"As little as possible." He set my backpack on the sofa.
I looked around, taking in his apartment and trying to get a feel for his personality. It was a bachelor pad, but relatively picked up and clean. I'd never been to Zach's place before, certainly not while he lived in the basement of the sorority house, so I couldn't say what was Zach's and what was Seth's. Or whose influence was whose. There wasn't a lot of interior decorating going on, that was for sure. "Where is Zach?"
"Out with Alexis. Studying on a Saturday night? He couldn't be bothered." Seth grinned and headed to the kitchen. "I told him I didn't want him hanging around disturbing our concentration."
Be still my heart. I pulled the wine out of my backpack and followed him like a puppy, wanting to jump into his lap and shower him with happy kisses. It was a ridiculous image. Something about him made me want to touch him. I pictured myself coming up behind him, wrapping my arms around him, and resting my head on his back. I resolved to keep my hands, and my fantasies, to myself as I set the bottles on the pass-through opening to his kitchen. There were dishes and pans scattered everywhere across the counters.
"Wow! You're well equipped." The words just popped out.
He grinned wolfishly. "You noticed!"
Crap. I felt myself blushing from the innuendo in his voice.
He pointed to the wine. "Two bottles? An alky, are you?"
"More like uncertain whether this was a whole group study event or if you and I were going rogue tonight."
"Rogue?" The wolfishness reached his eyes. "I like the sound of that."
"So?"
"Just you and me, baby." He winked.
I laughed. "Baby?"
"Don't like it?"
I loved it. "The jury's out."
He spun the two bottles around and read the labels, looking surprised and delighted. If I were the type to get a big head, I would have congratulated myself on my selections.
"Excellent choices. Did Zach help you?" His eyes sparkled with some secret joke.
What had I missed? Maybe I was just wild with nerves.
"Zach? No!" I snorted, like Seth was crazy. "Zach has absolutely no nose for wine. The poor baby"—I used baby on purpose—"is a non-taster. Good thing he's great at microbiology and loves the food safety side of things. There's no way he could be in product development with a disability like that."
"Non-taster?" Seth grinned like I'd just given him ammo against Zach in the next macho fest between the two of them. "I had no idea. Is that what it sounds like?"
I couldn't resist ribbing him. "What? You haven't heard of it? And you call yourself an HBM major!"
"Zach has no taste! An insult, and yet the truth!" Seth said.
"Non-tasters can obviously taste things, just not as well as most people," I said. "Haven't you ever noticed that he wolfs his food?"
"Shit," Seth said. "You're right."
I nodded. "Non-tasters have fewer taste buds than about three-fourths of the rest of us. They're especially oblivious to bitter."
"Sounds like a good thing to me. Life shouldn't be bitter." He was so cute, completely adorable in his intentional misunderstanding. "You're a taster, I bet."
"No." I laughed. "I'm a super taster."
"More taste buds than average?"
I nodded. "Lots more."
He studied me in a way that made me blush, like he was trying to learn everything about me in a look. "Okay, then. We'll just have to keep bitterness out of your life."
His eyes narrowed, like he was thinking deeply. "You were a picky eater as a kid." He spoke like it was a statement of fact, not a guess.
"Oh, yeah. I was in trouble all the time with my dad, always sitting at the table after everyone else had left, alone with a pile of green peas in front of me that I refused to eat."
He laughed. "I hated liver." He paused. "Spinach. Cabbage. Kale. Asparagus. We should probably cut those out of our food point of view?"
He was so sweet and thoughtful. Not many guys would catch on so quickly.
"I would be eternally grateful."
His eyes sparkled. "I like the sound of that." He had a way of speaking that was pure flirtation.
I couldn't stop my heart from racing. I smiled to cover, and because it was impossible not to smile with the happy way my heart was dancing.
He picked up a cork puller and grabbed one of the wine bottles, shaking his head and laughing. "Zach really didn't help you pick this?"
