Pink Fucking Moscato

by Anna Rezes

  I swam several laps only coming up long enough to breathe. Exercise was good because it released endorphins. Endorphins triggered positive feelings. At least that’s what science tells us. I needed all the positive feelings I could get. Maybe I would stay here, swimming laps until my muscles gave out and I drowned. At least I would have positive feelings while I died. Or perhaps science was bullshit. It certainly had let me down in the past.

  I didn’t swim myself to death, but my muscles were sore and shaking slightly by the time I finished swimming laps. My neighbor was no longer sitting in his chair. In fact, the room had pretty much cleared out. Still, I tried not to be obvious as I searched for him. I hated my attraction to him, and I didn’t want to be taken off guard again. Once I decided he was no longer around, I relaxed into the water, closing my eyes and floating on my back as I stared up at the giant skylights above the pool. My arms floated out to my sides, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

  Through the windows, I watched the fluffy white clouds pass by, morphing their size and shape as they went. I had to marvel that those clouds may have once been droplets of water in this very pool. It fascinated me how water could change so completely. It was continually transforming—one minute we were swimming in it, the next it was airborne, becoming moisture in the air. It would rise into the atmosphere with all its little water buddies, and together they became frozen crystals that formed fluffy shapes in the sky. And when they were tired of flying, they would fall, splashing down in raging torrents of rain, or floating with the grace of a beautiful snowflake. And every time water fell, it would land somewhere it had never been before, over and over until that drop of water had seen the entire world. I shook my head, snapping out of my thoughts as my body collided with someone.

  I pulled up straight, my feet finding the floor of the pool. “Sorry,” I said as I turned to see who it was. The rest of my words caught in my throat as Mr. Moscato stood before me bare-chested, looking fucking hot with his sexy wet hair and muscled chest. My nipples stood at attention, and I was thankful the water granted me a little camouflage.

  He said nothing at first, so I looked around. There was no one else in the pool or the entire room. I turned back to him, feeling more uneasy now that I knew we were alone. And why was he standing so close to me? I backed up.

  He noted my movement and moved the opposite direction, asking, “What were you just thinking about?”

  “I was thinking this creepy guy is way too close to me. Where’s your girlfriend?”

  He shook his head. “I told you, the wine was for me. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  I gawked at him. “I saw her with you earlier.” I turned to the ladder behind me to climb out of the water. “Men are pigs,” I said under my breath as I walked to my things.

  I threw on my bathing suit cover and towel-dried my hair while I slipped into my flip-flops. A family came in, the kids screaming with excitement.

  Suddenly I felt his body behind me. He leaned in, his chest against my back, his proximity drawing the air from the room. His arm came around me to point at the window to the outdoor pool. I looked where he directed and saw the girl in the red bikini sitting in a guy’s lap. I closed my eyes as his breath landed against my neck. “If she was my girl, do you think I’d be okay with that? She handed me a beer and asked if I wanted to see her room. I turned her down, and she found someone else. We aren’t all pigs.”

  After his last word, he moved away. When I turned around, he was grabbing his shirt off a chair. Without looking back, he strode out, letting the door slam behind him.

  I was breathing heavily, wondering what the hell was going on. “I need a drink.”

  I was afraid to go back up to my room because I was a chicken. I was worried I’d run into him, and I really didn’t want to run into him, but I would not sit in the bar soaking wet. I decided to woman up and go back to my room. I made it there without seeing him.

  I took a quick shower, putting more effort into my appearance, hoping it would restore some of my confidence. I already felt pathetic, and going out alone, I would need all the self-assurance I could get.

  Evan had stolen the confidence I once had. I used to think I was beautiful. I wasn’t full of myself, but I could make myself look good. Now, the long lashes that I thought I had didn’t impress me. My brown eyes that used to shine now felt dull. The caramel skin that I used to think of as exotic and unique made me feel different and unusual. My hair, the thing I used to love the most about myself, no longer excited me. My long dark waves used to be full, but the stress of life had thinned that hair that I adored so much. I wasn’t going bald, but I didn’t feel the same pride I used to feel.

  My black sundress was cute. The dress covered the parts of me I didn’t like, and the back dipped, showing off the tattoo under my right shoulder blade. I would never have a thigh gap. I was okay with that, but at twenty-nine, my body had been through a lot. I was thankful for my health. I was grateful for everything I had, but I still felt broken. I felt robbed, but I didn’t want to stay bitter for the rest of my life.

  I tore myself away from the mirror, grabbed my purse and the room key, and before I talked myself out of it, I left. I should have looked before stepping out because as soon as I did, I almost ran into the guy next door.

  “Whoa,” he said, stepping out of my path while his arm reached out to keep me from plowing into him.

  I stopped abruptly, but it didn’t prevent my hands from extending themselves. It was a reflex, part of the momentum that was carrying me forward. My hands collided with his chest while his hands grabbed my upper arms and dammit if I didn’t feel his touch everywhere.

  He grinned at me. “You in a hurry?” He stepped back, releasing me while I did the same.

