Page 27 of Pour Decisions
I step out of my room, letting the door close softly behind me, just as Riggs is doing the same in front of me. I debate heading in the other direction to take the stairs. Or just waiting by my door until he’s on the elevator. But knowing my luck, Blondie would catch me out here. Or worse yet, Riggs would turn around and see me standing here.
So, I follow him as soundlessly as possible.
“Hi,” he says as I step up behind him, not turning around.
“Hi,” I return, even though I’m not totally sure he’s talking to me.
“Nervous?” he asks, still not turning around.
I guess he is talking to me. “I don’t think so. I’ve just eaten my body weight in gummy bears, so my sugar high is supplanting any other emotions trying to break through.”
He laughs, then turns to face me, his jaw dropping slightly. “Wow, you look incredible!”
“Yeah?” I look down at the outfit Tess picked out for me. It’s one I bought on a whim years ago, yet never wore. It looks like a short dress but is really shorts. Light beige, with sequins, three-quarter length sleeves that start puffy and then tighten around the forearms, the top is full with a low “v” and a belt around the waist with equally full shorts. The overall effect is drapey, sparkly, and sexy. We paired it with open-toed high-heel sandals with ankle straps that make my legs look a mile long.
I’ll be honest, I feel like I look incredible in this outfit. Like how I felt the night I met Riggs. Which is the only reason I allow my next sentence to be so magnanimous. “I’m sureAntonialooks incredible in whatever she’s wearing.”
“She has to look good, she’s a model,” he says.
“Of course she is.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say. The elevator doors open, and we step inside. I’m reminded of the night we spent together, how passionate the elevator ride to his room was beforehand. And then of my “walk of shame” the next morning when I met Blondie. I still don’t know her name, come to think of it.
Riggs leans against the wall across from me, with a smug smile on his face. I fidget with my purse strap and try not to stare as the scent of his cologne assaults my senses. It’s not abrasive, just effective. I want to crawl inside that scent and never leave.
He looks good too. Great, though I haven’t said so. He’s wearing black slacks again, and really they should be an everyday staple in his wardrobe, they look that good on him. All I’ve ever really seen him in are black slacks and jeans. And in all fairness, both showcased all his delectable parts: thighs, dick, ass.
He catches me staring at him and winks, making me blush.
Again.
My god, how long is this elevator ride?
Has it stopped?
I glance at the floor indicator above the doors; we appear to still be moving. So to avoid continuing to look at him, I look at my feet. The polish on my right big toe is chipped. I try to curl my toe under to make it less noticeable; it doesn’t work. Two large black shoes appear in my field of vision as the heat from Riggs' body invades my space.
I make the mistake of glancing up at him, his green eyes lock onto mine and don’t let go, I’m helpless to look away.
“Make me a deal?” he asks.
I nod dumbly.
“When you win, save me a dance.”
I nod again, then snap out of it. “Oh, it’s an honor to just be nominated. I don’t expect to win—”
He places a finger over my lips to silence me; I feel that touch down to my toes and back again.
“Deal?” The timbre in his voice makes shiver.
“Deal.”
16
Even though the Wine Review Magazine’s Annual Innovation in US Wine Making Award selection is a huge deal, the ceremony part of it is more party than anything else. They present the awards in a more off-handed way, like test scores on a bulletin board. Not literally, there is no bulletin board, instead it’s a raised table with the finalists’ wines lined up in a row. With the top three—first, second, and third place—on risers in the middle.