I shook my head. "No. Absolutely not. You can thank my prof for making this selection. Both of those are on the wine list for class." I smiled at him and furrowed my brow when he continued staring at me. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Besides the fact that you're gorgeous?"
I blushed. "What?"
His grin deepened. "You really don't know?"
"No."
He laughed. "Of all the wines in the world, you picked this one. It's fate." He turned the label toward me and pointed. "I know the guy who makes this."
"Really?" I frowned, still puzzled by the way he was acting, as if it was really important.
"Yeah. He's my dad."
"No way!" Suddenly, I got it. No wonder he thought I was sucking up to him. "Your dad's a vintner?"
"No. A part-owner in this winery. He chucked his high-tech job in Seattle and moved to the wine country in Chelan after I graduated from high school. He was supposed to be retired, but he got bored. First he bought a hotel. Then this winery was up for sale. So he bought it, too." Seth shrugged. "I'm now the heir apparent for the family wine and hotel business."
"Seriously?"
He nodded.
He'd surprised me again. I'd gotten the impression from Zach that he and the other houseboys had to work at the sorority house because they didn't have any money. But a hotel in a popular resort area? It sounded to me like Seth's dad had plenty of money. And was willing to leave it to his son.
Seth pulled two wineglasses from the cupboard and set them in front of me. "Want me to open it?"
"Be my guest."
I watched as he expertly uncorked the wine and filled two glasses halfway. He pushed one toward me.
As I picked the glass up, I noticed writing and a logo on it. I turned it around, expecting the glass to be from his dad's winery. Instead it was inscribed with the date of last spring's Double Deltsie formal. "Yours or Zach's?"
When he caught my expression, he laughed. "Mine. The house always has extras left over. I grabbed a few."
"I see. Not a memento from a glorious sorority formal?"
His laugh made the whole room happy and sunny. "One of the girls go to an official sorority event with a houseboy?" He imitated the horror of one of the girls. "Are you kidding? That's social suicide. And completely against the rules." He grinned like the rules didn't matter to him. "You don't date the help." He lowered his voice. "Hanging with the houseboys is a backroom affair."
Crap, why had the way he said that both make me jealous and tingly at the same time?
"The class system is alive and well at the Double Deltsie house." I laughed. He was easy to tease and flirt with. "Why did you work there?"
His smile died and his face became a mask. "Long story."
"Sorry." I bit my lip. "I didn't mean to pry."
"No, it's okay." He picked up his glass and twirled it between his fingers. "My freshman year I was pissed at my dad. In a state of rebellion. That's what he said." He grinned. "The old man cut me off. He has the philosophy that I need to make my own way in the world."
He mimicked his dad: "'No one handed me anything. It made me tough. And resilient, boy.'" His laugh had a bitter edge. "I needed a job. I'd met Zach in a class. He was working in the house. He got me a job."
"Parents!" I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't imagine my mom ever cutting me off, no matter what I'd done. I was dying to know what he'd done to make his dad so mad. But I couldn't ask him.
Seth shrugged. "It didn't hurt that my mom was a Double Deltsie. Worki
ng in that particular house royally pissed Dad off."
My mouth just popped open. "What?" I was stunned. This gorgeous, regular guy's mom was one of the bitches from the most stuck-up sorority on campus.
He nodded, grinning like he enjoyed my look of shock. "Yeah, the girls never knew it. I'm a legacy. Of sorts." When he laughed, it still had the resentful edge to it.
Hadn't he just said life shouldn't be bitter?
He leaned across the counter and whispered, "Zach's the only other person who knows. You're sworn to secrecy now."
Our eyes met. Our gazes locked. I felt breathless reflected in his eyes and included in his secret. Paralyzed with emotion and wanting. He was so not the reliable guy Mom claimed I needed. But at that moment, he was everything I wanted.
"My parents divorced when I was less than a year old. Mom split. Dad raised me. I thought working at the house would bring me closer to her." He looked suddenly sheepish. And completely adorable and vulnerable.
Why were men so sexy when they let their vulnerability show? I wanted to wrap him in my arms and comfort him. "That's…that's so sweet. And awesome."