  He asked me a question, but all I could think about was the way his eyes ran down my body and then right back up. It was barely noticeable, but I was staring at him—hard. I shook my head to break the trance. The movement wasn’t subtle, and his little snicker told me he saw it.

  I cleared my throat, saying, “I’m going down to the bar.”

  “Oh. The nachos are good.”

  Oh yeah, I probably should eat. I hadn’t thought about food. I just needed alcohol. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

  He stepped toward his door, dismissing me, and I started walking toward the elevators when I heard him call out, “I have more Pink Moscato in my room if you want some.”

  I hesitated and looked back over my shoulder at him. He shrugged like it was no big deal, but it felt like a proposition to me, and I wasn’t amused. “I’ll pass,” I said, continuing forward.

  I didn’t get the nachos, but I did get some food to go with my giant margarita. I had a few guys offer to buy me drinks which was great for my self-esteem despite knowing men were disgusting pigs. My best friend would yell at me for turning down free drinks, but I never felt right accepting them. I felt like free drinks came with unspoken expectations. I also felt guilty that the unwanted attention flattered me. My inner-feminist was disappointed in me.

  Once I finished my giant margarita and chicken fingers, I headed back to my room. It was just before seven o’clock and the lobby was packed. From the commotion, I gathered there was a baseball tournament, and the teams were checking in, leaving hordes of teenage boys to meander the lobby.

  I just hit the button for the elevator when the doors swung open. Mr. Pink Moscato stepped out, holding a bottle in each hand. He didn’t notice me right away. He took a few steps, either deep in thought or just incredibly focused on getting the corkscrew.

  “Two bottles this time?” I questioned.

  His head snapped up to look at me. Why did I crave his attention so much, but then act like a complete bitch when he talked to me?

  I think he tried to smile at me, but it fell short. He nodded his answer, and then we continued to stand there in silence. When I didn’t say anything else, he started walking away.

  “Wait,” I called.

/>   He turned back.

  Why was I doing this? Why?

  “The lobby is packed,” I warned. “It’ll take you forever to get through the line. I have a corkscrew upstairs.”

  When he continued to stand there, I clarified, “You can use it instead of spending half your night in line.”

  He inhaled deeply and let out a long breath before stepping back toward the elevator. I had to hit the button again, and the doors slid open. We entered leaning against opposite walls to face one another, but he was staring at the floor. Before the doors closed, I asked, “Are you okay?”

  He glanced at me with a look so intense; it intimidated me. He shook his head ever so slightly while he said, “I don’t know.”

  “What’s wrong?” Maybe I was a little tipsy because I normally would never have asked such an invasive question to a near stranger.

  He folded his arms over his chest, still holding a bottle in each hand. “I don’t even like Pink Moscato.”

  A laugh burst from me. I couldn’t help it. It was so unexpected, and I was slightly drunk. “What?”

  My laugh seemed to snap him out of his funk because he started laughing too.

  “Why are you drinking it?” I asked.

  “What else am I going to do with it?”

  “Stop buying it!”

  The elevator doors opened, and we walked down the hall. I entered my room without worrying about him attacking me. He didn’t follow me in. He stood in the doorway while I went to my suitcase.

  It took me looking in a few different places before I found the corkscrew and held it up. “Voila!” I exclaimed, feeling tipsy.

  He looked to me and smiled, saying, “My hero!”

  As I walked to him, I saw him glance at the dresser piled with all the makeup I pulled out earlier. I hadn’t cleaned it up because I had my mini freak-out.

  “I’m not usually so messy. I was in a hurry.” I looked at him, wondering why I just explained that to him. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t need all that.”

  I laughed. “That’s such a guy thing to say. You only say that to make me feel pretty, but the second I stopped wearing it, you’d be like, okay, maybe you are better with it.”

  “I’ve never thought that about anyone else. Addison is prettier when she wears makeup. Not saying she’s ugly without it, but it enhances what she has. You naturally have dark lashes and beautiful skin.”

  I felt the heat in my cheeks but pretended it wasn’t there. Maybe he was feeding me a line, but he made it damn believable. I held the corkscrew out to him, and he tucked one of the bottles under his arm so he could take it.

  Our fingers touched, and I asked, “Who’s Addison?”

  His winced, like the name was painful. “My ex.”

  “Was the breakup recent?”

  He nodded, sorrow darkening his expression.

  I understood the look. I didn’t know his story, but I felt the same kind of pain he was trying to hide, and so I said, “Life fucking sucks sometimes. It will strip you bare and throw everything it has at you because it doesn’t give a shit what you can handle. It doesn’t wait for you to pull yourself together. Some days all we can do is tread water and hope that one day our feet will find solid ground.”

  He gaped at me, the sorrow gone from his expression. “That might be the most depressing thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  I gave him a bashful smile because I shouldn’t have said it, but I didn’t regret it either. “It’s my truth, but then again, I’m not in the best headspace right now.”

  Oliver

  After what she had said, I’d say her headspace was pretty fucked, but then again, I wasn’t in great shape myself. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to her. Maybe her broken heart called to mine. I realized I was staring at her too long and told myself to say something. Anything. Oliver, just open your mouth and say something. “Do you like Pink Moscato?”

