The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1)

by Kathryn Andrews

  Letting out a sigh, I rub my arms and then reach over to the snack plate, grab a cracker, and dip it into a pimento cheese dip. I don’t think snacks were originally a part of today’s schedule, but Michelle did a great job throwing together a few tasty things and an antipasto appetizer board. All of it’s delicious, and as I savor the classic Southern dip, I appreciate that she hand-grated the cheese. I wonder what this would taste like as a grilled cheese, and then I frown. I shouldn’t be thinking about food; I should be thinking about how awesome this feature article is going to be. Instead, I’m bored, ignored, and feeling very out of place, just like the Feeding America benefit. God, what an awful experience that was. I never should have agreed to be set up with him . . .

  “Oh my gosh, Shelby. You are going to love him, I know it.” Lexi had squealed as she reached over and squeezed my arm. “He’s tall, good-looking, ambitious, and one of the nicest and most genuine guys I’ve ever met. And trust me, having a twin brother who played football and is in the military, I’ve met a lot of guys.” She rocked up on her toes, grinning at me as excitement poured off of her.

  My stomach had tightened with expectancy, and I had known I’d been caught up in her exuberant emotions of introducing us as well as my own of meeting someone for the first time.

  “If he’s so great, why isn’t he your date?” I asked as I turned to face her.

  Her smile slipped a little and her shoulders slumped before she shrugged them, shaking off whatever thought saddened her. In all the time I had known Lexi, she had never dated anyone, and for the first time—especially after seeing her respond that way—I wondered why.

  “I guess he could be, but only as a friend. It isn’t like that between us, it never was. Besides, you two are perfect for each other.” I didn’t push for a better explanation as we stood there watching the door and chatting with people who passed. I had no idea what the guy looked like, but I still hoped that I would somehow know him when I saw him.

  Sure, both Lexi and Meg had encouraged me to look him up online first, but I didn’t want to be influenced or intimidated more than I already was. So, I waited and waited. He should have already been there, but Lexi hadn’t spotted him, either. With each minute that passed, I became increasingly nervous. It’s one thing to go on a blind date set up by a friend, it’s another to go on one set up by a best friend.

  “There.” Lexi finally pointed over toward the bar where he was waiting in line. My eyes followed hers and my heart sputtered a bit. “You can’t miss him: tall, blond hair, and a scowl.” She giggled, dropping her hand to her side. “He actually looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.”

  “I see him.” And I did. Every bit of him. Lexi hadn’t been kidding, he was incredibly handsome, but he also looked incredibly annoyed. He had one hand deep in his pocket and the other ran over his face and around to the back of his neck. Everyone around him seemed to sense his mood and were all standing a half step away from him, as if they agreed to give him some breathing room.

  He moved forward in the line, placed his order, and dropped a few bills in the tip jar. Turning in our direction, he stepped out of the way and took a sip of his drink. Holy moly. He was nice to look at from the side view, but straight on, this guy was gorgeous. Trendy styled hair, strong jaw, broad shoulders, solid arms and legs, and an overall air to him that screamed confidence.

  Lexi let out a little squeal next to me. “This is going to be so great, I know it,” she said, barely louder than a whisper.

  Taking another sip of his drink, his eyes lifted and landed right on Lexi. She grinned at him and waved him over, but he didn’t return the smile. Instead, his chest deflated as if he’d let out a deep sigh and he hesitantly moved across the room toward us. His eyes found mine, and my heart plummeted into my stomach. Not because of the anticipation to meet him, but because of the way his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. The way he was looking at me made me want to shrink back as if I’d done something wrong.

  When he gave me a once over, the energy pouring off him felt tangible, almost as if it were pushing me, which was confusing. I glanced at Lexi. She too had calmed her excitement over our introduction and was looking at him questioningly. Lexi’s eyes flickered to mine and widened slightly.

