Page 44 of Legs

Still, I didn’t botch the decanting, and the Chardonnay tasting went smoothly. I swished the wines around my mouth, taking time to note the layers. Pineapple. Banana. Buttered toast. If I did as well as I thought, I’d be one step closer to the finals, winning the contest, and never seeing Jimmy again.

My stomach curdled, but I wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of securing the job or losing Jimmy that soured my insides.

As we waited for the last few contestants to finish, Bad Boy’s hands roamed freely, copping feels at random, like he was my boyfriend.

“Touch my thigh again,” I said, “and I’ll purple nurple you.”

“Touch your thigh like this?” He pressed his leg to mine, even that bit of contact echoing along my skin. “Or like this?” His fingers traced a path up my pants’ inner seam, stopping a millimeter short of his goal.

I slapped his hand away. “I told you. Save it for the bedroom.”

Or the bathroom. The floor. The couch. Any available surface.

After another triple-O (Olympic Oral Orgasm), we’d had sex twice last night—once against my wall, then with me sitting on my stove. I sent him packing afterward with a smile and a thanks, like he’d stopped by to fix a leaky faucet. It was a game. One he allowed me to play.

He’d caught me staring at him enough to know more than lust turned my eyes into swoony pools of mush. I was falling for him. I wanted to open up, eat ice cream with him and walk hand-in-hand. I wished I wasn’t so afraid of his past and my mother’s reaction to him. Wished my father were here to meet Jimmy and predict if he would hurt me or love me, like he had with Gabe.

But I was on my own.

“That puts a wrench in my plans,” he said.

“What plans?” A hint at something alluring, and I was putty in his hands.

“I bought some cheese and pâté and was planning a ride to Napa on Friday. Find a secluded spot to enjoy the day. Guess I’ll have to ask someone else.” He focused on April across the room, and I tried to burst her head with my mind.

She was blond, like his ex. She was curvy, too. Pink lips, sexy wrap dress, high heels. She was sweet, but often glanced at Jimmy, probably fantasizing about slumming it. I frowned, hating that I’d been doing the same. Using him.

But dammit, his jealousy plan worked. “If you ask someone else, I will pull out your piercings with my teeth.”

“Go with me, Ray.” His deep voice melted into honey. “Let me take you on a date. Tour the valley together. Have some fun. I make a killer picnic.”

He also made a killer sales pitch. The idea of lounging in the grass, wine sipped, the sun on our skin was too tempting to decline. “I will go, but I haven’t decided if it’s a date yet.”

He slid his hand back between my legs. “Anything I can do to convince you?” I was too turned on to reply, so he added, “In case you were wondering, I changed my name in your phone again.”

If my calculations were correct, he’d be listed as Twenty-seven. My mouth dried like I’d sucked a bushel of grape skins. “If you don’t move your hand, I’ll have to switch seats.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to move it away or move it…around. My ability to concentrate was nose-diving.

“Where will you sit? Next to the Schnozinator? Who, by the way, is killing it. If he keeps acing the exercises, you won’t be in the finals.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“What makes you think you’ll beat me?”

He released my thigh and raked his hand through his hair, the dark strands falling across his forehead. “I’m a Master Sommelier, Ray.”

Come a-fucking-gain? My jaw nearly hit the floor, any hope for winning the contest out the window. Becoming a Sommelier was a hard-earned title. Becoming a Master Sommelier was as likely as sprouting wings. People invested years studying viticulture, perfecting their palates, and considered passing akin to being knighted. Less than three hundred people in the world could list that credential on their résumé. And Jimmy was one of them?

The cool, damp air thickened in my throat, the wines lining the walls taunting me, telling me I was an imposter. Becoming a sommelier for three restaurants, without experience, was a joke. A recent article had said as much. It blasted the Adriano brothers for turning this contest into a circus. Consider me the acrobat swinging without a net. The Nose would for sure make it to the end and, apparently, so would Jimmy.

My landing wouldn’t be pretty.

“Hey.” Jimmy leaned in front of me and ran his hand along my back. “You okay?”

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Says who?”