A timer dinged, breaking the spell.
"Shit! I almost forget the polenta." He grabbed an oven mitt and spun around to pull something from the oven. Their kitchen was small, like most college apartments. But compared to ours, spacious.
"You made homemade polenta." I watched as he pulled it from the oven, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. "Isn't that, like, really hard to make? You have to stir it forever and pray it doesn't get lumpy."
"I think you're thinking of risotto. Polenta is easy. Especially this oven recipe I got from Dad's chef at the hotel. It's practically foolproof." He set it on the counter.
"What can I help you with?"
"Nothing. I have everything under control. Relax and enjoy your wine."
I went to the sofa to get my notebook from my backpack. "Enjoy it! I wasn't joking. Drinking this wine is my homework. It's serious business. I have to sniff and swirl and write down all my impressions." I opened my notebook on the counter. "And sound like I actually know something about wine. Want to help?"
"Any way I can." He grabbed his glass of wine and raised it to mine. "To a successful night of studying." His words were simple and innocent, but his tone was full of promise.
I tapped his glass with mine. "To studying." I swirled, stuck my nose in the glass, and inhaled like I knew what I was doing. "Is this right?"
He was watching me. "Your form looks great to me."
I couldn't help smiling. "Your dad owns a winery. I thought you might know something about winetasting."
"Just a little." He stuck his nose in his glass, closed his eyes, and made an exaggerated sniff. "Do you want the aroma or the bouquet?"
I stared at him. "There's a difference?" I frowned. I hadn't known. "We haven't covered that yet."
"The aroma is the smell associated with the grape variety. The bouquet is the array of smells that are part of the winemaking process." He smiled. "Don't worry. Not many people know or care about the difference. Casual tasters don't make a distinction between the two terms. Dad has drilled them into me."
I wrinkled my nose. "We haven't gone over that yet. So…bouquet, I guess?"
He took another sniff. "I smell success. Award-winning undertones of…" He shrugged and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "This is bullshit."
"What are you doing?"
"Texting Dad's vintner for the official word on what we're supposed to be smelling." He grabbed the bottle and spun it around to see the label. "What year is this?"
"That's cheating!" I tried to grab the bottle from him, but he held it out of my reach. "It's supposed to be my impressions. How will I learn if I don't do it myself?"
His phone rang with an incoming text. "Yeah, but it doesn't hurt to lead with a little professional help and impress the prof right away. We all know the drill. Impressions and reputation are everything. If a prof believes you're an A student, he'll give you the benefit of the doubt when he's grading your papers. Turn in a C paper. Get an A on it because he was sure you knew what you were doing. And were only a little distracted when you wrote it. Why do you think I want to impress Chef Steven first thing?"
He spun his phone around to show me the vintner's response. "Smell any of this?"
I read the text, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply into my wineglass again. "Yes. Yes. Yes!"
When I opened my eyes, he was watching me with rapt attention. His eyes danced and he was smiling. "There's a reaction I'd like to see again." He shoved his phone back into his pocket.
I was warm all over as I scribbled my thoughts, actually the vintner's, in my notebook. "Knowing what I was looking for made all the difference." I looked up from my homework into Seth's eyes. "Do you always cheat on your homework?" I swirled the wine in my glass, looking for legs.
"Oh, sure. I just call up Stephen Hawking when I'm having trouble with physics. Or Donald Trump when I have a problem with a hotel management class." His laugh was infectious. "How many connections do you think I have?"
Everything he said and did charmed me. "Okay, so only half the time?" I held my glass up for him to see. "What do you think of these legs?"
"Stand up so I can see them and I'll give you my opinion."
"You're impossible," I said. "I really need to know this stuff." I stared at the legs in my glass again and recorded my lame observations. "What smells so good in the kitchen?"
"Chicken marsala." He grinned again, like everything was an inside joke. "Chicken something. I put my own twist on and substituted another wine, a Washington white with a pinch of brandy. The point of view I'm showcasing tonight is a Pacific Northwest-Italian fusion." He went to the fridge, pulled out a stoppered bottle of white wine, and showed it to me.