  Sucking up my nerves, I held my hand out to greet him. “Hi, I’m Shelby.” My voice wavered, cluing him in to my nervousness and his eyes narrowed before they dropped to my outstretched hand. Then he actually had the gall to take a step away from me as if I’d offended him.

  Lexi squeaked a little next to me in shock at his reaction. My hand lingered in the air and then slowly lowered. The heat already in my cheeks flared to full effect, and I glanced at the ground, humiliated.

  “I know,” he said with a condescending tone that was rich with a Southern drawl. My eyes flipped back to him as someone near us took a photo and the flash lit up his very blue eyes. He blinked and long thick lashes swept down.

  For two weeks, I’d been looking forward to that night. I had gone out, bought a new dress and had gotten my hair and nails done. Deep down, I had truly believed that night would be the beginning of something new and great. I guess I had thought that if he were such a good friend of Lexi’s, he would become a friend of mine, too. Maybe even more. Apparently, I had thought wrong.

  “Zach?” Lexi threw him an irritated what’s-wrong-with-you look.

  “What? You said you were going to introduce me to a Shelby tonight.” He had looked at me, looked back at her, shrugged, and then walked away.

  “So, you two already know each other?” Kelly asks, breaking me from my train of thought. We’re standing around an old wine barrel that had been repurposed as a tasting table. She’s practically leaning on Zach, and I have to give it to him, he looks uncomfortable, but he’s being polite. Then again, I guess he can’t actually be the rude prick that he is to a reporter.

  “No,” I respond at the same time Zach says, “Yes.” His eyes lock on to mine, and my world tints blue from the color. It’s unfortunate that such a pretty color is wasted on someone like him.

  “We met once,” I say acrimoniously. A flash from off to my right forces me to blink. I suppose it looks like the three of us are conversing nicely, but nothing would please me more than to take one of these bottles and shove it up his ass.

  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I learned a lot about you that night.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table.

  “I highly doubt that. I seem to remember your focus being somewhere completely different.”

  After our initial introduction, he left Lexi and me to head to the bar. Then he spent the next hour walking around the room saying hello to people he already knew and going out of his way to meet new people—or should I say new women.

  Occasionally, he checked back in with us, bringing over whomever he was charming at that moment, and he always introduced me as his date. The looks that would flash my way were a mixture of pity and jealousy. It was humiliating, and poor Lexi apologized profusely.

  I didn’t need a date to go to the Feeding America event. I attend functions all the time by myself. In the food industry, it’s important for me to keep my name and face recognizable, and I never know who I might meet or run into, but I was led to believe that I was going to be on one, and that changed the entire dynamic of the evening. Any other time, I would have walked off and said forget it, but for some reason, this rejection stung.

  “Ah, was the little chef from Charleston jealous?” Zach smirks at me, his eyes dripping with contempt.

  “Jealous? No. Your reputation precedes you. You are a known womanizer. That night was supposed to be a fun night out and nothing more. I would never get involved with someone like you, nor would I ever have emotions like jealousy attached to you.”

  The truth is, I know nothing about his reputation. I did go home and look him up after the event, and other than the bad review on the wines, I didn’t see anything negative about him. Sure there were photos of
him with girls, but most looked like candid fan shots rather than posed event shots.

  “I’m not a womanizer.” His eyes dart over to Kelly before flipping back to mine. He hates that I’m speaking ill of him in front of her. People from the media are notorious for spinning off the cuff comments badly all the time, especially in the business setting where appearances mean everything. He pins me with a severe look, but all that does is challenge me.

  “Oh really, what is it that women call you? Oh yeah . . . ten. I can only imagine how you got that name.” I roll my eyes with sarcasm. Along with the candid shots I saw of him, there were several with homemade signs all calling him ten, saying he ranks a ten in their book, stating they only need ten minutes, asking if he’s ten inches, et cetera. Yes, I understand that was his jersey number from when he played in Tampa, but still, it had to have gotten started somewhere.

