Page 3 of Prosecco with My Professor
2
Santo
Emma is nervous,and when I glance over at the table of her friends, they quickly look away. “A girls’ weekend?” I guess, lifting an eyebrow.
“Yes,” she says, almost into her glass as she takes another sip. Emma is as tall as I am, and she’s wearing flats, so we’re perfectly eye-to-eye.
“Tell me, what do a bunch of beautiful women do in the city on a girls’ weekend?”
It takes some prodding and follow-up questions, but eventually, we find our way. Emma tells me about her exploration of my city with her friends—food, walking cobblestone streets, hitting all the highlights like the Vatican and Trevi fountain. She has an American accent with a slight twang, one I can’t place.
She loves it here, and when I tell her I’ve lived here most of my life, she begs me for recommendations.
“We have one last day together tomorrow. You must have some suggestions.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and open it, swiping away texts from Vincente, my friend I was here with, that tell me he’s left the bar already. “Where are you staying?”
“Just a few blocks from here, actually. But we are sharing hotel rooms.” She blushes prettily, embarrassed, perhaps because she’s making assumptions about where tonight is leading.
“I am not far from here either,” I say, holding her gaze over the rim of my wineglass as I sip. “Plenty of privacy.” Privacy, but not ideal on account of all the boxes that are stacked up for the impending move. But the bed’s still there, made up for a few more nights of sleep.
Her blush deepens. Emma has fair skin, very faint lines at the edges of her brown eyes, and thick, long gray hair. I set my wineglass down, and she leans in as I show her a map and some suggestions on my phone for places to eat.
We talk about the options, complicated by one of her friends who is vegan, but we eventually settle on a quiet place I’ve been to a few times with a courtyard. I send it to her via Airdrop when she pulls out her phone.
From then on, I keep it light. She’s clearly here for the weekend, and while she’s shy, she’s definitely not looking for anything long term—which is perfect for me.
I’m not looking for a third wife.
I’m just looking for a bit of fun.
When we order another round, I ask for water, too, and I make sure Emma hydrates between the wine. Her cheeks are still flushed, but from the wine or the attention, I’m not sure.
I’ve put my usual moves on her; a soft brush of her arm, a light touch on her back. When we clink glasses, I don’t step back out of her space.
She’s got big, beautiful eyes I could get lost in for the night and a small delicate mouth that I want to touch. That ache of desire has a hold of me, and I want to take her home.
Based on the way her eyes drop down to my mouth, I think she has the same idea too. I lean in closer, and her lips part at my nearness. Her eyelids flutter as I press a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. When I pull back just enough to breathe, she turns slightly, lining us up. I press another kiss to her lips, and she softens against me.
“Emma,” I say when I pull away. “Come home with me?”
Her teeth capture her bottom lip and worry it as her eyes bounce between mine, but she nods, the unbitten side of her lip tipping up into a smile.
I signal for the bill and Emma finishes her glass of water while she waits and then leads me toward her friends. They’re already watching us and grinning; the short, long-haired one looking smug.
Emma says something to them in a whisper before I catch up to her, and one of the women, the brunette, claps her hand over her mouth, eyes dancing in amusement. Emma picks up a purse from the empty chair.
“Hello,” I tell them.
Before I can say anything else, the brunette drops her hand and clears her throat. “Can I see some ID, please?”
The woman with the gray streak in her hair guffaws. I pull out my ID, and the brunette takes a picture of it.
“Where are you going?”
I give her my address.
“Are you driving?”
