Page 85 of Long Shot

18

CADE

I tap my champagne flute against Reese’s and share a smile with her.

We’re sitting in my living room later that night, with several bottles of champagne. We decided to celebrate away from the bar, so Beck and Hayden and Carrie and Marco came over here.

Yeah, the others know we’re together. This isn’t the first time the six of us have gotten together. Reese was mostly right—Hayden and Carrie have enthusiastically welcomed Reese into their friendship, but they haven’t gone overboard in thinking I’m about to propose marriage to her. At least, they haven’t said anything when I’ve been around. And Beck and Marco have slowly accepted what’s happening, because Reese and I have kept our word that whatever is between us personally won’t interfere with work.

Well . . . we try. Sure, we have disagreements. She wants to spend outrageous amounts of money on seafood and goddamn “fleur de sel” instead of regular salt, and to buy food from more expensive places. We both like getting our own way and being in control. But dammit if her confidence and smarts didn’t win me over (and turn me on, truth be told). We can butt heads all the time and it’ll just make me hornier for her.

But when we sit down and talk about things rationally and when I ask her to make a business case for spending more money on things . . . she does. And we both see where it’s the right thing to do and where it doesn’t make sense.

Seeing someone who mirrors my own decisiveness and determination is frustrating but also exhilarating. She challenges me and provokes me . . . and I love it. I enjoy those animated discussions—some might call arguments—but we both listen to each other and yield gracefully when it makes sense. I admire that.

And I really am grateful to her for what she’s done for Conquistadors. I appreciate how she doesn’t take all the credit for it, even though it’s true that if it weren’t for her, we’d either be still struggling with Sid and his attempts to improve the menu or we would have fired him and had to search for someone else.

We never would have found someone as good as Reese.

I watch her laugh at something Beck says, her smile brilliant and beautiful. And it strikes me that she’s changed lately. Despite taking on more responsibility, she’s more relaxed and happier. She loves what she does and everyone there loves her.

My gaze lands on the chalkboard on the wall where Reese has written “Soup of the day—tequila”, and I smile.

Christ. I’m getting in deep with her. All these feelings . . . this isn’t like me.

“It’s true,” Reese says. “Tequila won’t save your life. But it’s worth a fucking shot.”

Everyone laughs.

“I like you.” Beck lifts his champagne glass. “You fit in here. Cheers.”

Reese’s smile glows.

She makes me laugh. She makes me proud. She makes me horny.

I suck in a breath, suddenly uneasy. Check that—I’m fucking terrified.

I gulp down the fizzy wine in my glass, the bubbles stinging my nose. “Pass that bottle,” I say to Beck.

“Sure.” Beck picks up the open bottle of Veuve Clicquot and hands it over. I fill my glass, this time a little sloppily, champagne fizzing over the rim. Ah, well. “Anyone else?”

“Sure.” Reese holds out her glass. “Maybe I should do it, though. There’s an art to pouring champagne.”

I catch the teasing glint in her eye and shake my head. I fill her glass, too, this time carefully pouring the champagne down the side of the glass, then hand it back.

“Champagne makes me frisky,” Carrie says.

“Pour her another one, too,” Marco says.

We all laugh. Carrie holds out her glass with a grin. “That’s not scientific, is it, Hayden? You’re the one who knows about aphrodisiacs.”

Hayden perks up. “Well, as a matter of fact, there is some evidence that champagne is an aphrodisiac. Because of the bubbles, it hits your bloodstream faster than still wine. It’s effervescent . . . fizzy . . . it makes you giddy. But the main reason is that the scent of dry sparkling wines replicates the aroma of female pheromones.”

We all stare at Hayden.

“Pheromones are very important when it comes to sexual attraction,” she adds. “It’s a sort of unconscious form of communication. There’s a pair of nerves that run from the nose to the brain in front of cranial nerve one, the olfactory nerve . . .” Her voice trails off. “Um . . . too scientific?”

“Yeah, maybe a bit, sweetheart.” Beck rubs his wife’s shoulder. “I like the way you smell, though.”

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