  His jaw locks, his neck turns red, and his hands tighten around the wine glass he’s holding. Clearly, he doesn’t like the nickname as he went from teasing me to pissed in two seconds flat.

  A laugh escapes me. “Well, would you look at that? Someone doesn’t like hearing the truth. Bless. Your. Heart.” My words drip with disdain, but I plaster on the sweetest smile I can.

  Zach abandons his wine glass, stands straight, pushes away from the table, and walks straight at me. I back away from him. It separates us from the others, but I still feel a hush fall over the room. All eyes have turned to watch him approach me. Every true Southerner knows the expression “bless your heart” can be meant in one of two ways: the nice heartfelt endearing way or the publicly acceptable go fuck yourself way.

  “You are such a bi—”

  “All right, everyone!” Kyle claps his hands to gain the group’s attention, and Zach stops directly in front of me, barely acknowledging him. “I think we’re done here for today.” Kyle affixes Zach and me with a harsh look, which we both ignore since we’re too focused on each other.

  There is animosity between us, and although I’m certain we alluded to it here and there over the last few hours, Zach is seething and making his feelings about me known.

  “Thank you, everybody,” I say to no one and everyone at the same time, thrilled that the photoshoot is over. Once the people leave, so can I.

  One-by-one, they begin to file out of the cellar. Zach says nothing, does nothing, he just stares me down, and I refuse to look away.

  “Zach, are you coming?” Kelly asks. I’ll never understand some girls. Other than the first five minutes of the interview, he’s given zero reasons for her to think he’s into her, and yet, she’s still vying for his attention.

  “In a few.” His answer is short, and his impatience for privacy is evident. He wants everyone gone, and very quickly, they all disappear, leaving the two of us. I don’t budge and neither does he.

  Raising my chin, I match the inimical energy surrounding him. I’ve dealt with guys worse than him before, and I’m certain he won’t be the last. I’m not easy to push over, and the sooner he realizes this, the better.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I know some would say it’s a defensive move, but really, it’s more out of intolerance. “Why don’t you tell me what your problem is. Maybe then you can take the hostility down a notch.”

  His eyes narrow at me. “The only problem I have is you,” he says, taking a step closer and invading my personal space. “You here at my home.” He takes another step, and my arms drop. “You drinking my wine.” Another step. “You breathing my air.”

  He’s standing so close I have to tilt my head to look at him, the depth of his voice resonates across my skin, and a tremor runs through me.

  “You are such a dick,” I snarl up at him, but it just makes him sway closer to me. I can see a storm brewing in his eyes as the blue shifts between irritation and distaste for me, but all are overpowered by something else. Something else that’s pulling us together like magnets.

  A hand lands on my hip. The warmth from it burns through my dress, and slowly, he pushes me back against the custom built-in shelving that houses thousands of bottles of his wine. Individual bottle heads push into my back, they’re cool and although the temperature of them slowly seeps through the fabric of my dress, the heat from him standing so close sets me on fire.

  “Funny,” he pauses and tilts his head to the side, “I’ve never had anyone complain about my dick before.” His voice is rough and deeper than normal.

  A sharp intake of air chills my lungs, and I shiver again. His eyes drop to my mouth and stay there. They’ve darkened even more, and his chest begins to lift and fall a little faster.

  “You can’t speak to me like that.” My words are breathy, giving away how affected by him I am, which I hate. I hate him. He’s rude, arrogant, and mean.

  “I just did.” He licks his lips and sets his free hand next to my head, leaving only inches between us.

  “Fine. Really doesn’t surprise me. I’ve known from the first moment I met you that you were an asshole, didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” I grit through my teeth.

  He smirks. “Keep running your mouth, and I’ll show you how big of an asshole I can be.” His breath hits my face. It’s warm and smells like the delicious wines we used for the photographs. My mouth waters. Why does he have to be so incredibly attractive?