I started to laugh, too. "Your dad's. Again."
"It's free."
"And yet you made me bring the wine?" I tried to sound playfully indignant.
"Hey, you just brought your homework." He lifted his glass and took another drink. "Dinner's almost ready. Want to help me plate?"
Chapter 7
Maddie
We finished our glasses of wine. Seth poured us each another. I joined him in the kitchen. We each downed another glass while he cut polenta into squares and put them on the plates, tasted his chicken, and added a pinch of salt.
He handed me a knife and a bunch of Italian parsley. "Cut up the garnish?"
"Only if you show me how you want it."
Guys! He grinned like I'd said something dirty. Everything had a double meaning to them. Then he was behind me, with his arms around me. It was warm in the kitchen. With him pressed up behind me, I grew even hotter. He covered my hands with his and took control of the knife. Like the rest of him, his hands were strong and hot. They covered mine completely. My hands were as lost in his as I was lost in him.
"We want to mince it, leaving a few long stocks for flair." He pulled me close and smelled so good. His breath was hot in my ear. "Set a few pieces aside. We want some pretty leaves. Fold the rest of the parsley over in half. Then slow chopping strokes so no one gets hurt, keeping the fingers folded out of the way."
His idea of slow chopping was evidently very different to mine. He chopped quickly with fast motions. Chop, chop, chop, chop. I reflexively backed away from the knife, right into his hot front. My butt pressed up against his jeans. I felt his dick, long and hard, rubbing against me. Like a slow seduction. Much more slowly than the pace of the knife.
The wine had settled over me, leaving a pleasant glow, making me tingly to the tips of my fingers. Taking away my sense of balance, which was already off kilter from being wrapped in Seth's arms. I was lightheaded with the nearness of him. I spread my legs apart for balance. He took that as an invitation, and slid one of his legs between mine, rubbing me gently with his thigh.
Waves of pleasure built between my legs. My breath caught. I cleared my throat. "You're good."
/> "I try to be." His breath was hot in my ear.
"With a knife." I pulled my hands free from his and spun around, looking up at him, trying to resist him. Wondering if he would kiss me. Wondering what it would lead to if he did. I looked down and braced my hands against the counter. "We were going to plate?"
"Yeah. Are you hungry?" His voice was low and deep with desire.
Oh, yes, I was. For him. And nervous. And flustered. And confused. "Starving."
He grinned. "Good." He backed off and grabbed the plates of polenta. He put chicken and sauce on top of each, then sprinkled the parsley and laid a large stalk across each. He held them out for me to inspect. "What do you think?"
"Beautiful." I smiled at him.
"Yeah." His gaze was on me. He carried the plates to the table and set them in front of us. Then he refilled our wineglasses. "You first." He pointed to my chicken. "What do you think?"
I took a bite. The chicken fell apart in my mouth. I closed my eyes like I was deep in rapture as I tasted. "Awesome. Completely tender and delicious! I'd give it an A."
When I opened my eyes, Seth was staring at me like he'd rather taste me. "But will Chef Steven think so?" He took a bite. "Pretty good. I think it's the wine." His foot reached over and playfully rubbed mine.
"Yeah, must be the wine." It had gone to my head, just like Seth had. "How did you learn to cook like this?"
He began talking. And I was lost in him, wanting to know everything about him. We talked and drank the rest of the wine, as if we both wanted to know everything about each other. As if we would never run out of conversation. With none of the awkward silences that happen when you're not connecting with someone. Or you just plain run out of things to say. Can you fall in love with someone over dinner?
Because as we talked about everyday getting-to-know-you things, I really thought I was. Maybe it wasn't love yet. But I was falling for him. Headlong. We had so much in common.
"Siblings?" I asked as I cleared the table and he made soapy water to wash dishes. One of the many perils of college apartment life—hardly anyone had a dishwasher.
He shook his head. "Not living. I had a brother. But I never knew him. He died before I was born."