by Brynne Asher
Crew’s been cool with me laying low since we got back. I haven’t worked with the men once, not even in the classroom. I’ve tried, but I can’t wrap my mind around what happened. Deep down, I know I slipped, lost my edge, and got careless. Something triggered in me, and I can’t shake it—I’ve tried. Doesn’t matter how I spin it, it all comes back to my head fucking with me, and even I know when that happens, it’s over.
At first, I ignored it. Later, I worked out harder than I ever have before, trying to face it head-on. It was all pointless.
It never would’ve bothered me had it not been for Gracie. I’ve never had one single regret about what I did all those years ago. I’d do it again—even enjoy it—if I had the opportunity.
But it started fucking with Gracie, and knowing I caused that, it messed with me, too. It fucked with my head and my sleep. If I sleep, I can’t get rid of the dreams. If I fall into a deep enough sleep, there he is, fucking with me, or worse, the girls.
He’s been gone fifteen years and still causing havoc. I hope he’s rotting in the depths of hell—it’s the only place he deserves to be.
Knowing I came close to getting Crew killed almost did me in again. He followed me to that hellhole to have my back, and because I’d lost my edge, he had to save my ass. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s told me we’re good since it happened, or that he thinks I saved Addy, and probably him, that day in her vineyard. He’s tried to convince me we’re even.
Still, it’s not a good feeling.
Finding focus after being beaten to a pulp and almost having my hand chopped off has been challenging. Retreating has been the easiest option.
Until yesterday.
There’s no denying Maya’s gorgeous—any warm-blooded man would agree. With nothing to do for weeks, I’ve become obsessed. At first I’d just watch her come and go, run, or, on the rare occasion when she wasn’t working and the weather wasn’t too cold, sit outside by herself as she stared off into the woods.
But when she laid her hands on my bare skin yesterday, something clicked. I found it—my focus that disappeared. Even though it’s different and foreign, it’s the only thing that’s felt right in a long time. I’m not back to where I was—not even close. But the second I looked down into Maya’s light blue eyes with her soft touch on my skin, I knew.
I look out the window to the little house on Addy’s land as Maya gets out of her car to hurry inside. I can’t remember a day when she hasn’t been rushing around, coming and going, or working at the winery.
Why the hell does a physical therapist work two part-time jobs—one as a waitress and the other at an assisted living center? We’re located near one of the biggest metropolitan areas in the country. She said she was waiting for a PT position to open up at the senior center, but it can’t be hard to find work in her field until then. Hell, there’re suburbs just fifteen minutes east of us.
It makes no sense, but it does make me curious.
I rub my forearm while flexing my fist, enjoying the feeling of not having that cast on for the first time in weeks. Sawing it off myself was an experience, and not as easy as cutting out my own stitches, but it’s done. No stitches, no cast, and I’ve decided I’m done with the sling.
Maya doesn’t make me wait long as I stand at the window. After locking her door from the outside, she jogs back to her car. Making a quick U-turn, she starts toward the tasting room instead of leaving the property.
I turn and grab my keys on the way out. I’m anxious but I don’t give a shit. If being near Maya feeds my obsession, I’ll take as much as I can get.
*****
Maya –
“Sorry again,” I call to Evan as I hurry out of the back room where I store my purse.
“Quit apologizing. You called to let me know you’d be late and I told you we’re slow today with no events. I plan on doing inventory in the cellar this afternoon unless things pick up. Are you good up here on your own?”
“I think so. I’ve practically memorized my cheat-sheet for tastings. I know how the wines are made and their pairings, but I’ll never be as good as you.” I grin at him, serious and teasing at the same time. How Evan knows as much as he does about wine at his young age baffles me. He told me he wants to become a certified Sommelier someday. Courses to do this are easily found in California, but not Virginia. He’s been working closely with Van, Addy’s winemaker, to learn his side of the business, explaining time and experience are key.
Since he’s twenty-four, I’d say he’s ahead of the game.
Evan grabs a file and his tablet. “Addy’s in her office. Call me if you get busy.”
I watch him disappear on his way to the cellar before going to the kitchen to check in with Maggie. I’ve decided it doesn’t matter how long I work here, conversing with Maggie will never be effortless. Today is no different. I jot down the specials and listen to her explain her attempts at seasonal baking so Addy doesn’t have to order fresh desserts from a local bakery. No one has come right out and said it, but from what I gather, baking isn’t Maggie’s strong suit.
I hightail it out of her kitchen, but hardly make it a step into the bar when I’m stopped in my tracks. I was barely away for a couple minutes, but in that short amount of time, he appeared out of nowhere. One second I think I’m by myself, prepared to enjoy a slow afternoon, and then, poof—he’s here, studying the wine list.
Without moving a muscle, his bright blue eyes look up from the leather-bound menu. Those eyes drop from my face, slowly traveling down my body before making their way back up, and when they do, he does the same thing he did for the first time ever when I stood on his porch. His lips scarcely tip on one side, making me wonder what he’s thinking.
