Mari nods, her gold and silver eyes suggesting she sees more than she’s letting on. “So you came to associate wine with being told you needed to change something about yourself.”
“Exactly.” I never thought of it in those exact terms, but she nailed it. “Eventually, I sort of dug in my heels. Like—what, beer’s not good enough, so I’m not good enough? Which is dumb.”
“It’s not dumb at all.” She sips the last of her wine and sets the glass down on the tray. “It’s a common response to have a period of rebellion following a breakup or life change. There’s this urge to do the opposite of what your previous partner or lifestyle required.”
“That makes sense.” I glance at the tray of beverages. With a silly little hand flourish, I make a show of setting down my pint glass and picking up the remaining glass of wine. The first sip goes down easy, coating my tongue with lush notes of blackberry and cassis and a hint of citrus.
No, that’s Mari’s shampoo again, the soft, citra hop scent filling my senses. God, she smells good.
“Delicious.” I hold up the wineglass and pretend that’s what I’m talking about. “The wine. It’s really good.”
She smiles and sets down her wine, then gestures to my abandoned pint glass. “May I try the pink beer?”
“Raspberry Kolsch. You can have your own, if you like.”
“I just want to try a sip.” She picks up the glass, and some primal part of me gets off on seeing her lips touch the same spot mine did. It’s so close to kissing, which is stupid.
“Oh, wow.” She smiles and I feel it deep in my chest. “I really taste the raspberries.”
“I just started playing with the formula. There’s thirty pounds of fresh berries in every batch.”
“I like it.” She takes another sip. “I’m not just humoring you. I really like it.”
“Good.” I try my wine again, surprised to discover I feel the same. It’s lush and warm, and I’m not sure why I’ve been depriving myself this long. “So is that why you stopped wearing all the fancy clothes you wore on TV?”
Mari stares at me. “What?”
Crap.
“Sorry. That was a dumb leap. I meant—well, I mean I watched a little of your old television stuff. Shrink to the Stars and some appearances on daytime talk shows.”
I shut my mouth because I sound like a stalker, but Mari’s eyeing me with interest. “You watched my show?”
I shrug, not wanting to admit I downloaded all the episodes the first day we met. “I wanted to know what I’d be getting into with this TV thing. Thought that might help.”
There’s an edge to Mari’s laugh. “God, Shrink to the Stars is hardly a model for good television.” She shakes her head and sets her empty glass on the table. “Don’t get me wrong—I helped a lot of people on that show. I like to think I did, anyway.”
“So what’s the problem?”
She looks down into her glass like the right words might be floating on the surface of the beer. “I guess it’s like you said. I had to become someone else. This polished, glamorous lady in designer shoes who wasn’t me at all. It’s who my sisters are. Our mother, too, but—”
“Not you?”
She shakes her head. “I could play the role because I was raised in that world. But it’s not who I was. Who I am.” She laughs and takes her glasses off, polishing them on the hem of her shirt. “To be honest, I may have gone too far the other direction. Rebelling against nice clothes and makeup and anything that felt like part of my old life.”
“So you get it.” The urge to kiss her nearly bowls me over, and I forget for a moment what I’m saying. “The stuff I said about not liking wine—it’s how you’ve handled your post-show experience.”
She looks at me with surprise, her eyes clear and bright without the glasses. “Yes. I suppose it is.” Color floods her cheeks. “This feels weird.”
“What feels weird?”
“Talking about myself.” She licks her lips, and half the blood leaves my brain. “I’m not used to that.”
“No?” Christ, I could spend all night listening to Mari talk about herself. “That’s a shame.”
“Why?” Her voice comes out breathy, and I wonder if she’s feeling this same rush of intimacy. The same urge to move closer on the couch, to sink into our shared heat.
“You’re the most fascinating person I’ve met in a long time,” I say. “This right here—getting to know you. It’s been my favorite thing since I got to Oregon.”
It sounds like a line, but it’s the truth. I look into her eyes, willing her to believe me. Wanting her to know how amazing she is.
We stare at each other for a long, breathless moment. Or maybe I’m the only one not breathing, because I see her chest rising and falling beneath the shimmery fabric of her top. Her lips part, but she doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t move at all as I sit here wondering if I should make a move.
“Griffin?”
“Yeah?”
“Please kiss me. Just once, so I know—”
I pull her close, the press of my lips cutting off her words. It’s rude, but I couldn’t wait one second longer to know what she tastes like. How she feels threading her fingers through my hair as she presses her body against mine.
That’s the cue I need to deepen the kiss. As my tongue touches hers, bright bursts of fireworks go off in my chest. Mari melts into me, and a quiet moan escapes her lips. She tastes like cocoa and vanilla and hunger that has nothing to do with those things. I want her so much my whole body aches, and it’s all I can do not to drag her onto my lap.
Be cool. She’s the smartest, sexiest woman you’ve ever met. Don’t blow this.
It’s not much of a mantra, and I forget it the instant her hand slides from my hair to my chest. She grips my shirtfront like she’s afraid I’ll get away. Like what’s happening here can last just a few seconds before we shake hands and say goodbye.
That’s not how I see it going.
I slip my fingers through her curls, reveling in silky strands that are even softer than I imagined. I’m losing myself in her sweetness, in her lush heat. My heart hammers in my eardrums as Mari moans again and grazes my tongue with hers.
I’m going under, losing myself in her soft, sweet, delicious—
“Dad!”
The door bursts open, and we jerk apart like we’ve been shot with cattle prods. I blink at my daughter panting in the doorway, her ponytail askew.
“Dad! It’s an emergency!”
Chapter 5
CONFESSIONAL 677.5
Judson, Marilyn, PsyD (Psychologist: Juniper Ridge)
I do love helping people. Listening to their problems, working with them to articulate challenges so they can find solutions that work for them. There’s this misconception that psychologists have all the answers. We know where the landmines are, so of course we never step on them, right?
[prolonged laughter]
Yeah. We’re just as screwed up as anyone else.