  “It’s okay,” she said hesitantly, most likely doubting my intentions.

  Her eyes were trying to see through me. Long lashes framed her expressive brown eyes—eyes that spoke to me, whispering dark secrets that I was desperate to know.

  “Care to join me?” Did I want her to join me? Part of me hoped she would turn me down. “Drinking alone makes me feel pathetic,” I added, trying way too hard. Maybe I should’ve taken the offer from that girl earlier. Rebound sex. That’s what you’re supposed to do after a breakup, right?

  “Let me see your wallet,” she finally answered.

  “What?”

  “Your wallet,” she repeated.

  “Are you mugging me?”

  She rolls her eyes. “All I need is your driver’s license.”

  I tried to hide my smile. “It’s in my room. Give me a second.”

  I ran into my hotel room like a fucking teenaged boy excited about a pretty girl. I set the bottles down on the dresser and grabbed my license. She was waiting for me in her doorway. I handed it to her, saying, “As you requested.”

  She looked at it before saying, “Okay, Oliver Riser, I’m going to take a picture and send it to my best friend so if I come up missing or dead, she’ll know who killed me.”

  I tried not to smirk as she took the picture, and at the same time, I worried if this was what dating was like these days. Were people always so scared?

  “Done,” she said, handing it back to me.

  “Shall we?” I said, gesturing to my door.

  She grabbed her room key, but asked, “Is it cold in your room?”

  Fuck. Maybe I liked to torture myself because I knew I would be better off if she put a sweater on, but I didn’t want her covering herself. That dress was sexy as hell. It wasn’t skintight or super short, but the black dress was backless with thin straps that held the knee-length dress in place while the loose flowing fabric hinted at what was beneath. And I was reasonably sure she wasn’t wearing a bra. She was trying to kill me. Even standing there talking to her I was rocking a partial.

  “I’ll turn it up if you’re cold,” I offered.

  “Okay,” she said, closing her door and stepping toward me.

  Before I let her into my room, I said, “I don’t need your license, but knowing your name would be nice.”

  She smiled, perfect dimples dotting her cheeks as she said, “I’m Willa.”

  “Just Willa?” I asked.

  Her face fell, and I felt like an asshole even though it was a perfectly reasonable question. Before she could answer, I said, “Willa. I like it. It’s kind of like Cher or Madonna or Beyoncé. It’s powerful.”

  Her face brightened, and she smiled.

  I held out my hand, mostly because I was dying to touch her. As we shook, I said, “Willa, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Oliver, but everyone calls me Oli.”

  “Nice to meet you, Oliver,” she returned with a little smirk.

  God, she was cute. My hand dwarfed hers, and I liked how different she was from Addison. Addison had big hands. They weren’t manly or anything, she just had long fingers. Long and lean like the rest of her. Damn it! I didn’t want to think about Addison right now. It wasn’t fair that I compared everything to her.

  Willa pulled her hand from mine, and I realized again that I was just standing there.

  “She must have really fucked with your head,” she commented without judgment.

  “Let’s drink,” I said beaming, before turning around and holding the door open for her. She walked through and went to make herself at home. I had two queen beds in my room, whereas she had a single king. It was clear what bed I had slept in, so she went to the other. She sat at the end of the bed, taking in the room.

  “Would you like the tour?” I asked.

  She laughed, but said, “That would be lovely.”

  “Alright, over here we have my bed. This is where I’ve done most of my drinking alone and wallowing. Then over here,” I pointed at the table by the windows, “this is where I eat alo
ne. And here,” I gestured to the bathroom, “this is where I take long showers and pretend my life isn’t in shambles. But over here,” I reach down to the mini-refrigerator and open the door, “this is my favorite part.”

  She looked in the fridge filled with bottles of Pink Moscato. Then she turned and looked at the table where five more bottles sat and then to the dresser where the two from earlier were sitting.

  “Why the hell do you have so much wine?”

  “Nope,” I shake my head as I turn to grab the bottles on the dresser. “You can’t ask me questions like that until I’ve had a drink or two.” I use her corkscrew to open one of the bottles. “Do you always travel with a corkscrew?”

  “Most of the time,” she said with a shrug. “My friend and I have gone on a few girl’s trips, and we realized after the second time forgetting a corkscrew that we should each have one that lives in our suitcase. She and I both have them now. I’m really not an alcoholic. I usually don’t drink unless I’m on vacation.”

  “Is that why you’re here? Are you on vacation?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m just running away.”

  “From what?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I will need a drink or two before I answer that one.” She stared at the floor, and I knew that look. I had felt it myself. Before she went to a dark place, I handed her a bottle.

  She took it but looked confused. “Are there glasses?”

  “You’re holding it. I don’t have glasses, but even if you don’t finish that bottle, it’s okay. I have more.”

  “So, we’re just drinking from the bottle,” she said grinning.

  “Yep.” I tapped my bottle against hers. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” she repeated. She combed a hand through her hair, pushing it back as if she needed it out of the way before she started drinking. I hated how adorable it was.

  I sat down on the other bed and faced her. She scooched, so she was directly in front of me. For a while, we drank in silence.