I slide one hand into her curls, giving her every opportunity to say no. To tell me she doesn’t want my mouth on hers. The other grips the counter with such force, I’m certain my knuckles are bloodless. I murmur, “Ask me to kiss you,uvetta mia.”
Her face lifts to mine, just like a tiny grape would lift towards the sun. Her breathless, “Please,” is so soft, I might not haveheard it if I hadn’t been desperate for it. Still, the second I do, my lips lower to hers.
I release the counter and lift her against me, molding her body against mine. Tugging her head back farther, I take us deeper. It’s incredible, one sip of her has me more intoxicated than bottles of the wines my family is famous for around the globe.
Her arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. Not acquiescing, but agreeing.
I’m not certain how long we spend lost in each other’s arms. I couldn’t care less about what else is going on around us. Grapes could be at this very moment being tortured by being inappropriately crushed or suffering severe wrath and I could care less. That is, until an obnoxious sound interrupts our bubble. It’s a persistent notification of Maya’s phone going off.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
I tear my lips from hers, huskily asking, “Do you need to get that?”
“I can’t imagine who…” Yanking her phone from her pocket, it takes less than a second before her eyes narrow to flinty slits. She glares at it, offended, as if she’s contemplating dropping the device directly into the bowl of dirty water she rinsed the lettuce in just a few moments ago. “No. It’s just my email going crazy. Let’s get back to what we were doing.”
Easily convinced, I hook an arm around her waist. “That can be arranged.” But just as I’m about to lower my lips back to hers, it starts up again.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Again, the noise ceases temporarily. Silence descends again. I’m about to ask if some picture of hers was recently published when Maya drives her fingers into her hair in frustration. “Why won’t he just leave me alone?”
A sick feeling hits me. I suspect I already know the answer, but I ask anyway, “Who?”
She inhales through her nose before she grinds her teeth and forces out, “Bryce.”
Well, crap.“What does he want?”
Her eyes clash with mine before she reveals, “Apparently…me.”
22
BIG HIT – CRUSHING TACKLE, OFTEN REPLAYED.
The second the words leave her lips, something fierce twists my gut.
Bryce is reaching out? Like he has a right? He held something precious within his grasp—more important than Wine of the Year or the Lombardi Trophy—and he didn’t have the damn sense to treasure it. I pace back and forth, but theshort, uneven movements don’t relieve the pressure crawling up my spine. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Maya glares at me. “What? That a man might regret throwing me over?”
“No! That he thinks he can use those damn ballet classes they made him take to be a better quarterback to twirl his way back into your good graces. What? Did he think he could whip out some old memories to make you nostalgic?”
“Troy—”
“Seriously! Does Mr. Cheat ‘Em and Leave ‘Em think you’ve been pining this whole time? Maybe he thinks if he gets a few of the players to serenade you, you’ll forget he debased you in front of the universe!”
Maya’s chin jerks up. “Are you seriously implying that I’m moronic enough to take back a piece of shit like Bryce Parry because I can’t delete all the crap mail he’s shitting in my inbox?”
The way she phrases it makes me want to choke on my own words, laugh aloud, and smack myself in the forehead. Unfortunately for me, I don’t heed any of those warnings. “Right now, it feels like you’re giving him more time than that worm deserves.”
Her fury sharpens. “No, Troy. That would be you doing that. I have more self-respect than to do something that idiotic. I thought you realized that as well.”
