The second flaw—and probably the biggest of the two—because who was he to judge a person and their life choices when it came to family, was that she had a touch of crazy. Callie knew how to hold a grudge, and when backed into a corner or pissed off, that woman came out swinging.
Callie reached out and traced her finger along his jaw. It was so quick, he barely had time to react. But fast enough to be unnoticeable. He glanced at Emery in time to see her pursed lips and rolling eyes.
Wonderful.
“You say that, and perhaps long haul could be tricky, but we always did have a good time between the sheets,” she said.
Christ. Sometimes he and his brother sure knew how to pick them. “You’re a nice girl. Go find yourself someone who hasthe same interests,” Devon said, leaning closer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She grabbed his forearm. A little too forcefully. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"To talk to someone who's had a rough day," Devon said.
Callie's eyes narrowed as she followed his gaze toward Emery at the end of the bar. "Always playing the hero. You know that's going to bite you in the ass one day."
"Not playing anything. Just being a decent human."
"Is that what you call it?" Her grip tightened and her perfectly manicured nails dug slightly into his skin. "You've got a soft spot for strays. Always have. But sometimes people's problems are their own making."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means maybe you should think twice before getting involved in drama that doesn't concern you. This valley's a small place. Reputations matter—yours, your family's, your winery's." She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Don't go making things complicated for yourself."
Devon pulled his arm free, irritation flashing through him. "I'll take that under advisement. Now, if you'll excuse me."
"Just remember, I warned you," Callie called after him, but he was already walking away.
Devon pushed that entire encounter out of his mind and approached slowly, sliding onto the barstool beside Emery. "Mind if I join you?"
She looked up. Her green eyes were glassy but still sharp enough to recognize him. “Why, Devon, did you get bored, or did Callie turn you down?”
“That’s not even a good joke.”
“I thought it was hilarious.” She fiddled with her glass. “What are you doing here?”
"Same thing you are, I'd guess. Wondering how the hell that auction house stays in business selling overpriced wine to people with more money than taste." He signaled the bartender for a whiskey. "Though, I'm guessing your evening went considerably worse than mine."
Emery let out a bitter laugh. "Understatement of the year." She took a sip of her drink.
Devon's beverage arrived, and he raised it slightly. "For what it's worth, I thought Pemberton’s performance was over the top."
"Performance." She said the word around like she was tasting it. "That's exactly what it was. Complete with dramatic pauses and everything." She studied him over her glass. “So, tell me, Devon Boone, Stone Bridge High's golden boy, you didn’t bid on a single bottle of wine. Nor did you have a conversation with Harold. That makes me think you went out of your way to see me. I thought we agreed that what happened was a one-time thing.”
"Research. Not to mention I’ve been known to lurk around these things before.” He grinned. "And I believe you have me mistaken me for my little brother when it comes to being the golden anything.”
“Didn’t you both date homecoming queens?”
“Only me. But she thought I was too busy working the harvest to give her the attention she deserved.” Devon took a draw of his whiskey, studying her profile. Even disheveled and drunk, Emery Tate was strikingly gorgeous, not to mention the most intelligent person in the room. She'd been that way in high school, too—the smart girl who sat in the back of AP classes and made teachers rethink their lesson plans.
“Everyone noticed Hilary Letchworth. Even I noticed her and big freaking boobies.” Emery waved her drink, her pinky sticking out slightly as a bit of the dark liquid sloshed over the rim.“And then there’s Callie Callaway.” Emery lowered a shoulder, and then her chin, as if that hid the fact that she was glaring at Callie. “Her breasts are way too big for her frame—although hers are fake—but I think you’d know a little something about that. I always thought she was too young for you.”
“I’m never going to live that one down.” He sighed. Callie was five years younger, so not a big stretch. However, when he first dated her, she was nineteen and he was twenty-four. His father had been furious. Probably less about the age, more about her last name. The relationship lasted all of four months. “At least I didn’t marry her like Bryson did with Monica.” But of course, Devon, being Devon, he’d done what he’d always done, and he and Callie had gone back for round two about a year ago. No one knew. At least, not while they were—whatever they were doing—because it wasn’t a relationship. It had lasted for six months, but they hadn’t been exclusive.
Only, Callie had gotten jealous. Really jealous. Threw him for a loop. He’d never expected her to go allFatal Attractionon him, but she’d come close.
She’d eventually calmed down, and now things were… normal-ish. For them.
“Yeah, that wasn’t the brightest move on your brother’s part.”
