Page 129 of Better When Shared
Before Jake bailed. Before we kidnapped her. Before this whole bizarre situation where I was sharing a luxury suite with my best friend's ex-fiancée and his uptight brother, trying desperately not to imagine either of them naked.
Trying not to imagine two insanely sexy people naked was an exercise in futility.
"You're a tour guide now?" I asked, falling back on teasing.
"I researched Valencia extensively before booking this cruise. It seems a waste not to use the information."
Two hours later, we’d finished at the City of Arts and Sciences and were strolling through the historic part of the city. Gemma was charming as a tour guide. She'd transformed into someone animated, funny, and knowledgeable, pointing out architectural details and historical facts with genuine enthusiasm.
"This cathedral claims to house the Holy Grail," she explained, gesturing toward a massive Gothic structure whose bell tower cast long shadows across the square.
"Does it grant you eternal life?”
"I think that’s only in the movies." Gemma let out a giggle that sounded nothing like her polished professional chuckle. This was fuller, warmer, almost musical. "The building itself dates back to the 13th century. The mixture of architectural styles reflects Valencia's complicated history—Roman foundations, Gothic structure, Baroque facade."
Brian stepped closer to examine the stonework, his glasses catching the sunlight. "The flying buttresses are extraordinary. Such a revolutionary concept."
I blinked at him, caught off guard by the casual expertise. "Since when do you know about Gothic architecture?"
He shrugged. "I like buildings. The mathematics of them, the precision required to create something both beautiful and functional."
"Of course you do, geek boy," I teased, trying to push away my attraction to him. Something about the way the sunlight caught his profile, highlighting the clean line of his jaw and the curve of his lower lip, made my mouth go dry. When had boring, responsible Brian become so fucking appealing?
“Fuck off. You fly kids’ toys for a living,” Brian shot back.
“I’m a drone pilot! It’s an actual certification.” I considered reaching into my wallet to show him the papers, then thought the better of it.
“Yeah, and last year you were, what? A surf instructor?”
“Okay, boring Brian. Maybe you’re jealous.”
“Boys!” Gemma admonished. “Enough bickering, or I’ll think you want to fuck each other. There's a lovely wine cellar around the corner. Thirteenth-century, supposedly used by Knights Templar. They do tastings."
Brian’s eyes darted to me in a way that made me wonder if she was right. Did Brian Casey want to fuck me? He cleared his throat, looking at the cobblestone road. "Wine? It's barely noon."
"We're on vacation," she countered, and there was something almost defiant in the way she said it, like she was reminding herself as much as us.
The wine cellar was cool and dim after the bright Spanish sunshine, ancient stone walls sweating with centuries of stored moisture. We settled at a rough wooden table while the proprietor, an older man with hands stained purple from decades of winemaking, brought us a selection of local varietals.
"This one," he said in heavily accented English, pouring a deep red liquid into our glasses, "is from the Utiel-Requena region. Very special, very old vines."
I watched Gemma take her first sip, the way her lips pressed against the rim of the glass, the slight furrow of concentration between her brows as she considered the flavors. Something hot and possessive curled in my stomach at the sight.
"Blackberries. And something... earthy? Like forest floor after rain." She took another sip, eyes darting to the side as she analyzed the flavor.
Brian nodded in agreement, swirling his own glass with practiced ease. "There's a mineral quality too. Slate, maybe?"
I stared at them both, these beautiful, knowledgeable people who somehow knew what the fuck forest floor tasted like, and felt out of my depth. I was a guy who drank beer from the bottle and occasionally splurged on whatever bottom-shelf whiskey was on sale. What the hell was I doing here?
"It's delicious," I said lamely, taking a gulp that was not very delicate at all.
By the third tasting, Gemma's cheeks had flushed a delicate pink, and her laughter came more easily. She'd moved closer to me on the bench, her thigh occasionally brushing against mine in a way that sent electricity sparking through my veins.
"You should have seen Brian in high school," I said.
She grinned. "Jake showed me photos once. All awkward limbs and terrible haircuts."
"Hey!" Brian protested, but he was smiling, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses. "I'd like to see your high school photos, Ms. Perfect."
