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“I couldn’t agree more.” I popped open a bottle of a red and poured us each a glass while I rambled on. Why was I so nervous? “I have to say though, keep your expectations low. And when I say Italian, I mean spaghetti noodles from a box and a jar of sauce.”
“My kind of party.” She took a swig of wine and her face lit up. “This is amazing!”
I shrugged. “I think it was a gift for my mom from a winery around here or something. Grabbed it from the house.”
“Do you go home much?”
“Not if I can help it. But yeah, fairly often. Empty nester syndrome is coming down hard for my mom I guess. My older brother is out doing his own thing and Mom’s really clung to me, given up on Jude and all that.”
She nodded slowly, taking another sip of wine. “Does that bother you? Jude being gone, and you left with all the son duties?”
“Some days I envy him. Some days I just wish my big brother was back here to help shoulder the burden of our mother’s giant personality.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”
And that’s how most of the evening went. We ended up opening another bottle and polishing it off too. The conversation flowed easily, and that was how we got into this little game called “No disclaimers.”
She sat on the couch, legs crisscrossed, facing me. “It’s where you ask a question and the other person answers, but there are no disclaimers, reasons, or justifications. Just the answer.”
“Seems easy enough.” I laughed, turning down the long-forgotten movie we had started. Her face was flushed slightly from the wine. I’m sure I didn’t look much better.
“But,” she said, holding one finger up. “There is a caveat. We each have three chances to pass on a question if we don’t want to answer it.”
“Fair enough. Favorite animal?”
“Dog. Can you drive me home tonight?”
I snorted, looking at the two empty bottles on the coffee table. “Nope.”
She laughed, drinking more wine. She was stunning, her hair wavy around her face and I guessed she was about three minutes away from getting annoyed with it and throwing it into a bun.Okay, three seconds, apparently.
“Are you drunk?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Medium.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No disclaimers.” She took great delight in winking at me.
“You’re making up the rules.” God, I loved how my hand felt on her thigh. Even through her jeans, I could feel the heat of her skin and I wanted to touch her.
“Are you drunk?” she asked.
“Medium.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, ever gone skinny dipping?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Oh, there was that blush, that glorious shade of red I’d never tire of. She rushed on with another question. “Have you ever cheated on a test?”
“Nope,” I said with confidence. Because it was true. “Do you own a dress? Because I am still waiting for that private performance.”
She pursed her lips but nodded. “Yes. Okay, will you ever draw me?”
“No.” I said it so fast that it surprised both of us. “Only because—”
“No. No disclaimers.”
I wanted to tell her it was because I’d never be able to do her justice. “Have you ever dated anyone before?” I asked, changing topics.
“Yes, not seriously thou—”
