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Once, Neo had dated a friend of Min’s. They weren’t really close, more like acquaintances. It hadn’t lasted long, maybe two months, but to this day I could remember her words one night when Min had walked away to the bathroom. We’d been in KC’s Taphouse, a girls’ night out, as she told the group the one thing she missed most about Neo, who’d broken up with her, was his kisses.
“I have dreams about making out with him. I don’t know where he learned to kiss, but he gets an A-plus-plus.”
I’d almost not gone out that night, knowing she’d be there and not wanting to talk about Neo and his superior skills—it wasn’t the first time she’d kissed and told. But since that night, I had wondered what made him a better kisser than most. Since that night, I’d wondered what those lips would feel like on my own.
Neo pulled the fork out, chewed, and then, because he was apparently the biggest tease in the world—who knew?—he licked his lips. “You’re right. Delicious.”
This wasn’t just a shift between us. It was tectonic, the slight crack from earlier today quickly becoming a massive chasm that would certainly swallow us both.
“Told you,” I croaked out, as if that had not just happened. And because I didn’t know what else to do, and also I really did like the cake, I took another bite. This one with a little less drama than the first. Neo did the same, and we quickly ate the cake in silence.
When the waiter returned, Neo grabbed the bill and, before we left, the bottle of sparkling wine. “Nightcap,” he said, raising it up in explanation.
Neither of us said a word until we reached the bottom stairs and stepped onto the sidewalk, about to walk back to the hotel. Even then, when we looked at each other, no one offered to break the silence.
It was one thing to flirt, to tease, but another, it seemed, to give voice to what was happening between us.
“Let’s go,” he said finally, beginning to walk. “This celebration is just getting started.”
THIRTEEN
neo
“I think we may be drunk.”
There was no “thinking” about it. We’d been virtually kidnapped as we walked through the courtyard toward our room. Two couples sitting together—one apparently from the wedding party staying an extra night, and the other, a slightly older couple—had asked if we knew the area. Apparently, we had a lot to tell them. A discussion about the best wineries turned into Thayle telling them I was a winemaker who owned a vineyard. A million questions later, they insisted on sharing their wine with us, and while it had been a good time, and Thayle hit it off especially well with Laura, one of the women, it wasn’t exactly the post-dinner plan I’d had in mind.
The plans where I all but told Thayle I did not, in any way, see her as just a friend. Or as Min’s best friend. Or an employee. I hadn’t known what to expect, frankly, but it wasn’t singing “Sweet Caroline” at 1:00 a.m. with two couples, neither of whom knew the other, in the inn’s courtyard.
“You don’t look drunk,” Thayle accused me as I swiped the key card on our door.
“I’m not sober,” I assured her.
Thayle entered the room ahead of me, tossed her purse on the table, and jumped onto the bed. Promptly removing her shoes, half groaning from the pleasure of taking them off, she let the strappy heels fall to the ground.
“I’m wiped,” she pronounced, flopping onto her back.
“Oh no, you don’t.” I pulled her back to sitting. She watched as I moved to her luggage and grabbed the yoga pants and tank top she’d worn last night. Giving them to her, I nudged her into the bathroom. “I’ll go get us some water. Take off your makeup and change for bed.”
“Take off my makeup? How do you know about that?”
“Let me see? Oh yes, I have a sister who would rather die than fall asleep wearing makeup.”
“Ahh, yes, Min. I love her so much.”
“I love her too,” I said, pushing Thayle closer to the bathroom. The last thing I needed at the moment was to see any more of her than those legs that had peeked out from beneath her dress all night. “Go ahead. I’ll be right back. Do you need anything else?”
“Nope. I don’t wear underwear so”—she lifted up the clothing I gave her—“got it all right here.”
She was drunk. I was mostly drunk. So I really shouldn’t have pushed it, but just in case I heard wrong...“You don’t wear underwear to bed, you mean?”
Thayle looked down as if she could see her underwear through her dress. “Not just to bed. I don’t wear them, ever.”
I simply stared at her.
“It’s really uncomfortable. And honestly, I don’t see the need for it. If I’m wearing a dress short enough that it would matter, like if I uncrossed my legs, then maybe. But that just means the dress is probably too short anyway.”
I couldn’t help myself. “You don’t wear it ever? Like to work?”
