting part of the tour too. So far I’ve managed to avoid all of my all ex-friends.
The thought has barely left my mind when my other problem resurfaces. Archie oh-so casually brushes behind me, hands on my shoulders, with an apparently innocent “Excuse me,” whispered into my ear.
At once, I feel like I’m pressed against the wall of his room again, with him turning me into a rag doll with no spine with his touch and kisses.
I grab a chair to sit down, hoping the wine will distract Archie long enough to end my torment.
Vain hope.
Archie immediately takes the seat next to me, pressing the side of his leg against mine.
And the torture starts anew.
Add wine into the mix, and by the time we’re back on the bus and pulling into the hotel’s parking lot, I unashamedly whisper in his ear, “Your room, fifteen minutes.”
He smiles, making a pretend-offended face. “I thought we weren’t doingthatduring the day.”
I throw him a look that could kill. “Order some food; we can eatafterward.”
As the bus stops, I wait for everyone to disembark and hopefully disperse before I exit myself. With a complicit nod, I shoo Archie away and follow him into the lobby two minutes later. Head low, eyes on the ground, I’m making a run for the elevators when my sister calls me.
I lift my gaze and search for her in the hall. She’s with Logan near the reception area. I walk to where they are, plastering a smile on my face that I hope doesn’t read: let’s make this quick, I want to go have sex with the best man.
“Hey, you,” my sister says. “I barely saw you all morning.”
I lift my wrist, showing the orange bracelet. “Different groups.”
“Did you enjoy the tour?”
I shift weight from one foot to the other. “Uh? Oh, yeah, great.”
“Which was your favorite?”
“My favorite what?”
My sister blinks. “Wine?”
“Uh…” I honestly can’t remember a single name or thing that was said about the vintages we tasted. So, I go with the only answer left to me, since we tried three reds and a white. “The white one, so refreshing.”
Winter frowns. “Really?” She knows I prefer reds.
“Well, yes, for morning drinking on an empty stomach.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Sweat pools underneath my armpits. Gosh, what’s with the third degree? “Yeah, yeah, just a little lightheaded. You know what? I’m going to go take a nap; also need to pee really bad after drinking all that wine. See you later.”
And before Winter can rope me into having lunch together or something, I turn on my heel and flee to the elevators.
I freshen up in my room and then move one floor up to Archie’s.