I mean, I’m not stupid. I’m pretty sure I know what he’s thinking, but I haven’t had a man look at me like that in a really long time. No man had the opportunity, or if one did, he knew who I was, and knew better than to give me a second look. In fact, up until a year ago, I didn’t realize just how dangerous it would be for another man to glance my way, but now I do. I get it, and it makes me angry all over again.
But having Grady’s eyes on me is freeing. Not only are they eyes that I like and have lusted over for weeks, but after yesterday when I got to look into those eyes up-close, having them travel my body makes me tingle.
I can’t even think about having my hands on his bare skin. Touching his warm body and firm muscles was too much. I barely kept it together, it was all I could do to keep my breathing even. My heart racing along with the damn tingle didn’t help one bit.
I haven’t tingled for a really long time. Hell, I haven’t even wanted to tingle, and any self-induced tingling business never crossed my mind. I guess stress can do that—make one not care about the tingle anymore.
But Grady’s eyes and his beautiful lips barely tipping make me think solely about the tingle.
Damn. Now my panties are wet.
Holy shit, that hasn’t happened in … I don’t know … almost forever. Well, it did happen last night when I was touching Grady’s bare skin and rock-hard—even if a bit tight—muscles. But before then, it was absolutely almost forever.
“Maya,” Grady greets me as he tosses the menu to the counter and leans back in his bar stool.
I immediately notice his bare arm for the first time, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled low with no cast, showing off his veined forearms. I do my best to ignore his veins and my voice is hopeful when I ask, “You went to the doctor?”
He shakes his head casually. “Nope.”
“But…” I’m confused, at a loss for words, before stating the obvious. “Your cast is gone.”
“Yep.”
Without movi
ng, I keep on. “If you didn’t go to the doctor, how did you get it off?”
“I cut it off.”
My eyes go big. “Why would you do that?”
He slowly moves his arm up, proving his shoulder is stiff, and turns his forearm a few times, twisting his wrist. “Because it’s better. No reason to keep showering with a plastic bag on my arm. That was a pain in the ass.”
The thought of Grady showering, plastic bag or not, does not help my case of the tingles, so I put that out of my mind and slowly move to where he sits at the bar. I go with the easiest subject that comes to mind. “You should still have it x-rayed to make sure it set properly.”
“It set just fine.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
He leans forward with his good arm on the bar and softens his voice in a way I’ve never heard from him. “It’s fine, Maya.”
Because of his tone and the simple fact I’d look like a freak if I kept arguing, I stop and sigh, directing the conversation toward the only other thing we’ve ever talked about. “Do you want to hear the specials?”
The man sitting before me, who’s only been broody at the least and irritable at the most, leans back in his stool and carefully crosses his arms across his wide chest. Before I know it, a grin spreads across his face. “Are you going to torture me if I say no?”
I pull my lip between my teeth to keep from smiling. The man’s proclivity for food is relentless. “Maybe.”
His grin fades into a smirk and he jerks his chin. “Hit me.”
Without looking at my notepad, I say, “A kale, brussel sprout, and broccolini salad, with finely shredded carrots, red cabbage, minced red onion, dried cranberries with fresh parsley. It’s dressed and massaged with freshly squeezed lemon, garlic, and olive oil.” I watch his smirk disappear and he slowly starts to grimace, but I persevere. “Instead of a sandwich, Maggie’s created a lovely grilled tofu lettuce wrap with an almond dipping sauce.” His grimace turns to a scowl. “She’s also made a cabbage roll soup. Would you like me to describe it?”
“No,” he answers emphatically.
I smile. “Are you sure? The soup is packed with cabbage, offering all kinds of health benefits, from preventing colon cancer to healing ulcers to relieving muscle soreness. It would actually be really good for your shoulder.”
He frowns, appearing deeply disturbed by the food I just described. “Are you serious?”
I smile bigger and roll my eyes. “No, but that was fun. You’re really weird about food, you know.”
I don’t think he found any of that fun because he narrows his eyes on me, shaking his head.
“Although, the soup of the day really is cabbage roll, and cabbage is good for you. It even has meat—beef and pork. You should try it.”
His smirk reappears. “Maya, you’re a smartass.”
“Maybe,” I tip my head, “but you’re like a five-year-old who refuses to eat his vegetables.”
“I like what I like, but I promise you, I’m most definitely a man.”
I shake my head and take a breath, needing to stick with the topic of food rather than Grady being a man. “What can I get you?”
He ignores me and asks, “Why are you working as a waitress when you’re a physical therapist?”
Honestly, I’m really sick of lying. I’m relieved when I can mostly give him the truth. “I just moved here and don’t have my Virginia license yet.”
“Where did you move from?”
Trying to keep up with the conversation without pause and be as truthful as possible, I answer, “The northeast.”
“Northeast?”
“Yeah. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Where in the northeast?”