  “Funny, I’ve never had anyone complain about my mouth before,” I counter. An instant blush bursts and heats against my skin.

  Oh, God. Did I say that aloud?

  His eyes widen and his forearm drops next to me, bringing us so close that when he breathes his chest rises and falls pressing into mine. I’ve never hated or wanted anything more. My brain is screaming at me to push him away, but my traitorous body wants to climb into his and stay there indefinitely.

  With both hands, I grab on to my skirt. There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. As tempting as he is to reach out to, I can’t have any slip-ups. There needs to be no misunderstanding about how I feel about him . . . and that I hate him.

  His eyes scan my face and find their way back to my mouth. Silence falls between us, and my tongue slips out and wets my bottom lip. He watches the tiny movement, gauging my reaction as he slowly leans forward until his lips are a breath away from mine. Everything about this moment feels forbidden but so damn hot.

  His fingers on my hip tighten and then flex. His hand slides around to my lower back and he pulls me into him, connecting us now from chest to thigh. Every hard plane of him pushes into me, every single one, but I’ll be damned if I let him know how much I like his body next to mine. I stiffen under his touch to show a bit of defiance instead of melting into him like I so desperately want to do.

  Looking up at his ridiculously handsome face, I whisper, “What are you doing?”

  His eyes narrow, his lips pinch together, and he sucks in a breath of air through his nose. My heart is beating so hard in my chest, I’m certain he can feel my body vibrating against his.

  He swallows and then lets out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, pushing off the wine rack and taking a step backward. His arms drop to his side, and I shiver but refuse to acknowledge that I miss his body heat.

  Seconds tick by as the turmoil in his eyes clears only to be replaced by the complete loathing he’s carried around with him since I arrived. His hands clench, and his gaze drags over me one more time. If there were a photo to define the word repulsed, his face would be it, and this makes me angrier than I have ever been in my whole life.

  Who does he think he is?

  He’s certainly no one to me. So, why is he trying to make me feel like the dirt on the bottom of his shoe? I’ll never understand.

  It’s then that he notices that I have my hands clenched into fists and am grasping my skirt so hard my fingers ache. As if sensing that I’d like to take one of these fists and ram it into his stomach, he takes another step back.

  “You know how to find your way out.” His voice is coarse, and
he gives me one last glare before he turns and stalks out. The only sound being his shoes as they strike the floor and echo off the stone walls. It takes me a few minutes to relax after he leaves, but eventually, I let go of the fabric and wrap my arms around my middle.

  What the hell just happened?

  Pimento Cheese Dip

  Seriously, what is happening to me?

  Football, wine, and women. Those are what I’m best at. Yet, with her, I feel completely out of my element, and that’s so wrong. She’s the one who’s the critic, and she’s the one who needs to worry about her deceitful character being exposed to the unaware unsuspecting followers of her blog. So, why am I the one who’s so flustered? I feel like I’m wandering into an unprotected area, and I’m about to be blindsided.

  Slipping through the employee access hallway, I head straight for my office. Slamming the door, I turn and drop my forehead to the cool wood before my eyes drift shut and I force air into my lungs. There’s no way I can be social right now. I know the camera crew and a few others are lingering in the tasting room, but I need to escape from them, escape from all of it, escape from her.

  What is it about this girl that makes me utterly insane? I’ve been around plenty of women I don’t particularly care for. I’ve never had a problem controlling myself. She’s smart-mouthed, which only draws attention to her full, inviting lips. She has this all-knowing look in her eyes, which makes it clear she’s into me and drives me insane, and she carries herself as if she’s better than everyone here. It’s unnerving and makes me feel crazed. It has to be because of the magazine assignment and what she does. I’ve been so restless over the potential outcome of the article and what it can do for the winery’s sales that I can’t think of anything else. And now, with her here, her lack of enthusiasm about our winery in her article could potentially be the difference between a small jump in revenue and a large one.