Page 25 of Pour Decisions
He feels sorry for me.
And why wouldn’t he? My hotel room is surrounded on either side by two gorgeous couples, who are all friends, and here I am alone, not gorgeous, not a couple, no friends. I still don’t even know how I was selected for this competition.
He turns to face Antonia. They are standing so close together all it would take is the smallest of nudges and they’d be lip locked. “I was just going to see—”
A million things flash through my mind in that second. He was going to see what? If I wanted to go to the pool with them and be a fatty fifth wheel? A pity invitation? No thank you.
“I think I hear my phone ringing,” I lie as I back toward the sliders leading to my room. “I’ll bet it’s my date for tonight confirming the time. See you guys later.” I run into my room and slam the sliding doors shut, locking them behind me. Then pull the curtains closed for good measure and sink to the floor cross-legged.
I should have known Riggs might be here. It’s a wine industry conference. And he’s in the industry. After a stealthy internet search months ago, I discovered that he is a vineyard consultant. A very good one if the articles and reviews are any sign. Which shouldn’t be surprising given that he has a degree in business administration and advanced degrees in both viticulture and horticulture.
I wish I’d known that before we slept together, or fought, or whatever else we did, I would have run some ideas past him. I have a degree in viticulture and oenology, but most of my ideas come from my father’s notebooks and he was self taught.
No way in hell will I ever pick his brain now. Not when “only my friends call me Toni” is around.
I bury my face in my hands, elbows resting on my knees. I just need to devise a plan to get past this and everything will be fine. I pull out my agenda for the workshops starting later today and try to figure out which ones I think Riggs might be interested in, then make a mental note to go to the opposite one.
13
As it ends up, the first thing I attend is an information session for the finalists in the competition. Where, as luck would have it, neither Riggs nor Michael is in attendance. I’m able to breathe easy and enjoy myself, and afterwards, a reviewer from the magazine invites me to dinner. Which makes me feel almost like I wasn’t lying when I said I had a date.
It’s not a date, it’s an interview, but at least I won’t be dining alone.
I take my time getting ready for dinner, selecting one of casual dresses I’d brought, a pale pink, sleeveless, pleated A-line dress, and some cute sandals that Tess lent me. I style my hair down in loose curls and add a dab of blush, some mascara, and a matching pink lipstick to my face. I feel good as I head down to the dining room, confident, pretty, professional.
The interviewer asks me to meet him in the bar portion of the restaurant, and then we’d grab a table. So that’s the direction I head when I step out of the elevator. Ending up behind Riggs andToni,who had stepped out of the adjacent elevator just prior. She has her hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm and from the back they both look incredible.
Riggs in a pair of black slacks and a pale blue button down with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. The top of the shirt pulls across his shoulders as he walks, accentuating the muscles there. And his ass, in those slacks. Oh, I remember grabbing those cheeks as he pounded into me. Never wanting to let go. He’s got a great ass. Even when it’s covered by pants.
Toniin comparison looks like a runway model. She’s wearing a skintight beige three-quarter sleeve sweater dress that goes to just below her knee. A wide leather belt cinched at the waist that matches the dark brown stiletto heels on her feet. She’s tall already, but the heels put her on par with Riggs. And the beige color that would make most women look like bread dough makes her look regal and gives her an even more statuesque appearance. Her hair is loose and tousled in that effortless looking way only super models seem to be able to achieve and reaches halfway down her back.
I pat my hands at my shoulder length hair. What felt sexy when I left the room now feels like I’m trying too hard. And when I glimpse myself in the wall of mirrors in the lobby, I see just how immature my dress and flat sandals are. I’m tempted to turn and head back to my room, feigning illness, when a hand grabs my elbow.
“Perfect timing,” Robert, the reporter I’m meeting with, says. “And may I say, you look lovely?”
I wish his compliment would bump me out of my funk, but it doesn’t. And to make matters worse, we end up in line behind Riggs andTonito get into the restaurant.All I need now is Michael and Blondie to show up and my shit-tastic evening would be complete.
“So, Morgan, tell me what you’re most interested in learning at the conference this year? And is this your first year attending?” The moment Robert says my name, I see Riggs’ shoulders tense.
“Wow, Robert.” I force myself to giggle. “You’re really starting those questions early. Shouldn’t we wait for, I don’t know, dessert?” I try to make my voice sound like a purr, in a way I imagine Toni’s voice would sound. Instead, it comes out as more of a croak.
“You okay?” Robert asks.
“So good,” I say, patting him lightly on the chest. He narrows his eyes at me, can’t say I blame him. The hostess takes that moment to seat Riggs and Toni, and I’m able to breathe easily once again. That is until she seats Robert and I two tables away from them and I’m left facing Riggs for the foreseeable future.
How is it possible that both couples sitting at the tables between us are situated in just a way that I have a clear line of sight to Riggs in all his glory? It doesn’t take him long to catch me staring. A matter of seconds, really. And the look he gives me puzzling. Almost like he’s hurt over something I’ve done. Which is weird given the circumstances.
I look away quickly and pretend to laugh at something Robert has said.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes, why?” I ask, smiling big.
“You seem, I don’t know, off a bit? Have you been drinking?”
“Totally sober,” I assure him. “Just high on life.”
“Okay,” he draws the word out slightly, like he doesn’t believe me.