Not liking his bombardment of questions, I decide a distraction would be best. I reach to my left for a clean wine glass and place it in front of him. Grabbing two bottles in each hand out of the refrigerator below the bar, I ask, “How about a tasting?” I don’t wait for him to answer and pour a small amount of the Petit Manseng. “Addy grows these grapes here at Whitetail. Try it.”
He works his jaw as if he’s thinking before he picks up the glass and tosses back the contents. I was hopeful he’d give up, but he continues. “What brought you to Virginia?”
I quickly uncork the Viognier, giving him a healthy splash, and continue telling truths. “It can be cold in the northeast.”
He picks up his glass, but before taking a sip—or a gulp—asks, “It’s not cold here?”
“Fine. It’s colder there. Now drink,” I demand, ready with the next bottle. I’m glad Evan isn’t here. This is like the speed-round of wine tasting. He wouldn’t be happy seeing fine wine that should be savored being downed like cheap tequila.
Grady swallows it in one gulp. “True.”
His glass barely hits the bar when I start pouring and giving him the super-duper abridged tasting edition. “Chardonnay. Popular, crisp acidity, good with fish or white meats.”
He looks at me inquisitively when he keeps on. “Why haven’t you gotten your Virginia license? Since you’re working on my shoulder and all, I should probably make sure you’re legit.”
He picks up the Chardonnay and swallows, waiting on my answer. I continue to tell him the truth, even though the truth is getting fuzzier by the second. “I’m working on it.”
He continues to taste the special blend named The Delaney, a Riesling, and Cab, all the while he asks about my job at the Ranch, why I’m such a vegetable pusher, my favorite color, and what I like to eat on my pizza besides vegetables.
He tosses back the Merlot as I answer about the pizza. “Mushrooms.”
He’s had to have had at least three glasses of wine by now, I’ve had a pretty heavy hand as we’ve progressed. Not to mention, this is the fastest wine tasting I’ve ever done. I think I’ve only been semi-answering his questions for maybe five minutes.
He sets the glass down roughly. “A mushroom’s a vegetable.”
“No.” I pick up the last bottle, a blend of reds. “It’s not a plant, it’s fungi. Some would even classify it as a meat since they have similar vitamins.”
“Who would classify a mushroom as a meat?” he probes, picking up the red blend.
I shrug, watching him down the last tasting just as quickly as the previous eight. I’ve done this long enough to tell he didn’t enjoy the wine at all, but did it solely to talk to me. “You’re done. What do you think?”
He sits the glass down and leans into the bar. “I think you didn’t tell me shit about yourself other than your favorite color is celery, which again, is a fucking vegetable.”
“It’s also a color,” I refute.
“Maybe, but I hardly know anything about you, Maya.”
I lean down, putting my elbows to the bar to get close to him. I’m almost as close as I was yesterday when I was working on his shoulder, but now I’m face-to-face. I get to take in all of his features. His dark brown hair with glints of gold peeking through here and there, a strong jaw below his perfect lips, and those long, dark lashes, so long they frame his piercing blue eyes, much bluer than mine.
After I’ve taken a moment to appreciate his features, I lower my voice to almost a whisper. “Then tell me, Grady, how did you break your arm, dislocate your shoulder, and get that fresh scar on the side of your head?”
He doesn’t flinch or move a muscle, but those blue eyes flare just enough, I know he had to work for it.
It appears I’m not the only one holding truths close to the vest.
When he minutely gives his head two shakes, I lower my voice further and respon
d to his nonverbal answer. “Touché.”
He narrows his eyes as I stand quickly and turn for the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” he calls for me.
I look over my shoulder as I push the kitchen door open. “I’m ordering your lunch.”
“I didn’t tell you what I wanted.”
“Oh, I know what you want, Grady.”
With that, I leave him sitting at the bar shaking his head. Just because he’ll be getting cabbage roll soup, I’ll order him two desserts. They are a little on the smallish side, after all.
Chapter 6 – Here Come the Consequences
Grady –
“Did you do your exercises yesterday?”
“What’s your favorite food from a box?”
She drops my arm from where she was doing something called a pendulum stretch, and I can’t lie, her exercises don’t feel good.
“I’m serious,” she says.
She might say she’s serious, but her face shows me she’s a mix between pissed and suppressing a grin. There’s something about that look—I can’t get enough of it.
“I’m serious, too. There’s gotta be something you eat that isn’t organic or a fungus. In fact, I refuse to do any more of your torture-chamber demonic aerobics until you tell me.”
She puts her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a pair of tight black jeans with a shitload of rips up the front, and a pair of red Chucks. But unlike when I sat at the bar in the tasting room longer than necessary so I could ask her questions and watch her work, she’s got on a girly hoodie, so I can’t see the rest of her curves. But that’s okay, her face is close and her hands are on me—something I’ve been waiting for since she said she was coming back to torture me some more.
She sighs and shakes her head. “You’re the worst patient ever and I’ve had some doozies.”
