When We Met

“Indy, I’m leaving. Do you want me to lock the front door?” Courtney called down the hall.

“No, Kier is on his way over.”

“Okay, see you later.” Courtney closed the door, shrugging into a short jacket that stopped at her waist just above her amazing ass. Tonight was going to be like a medieval torture exercise on my body.

“So, that was one of my roommates,” Courtney commented as I took her elbow to guide her down the icy sidewalk. It was a move Mom had instilled in me when I was ten. Always open the door for a lady, and let her go first. I was unprepared for how I felt touching her. There were at least two layers of clothing separating skin-on-skin contact, but I could still sense the warmth of her arm.

Courtney looked down at my hand. “Are you afraid I don’t know how to walk?” she asked, although she didn’t pull away.

“My mom always taught me it was polite to escort a lady over treacherous terrain.”

“And you think this is treacherous terrain?” She patted the rust bucket of a car when we passed it.

“Sure. It’s icy and the sidewalk slants slightly. Besides, it gives me a chance to hold on to you so you can’t bolt,” I stated, opening the car door for her. “So, is that your car?” I asked skeptically, climbing behind the wheel of my car.

“Yeah, that’s Lucy.” She turned to glare at me, clearly challenging me to say something derogatory.

“Lucy?” I asked playfully, sidestepping the fact that it was a complete piece of junk.

“Yeah, Lucy. Are guys the only ones allowed to name their vehicles?”

“Well, no. It’s just, Lucy doesn’t quite seem appropriate for that car.”

“Maybe not to you. There’s nothing wrong with Lucy. Sure, she’s not as pretty or fancy as some cars, but she’s reliable, and I don’t have to worry about any dings or scratches.”

“Damn, extract the claws from my ass. I wasn’t criticizing.”

“Right. Everyone picks on poor Lucy. So, where are you taking me?”

“Twelve Acres Vineyards.”

“Nice. That’s not too far away.”

“Have you been? Wait—do you even like wine? I guess that information would have been vital for me to check on before I made our reservation.”

She started laughing at my question.

I couldn’t help smiling with her. She had a great laugh. “What’s so fu

“You asking me if I like wine. My roommates would bust a gut. They call me a wine snob since that’s usually the only alcoholic beverage I drink. Well, besides an occasional shot.”

“Really? What about beer?”

“Yuck, I hate beer. The taste and smell make me want to gag.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you know you work in a sports bar, right? Beer is kind of a staple item at a place like Gruby’s.”

“I’ve learned to block it out. It’s not like I’m sticking my nose in everyone’s glasses.”

I chuckled at her explanation. It was sound reasoning.

“What about you? You don’t exactly look like a sommelier.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I am quite gifted at wine tasting and pairing.” I gri

“Okay, I’ll admit I’m a little surprised. Even I hadn’t ever heard of pairing when it comes to wine. So, where did you get your knowledge?”

“My parents took me on a tour of wine country in California when I was fourteen. It was supposed to coincide with an important basketball camp, but I broke my hand and couldn’t go. I remember my dad was pissed because most of the best players my age were going to be there. He wanted to cancel, but the trip was already booked, so they dragged me along while I pouted the entire time. I complained bitterly, wondering why we couldn’t go to a theme park instead since we were going to be in California. After a few days, I discovered wine country wasn’t all that bad.”

“What was her name?” Courtney asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What was the girl’s name who still makes you grin like a goof? No boy would have fond memories of wine country over theme parks if a girl wasn’t involved. Spill it.”

“Touché. Her name was Honey.”

Courtney snorted loudly. “Sorry, did you say Honey? Why am I not surprised?”

“You like busting my balls, don’t you?”

She smirked. “You’re an easy target. I’m sorry for interrupting. Please tell me about Honey.”

“Anyway, I met Honey at a bed-and-breakfast we were staying at for a couple days. Her parents owned it. You’ll love this part. She lived up to her name. Her skin was the color of honey, and she wasn’t afraid to flaunt it. Being a young lad of fourteen, I definitely appreciated the short shorts she traipsed around the vineyard wearing. They left little to the imagination and within hours of meeting her, I came up with any excuse I could to trail around after her.

“She was sixteen, and I guess you could say way more experienced than any other girls I knew. Because I was tall for my age, she assumed I was older. Being the bright boy I was, I didn’t bother to correct her. On our second day at her parents’ vineyard, Honey pulled me into one of the dim barns, away from prying eyes. We were just about to round second base when my dad busted us.

“He had no qualms about throwing me under the humiliation bus by totally blurting out my age, and that I was way too young to be fooling around in some barn. Honey was horrified that she almost got felt up by a fourteen-year-old, and stalked off after informing me I was nothing but a boy. Dad thought the situation was fu

Courtney had started laughing halfway through my story, and was now wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Oh my God, that’s hilarious. The great Dalton Thompson strikes out thanks to his daddy. Now, tell me. What is your idea of second base?”

“You don’t know what second base is?” I shook my head in mock disbelief.

“I know what I think second base is. I want to hear what your idea is.”

“Second base is tongue action and northern touches.”

“Northern touches?”

“Yeah, you know, copping a boob feel.” I felt my cheeks flushing slightly. Who would ever have thought I’d be embarrassed over talking about feeling a girl up? In my defense, it wasn’t normally a subject that came up with girls.

“You poor thing. So Daddy busted you before you could actually cup anything?” She smirked, obviously finding humor at my expense.

“The sad thing is I was right on the verge. The tips of my fingers had just grazed the lace of her bra when he walked in. It’s not fu

“I was perfect and escaped any embarrassing moments unscathed.”

I could tell she was full of it by the way her mouth twitched. “I don’t believe you. Spill it. I told you mine. Now you tell me yours. Sharing is caring.”

“Oh boy. It’s getting deep in here. Did you just say sharing is caring?”

“I did. I can own it. Now stop stalling.”

chapter nine

Courtney

Dalton found my embarrassing tale of how I’d once flashed a lifeguard at a water park one summer very amusing. At least my story killed the rest of the time it took to get to our destination. I recounted how, unbeknownst to me, my chest had been on display for the world to see. I’d just gone down one of those twisty water slides when I splashed hard into the pool of water at the end. Standing at the bottom of the slide, I’d been too busy trying to get the water out of my face while making sure my hair wasn’t a total wreck to worry about the cool breeze on my chest.