Page 8 of Sipping Seduction
“What do you think, Frannie? Can I take you out on Saturday night? The winery outside of Bordent is doing a three-course dinner paired with wines from their vineyard. Should be fun.”
I’d talked about going to the vineyard with Evan, but every time it came up in conversation, he had with a reason why he couldn’t make it. I suspected it had more to do with him thinking wine was beneath him. For someone whose family had been distilling whiskey for several generations, he was pretty biased against anything that didn’t register at least forty proof. “That sounds fun. I’d love to go.”
“Really?” Andrew’s brows arched like he couldn’t believe I’d say yes. He was relatively new in town and had just moved to Beaver Bluff from Charlotte, which was probably why he didn’t realize he’d joined an elite group of society here—the accomplished single man club. There were very few members, and once word got out that he was single, his calendar would fill up fast.
“Yes, really. I had a good time tonight, Andrew. Thanks so much for dinner.” I bit down on my lip and wondered again if he’d try to kiss me.
He leaned forward, making my breath catch in my throat. Then he lifted my hand and touched it lightly to his lips.
“I’m looking forward to Saturday already.” The kiss was innocent enough, but I knew I didn’t misinterpret the flash of hunger in his dark-blue eyes.
“I’ll see you then.” I gently tugged my hand from his grip and turned to fumble with my keys, trying to get the front door unlocked. After several missed attempts, the key slid into the lock, and I pushed open my front door. I wasn’t about to ask him in, and he didn’t make a move to invite himself.
With a final wave and a grin, I stepped into the house and pulled the door closed behind me. Letting out a deep breath, I sagged against the wall. Pete the Dog rushed over and covered my hand with sloppy, wet kisses. I’d had a good time tonight, but I wasn’t sure going out on a date with Andrew was worth holding back the truth from Evan.
When he sent me that text to check on my dad, I almost caved and told him everything. Even now, hours after his last text, guilt still churned through my stomach. How could I tell him I’d gone out with a Stewart? Even though Andrew wasn’t one of the Stewarts who ran the distillery with Evan’s family, he was still related to them and shared the same last name.
Evan would never forgive me if he found out I was dating a Stewart. That’s why I hadn’t come clean. I pushed off the door and wandered into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Pete the Dog followed. It was barely after nine. I was surprised Charice hadn’t called yet to get the rundown on how my evening had gone.
My phone rang as if on cue. “Hello, stalker.”
Charice let out a laugh. “You’re answering. That’s not a good sign.”
“I have work tomorrow. You know I don’t like to stay out late on school nights.” I filled a glass from the water dispenser in the refrigerator and took it into the family room.
“You don’t like to stay out late at all. How was dinner?”
I ignored the jab at my lack of a social life. “Good. That place has the most amazing tiramisu. We’ll have to go sometime.”
I plopped down on my couch—the one piece of furniture I’d bought for myself. It had been a splurge, but the down-filled cushions were worth it. Pete the Dog wasn’t supposed to get on the furniture, but I’d given up trying to keep him off a few weeks ago. Sinking in, I rested my hand on his back and took a sip of water while I waited for her to get to the real point of her call. She wanted info.
“So, did he kiss you goodnight?”
Yep, there it was. She wanted the juicy details. I decided to lead her on for a few minutes. Life was too short to let it go by without getting a rise from Charice.
“Mmm. Maybe,” I teased, knowing she wouldn’t let it go at that.
“Was there tongue?”
“So much tongue.”
“What does that mean? Does he kiss like a lizard or something?” I could hear the “ewww” in her tone and tried not to laugh.
“How much tongue is too much?” I asked. These were the kinds of questions that needed to be answered at nine-thirty on a Monday night.
“Well,”—Charice started—“if you choke on it, I guess that would be too much. You didn’t choke on it, did you?” Her tone had changed from disgusted to slightly excited.
“Some women like to choke on male body parts, you know,” I teased.
“Girlfriend, I know you didn’t deep throat Andrew Stewart’s tongue or any other part of him.” She huffed out a breath. “You didn’t let him kiss you, did you?”
“He kissed my hand. It was very sweet.”
“Ugh. I think I might have just thrown up in my mouth a little. The last thing you need is a sweet hand kisser. When’s the last time you really kissed a guy?” Before I could answer, she added, “And by ‘guy,’ I mean someone you’re not related to. Giving your dad a peck on the cheek doesn’t count.”
In that case, I was going to need a few moments to raid my memory. I went back, past last Christmas, through the fall, and finally the face of a man I’d briefly dated last summer bubbled up. “July of last year. I went on two dates with that guy I met on the app you made me sign up for. Remember?”
“The guy who took off his socks and picked at his toes while you were having lunch together?”
