Page 39 of Wine & Dine

She shrugs, and I want to take her hand.

“What about Rusty?” I swallow back the bile mentioning him brings me. I told myself I would not ask. I’d take the time she gave me and accept she might go back to him.

“Love does not exist with Rusty.”

“More fooling around,” I tease although there’s no humor in my jest.

“Can we maybe not talk about him?” She looks out the windshield, her eyes narrowing at the traffic ahead. This time, I do reach for her hand and pull it to my lips.

“Definitely.” I don’t want to talk about him either, but I’d like to know where I stand. As much as I want to suppress the thing, my hollow heart feels an echo of a beat.

Dolores and I have spent a lot of time kissing this week. We’ve made out on her couch with some pretty serious petting for lack of a better word. Grinding at our seams with our hands groping, I haven’t allowed us to cross any lines. No bare breasts. No naked pussy. Nothing but mouth on mouth.

It’s strangely juvenile and hot as fucking hell. Dolores knows how to kiss, and her body moves like sin even if we aren’t getting down to business. I separate from her each night with a hard-on that could hammer nails, but after a whack or two inside my front door, I’m done. She winds me up like no one I’ve known. She’s wound too. Denial is the best foreplay, and I can’t wait to finally watch her implode.

Once I know what Rusty means to her.

+ + +

We arrive at Vineyard Inn roughly around dinnertime. I made a late evening reservation, although the availability of the restaurant ebbs and flows. Being a week after the holiday, I assumed it wouldn’t be busy, but the room overlooking the dark vineyard is packed. As the first weekend of a new month, the First Wives Club is present.

“They’re a group of women who celebrate their divorces. They’re the first wives,” I explain after we are seated for dinner. The last hour has been rough.

First, I only had one room because the original reservation was for me. I had planned to arrive alone until Dolores.

“We can’t stay in the same room,” she mutters.

“Why not?” I ask, my eyes shifting to Isabelle Vincentia, the elderly woman who owns the place with her husband, Francisco. The couple has been together for an eternity, and I’ve seen them interact. Francisco looks at his wife like it’s the first time they’ve met. He’ll stop and touch her hair or kiss her temple. It’s love incarnate, and I wanted a love like that once.

“Because we aren’t…” Her voice falters.

We aren’t what? I want to snap, but with the owner as our audience, I don’t.

“Could you give us a second?” Taking Dolores’s elbow, I guide her to the center of the lobby. “Look, this place is known for discreet affairs. The rich and famous hang out here…to hide. The owners are used to couples not being together-together.”

Dolores’s eyes widen, and she scans the empty lobby as if she’ll find a couple in a nefarious act.

“Oh,” she drones. “Is that what we’re having?” The question feels like a slap. We better not be having an affair. I’m not into cheating. Her or me. My teeth grind.

“What we are having is a weekend away because I want to show you something.”

She nods, a bit contrite, and leads us back to the concierge desk. Waving a hand over the counter, she allows me to complete our registration.

The second issue is still the room. Dolores goes into the bathroom to change, and when she steps out, all shower fresh and done up in her dress, I can’t breathe. Maybe one room was a mistake. I’ll never be able to contain myself. However, I realize, if I only get to hold her again, it will be enough. I’ve missed her in my bed, which surprises me. I don’t snuggle, but I want to with her.

I’m turning into a sap.

So here we finally sit. A glass of wine before each of us, and she demands more details about the First Wives Club.

“They’re mainly from the Hills as far south as Laguna Beach. Their rich husbands cheated on them, and they received a large settlement. Typically, they come together when a new one joins the rank.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’ve been here before when they’ve been present.” I take a deep breath. Pain riddles my chest with this admission.

“And all the affairs here. Like who? What?”

“Hollywood producers and young upstart actresses. Or rock stars hiding out from their wives. Or…”