Page 57 of Gone With the Wine

Miles laughs. “King snakes are harmless.”

“No.”

“Yes, they are. Nonvenomous.”

“Do they have teeth? Yes? Then they can still bite.”

He laughs again. “Okay, yeah.”

Now I’m busy watching the path for snakes as I run.

We run alongside Oak Creek for a bit. Boulders line the edge of the creek and water burbles as it flows over and around them. Sunlight glints silver on the water where it filters through tree branches. This is the only shady point of the route and it’s noticeably cooler here, although the sun isn’t yet high in the sky.

I tell Miles that Bianca is going to help me with the harvest, with the things we need a winemaker for, and our deal that I’ll let her use my lab for things she needs to do at Caparelli.

“Sounds like win-win,” he says.

“Yeah.” With the extra win that I’ll get to see her again.

“Are you looking for a full-time winemaker?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t had much interest. Maybe after harvest there’ll be more people looking for new jobs. Or maybe nobody wants to work for a guy who knows nothing about making wine. I don’t really know.”

“Hey, you’re learning. Have you met Bianca’s uncle?”

“Yeah.” My jaw clenches. “He showed up at Rosa’s place when we were all there celebrating that they made it through that hailstorm. It was quite the scene. He kinda lost his shit because of Jake and Rosa being together.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty wild that they were actually married all that time. Geno’s a hot head. When his mom was still alive, she used to keep him in line.”

“Bianca’s pretty sad about her grandma passing.”

“No doubt. Maria was the polestar of that family.”

I’ve never heard that term, but I get the meaning.

“Bianca takes after her,” Miles continues. “Well, all three sisters do to a certain extent. But Bianca’s got that winemaker talent that Maria had. Only Maria never got to really develop it. And to be honest, Bianca wasn’t going to get that chance either, if she’d stayed here.”

“Yeah, she alluded to that.” I thought maybe that was just her perception of her family, but I guess not. And having met Geno, I can see how dominant and single-minded he is.

Which only makes it understandable that she’d want to go back to her life in Argentina.

I’m fucking dead.

We’ve been picking grapes all day. After I ran just over four miles with Miles this morning. I have machines that are doing mechanical harvesting, but a bunch of us picked grapes manually as well. This is physical labor but, unlike working out in the gym, it’s a lot more rewarding knowing that we’re creating something magical.

And despite my bone-deep exhaustion, here I am, in the shower, jerking off thinking about Bianca.

Bianca is teaching me how to pick grapes while she’s running back and forth between here and her place, directing the harvest and also supervising the crush pad. It was hot, sweaty, and sticky, with drunk bees buzzing around the crush pad, but I was completely drunk on Bianca. On her shiny dark hair sliding out of its ponytail, on sunburned cheeks and nose, on her long bare legs and slender arms. Mostly on her expertise—her knowledge, her efficiency, the easy way she directs everyone.

My fantasies involve her here in the shower with me so I can slide my hands through that silky hair, clean dirt and sweat and grape juice from her skin, taking my time on certain areas—her tits, between her legs, stroking her there until she comes in a shuddering orgasm that makes her feel so good. She deserves to feel so good.

That night at the Golden Cougar I lost my mind. That dipshit grabbed her. By thethroat. He deserved to die. Or at least get punched in the face. I wanted to do that so fucking bad I could taste it, like when I used to inhale the acrid scent of smelling salts on the bench.

No one should ever do that to her.

On some level, I recognize that my reaction was over the top. Also, I don’t care. I’d do it again to any asshole who touches her without her permission.

She’s beautiful and smart and passionate. She deserves to feel good.

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