by Tara Lain
Finally, both Bo and Jeremy leaned against a table while Christian, RJ, and various other helpers scuttled around, cleaning up. A few die-hards were still sloshing down wine, and Sage was talking seriously in a corner to Ottersen, though she kept glancing toward Bo.
Llewellyn and Blaise walked over. He’d almost forgotten about them—the whole reason they’d thought up this giant party. Funny how it had taken on a life of its own.
Blaise said, “We’re going to leave.” His eyes shifted toward Ottersen, then back to Bo and Jeremy. “Probably best to do a debrief after you’ve both gotten a good night’s sleep. Maybe tomorrow or at your convenience.”
Jeremy asked, “Did you learn anything interesting?”
“Not anything time sensitive.”
Llewellyn nodded. “B-bits and p-pieces. B-but better not to appear t-too conspiratorial.” He grinned, which in his handsome nerd face was downright cute.
Bo said. “Maybe we can come to you. Drive over to the university.”
“Th-that would be great.”
Blaise raised his voice. “Wonderful event. Thank you so much for inviting us. We’re delighted we’ll be serving award-winning wines at our wedding reception.”
From the corner of his eye, Jeremy saw Ottersen glance over at that statement.
Blaise and Llewellyn left, shaking Ottersen’s hand at the door. Ottersen was all smiles. As soon as the two departed, he turned again to Sage with a darkly intense expression.
Jeremy said, “Wouldn’t we like to know what they’re talking about.”
“So true.” Bo met Jeremy’s eyes. “What did you start to say before we were interrupted earlier? I think you said, ‘Maybe we could’ and then stopped.”
Jeremy shrugged. No, he didn’t feel as casual as that gesture suggested. “I think I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go celebrate our wins.” He smiled. “I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather share a toast with than my fellow wine phenomenon.” Keep it light, Aames. He smiled with what he hoped was a message that said This might just be palsy-walsy, but if you’re interested in more, I’m willing to talk. Talk? Fuck. The way he felt tonight, he was willing to lean himself over the bar and give Bo a taste.
Bo’s cheekbones turned pink, and he glanced away.
Wonder what that means?
Jeremy inhaled and started to speak—
“Jeremy, what shall I do with leftover wine in open bottles, hmm?” Christian waggled a half-empty chardonnay bottle.
Jeremy tore his eyes away from Bo. “How about offering it to some of our remaining guests to take home?” He glanced back at Bo with what he hoped was significance. “Since we need to chase them out now so we can close.”
Bo nodded, but whether out of anticipated sex on the tasting bar or just exhaustion wasn’t clear.
Jeremy looked back up. “You were about to say—”
“Bo, I’m putting extra food in our walk-in.” RJ flashed his amazing set of teeth. Jeremy would have liked to knock those teeth out right then. “But I’m packaging it in two parcels in case Jeremy wants some of it.”
Jeremy gritted his teeth in what he hoped looked like a smile. “Thanks, RJ.” He looked up again. “So what do you think?”
“Oh thank God, I’m off the clock!” Sage sailed up and grabbed Bo’s arm with both of hers and leaned against him. “I’m so sorry it took me forever. Mr. Ottersen wanted to supervise every comma in my damned release.” She laughed musically, and Bo wasn’t disengaging her from his body, although the flame was back in his cheeks.
Sage gazed up at Bo. “So, are you done? I’m just starved, and I can only imagine how you feel. I barely got any hors d’oeuvres, and I’m sure you two got none.” She must have felt the rising tension, because she said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I just barged into the middle of your conversation.” She smiled, all sunny solicitude. “Maybe Jeremy wants to join us for dinner, Bo? I’d love to hear all your thoughts on the party and the tasting and everything.”
“What?” Some bubble burst in Jeremy’s brain, right below the dark cloud of suspicion that formed in his mind. Of course Bo had plans. What kind of idiot made up fairy tales of gay-for-you boyfriends? Fairy tales was right. And what the fuck was Bo doing hanging out with Ottersen’s PR person? “No, thanks, I have other plans.” He backed up a couple of steps, stumbled, had to catch himself on the nearest table, laughed nervously, turned, and fled directly out the door.
Fuck! The cold March night air hit him, and in one instant he realized he was freezing and making a total fool of himself.
“Jeremy!” Bo called from the door.
Jeremy turned slowly, and Bo held out his coat.
Shaking his head with a rueful smile, he walked the few steps and grabbed his wool jacket. “Thanks. Sorry.”
Bo glanced down at his shiny, expensive boots. “I asked her a while ago.”
“She works for Ottersen. Did you know that when you asked?”
Bo glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. I knew. I better go.” He looked up pleadingly. “My mama fixed us up.”
“Sure. I understand.” Jeremy knew what it was like to have family expecting things from you. “See you.” He turned and walked toward his car on the gravel lot.
“Do you want to go to the university with me?”
Jeremy sighed softly. “I’ll text you if I can get away tomorrow.”
His heels crunched on the gray stone. Family expectations were murder.
BO CHEWED his sole and affected interest in the classical guitarist playing in the corner of the small restaurant they’d come to in San Luis Obispo. He didn’t usually have trouble talking to folks. He was a little shy but had always had a gift of gab. Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything to say to Sage. He liked her. At the very least, he should be trying to subtly wean information out of her, but all he could think of was Jeremy’s face when he’d realized Bo had a date with Sage. Recipes for a good bread pudding were less complex than his expression. Bo’s heart wanted to believe Jeremy felt disappointed, but there was no doubt about the shock or disapproval on his face. Something else too. Maybe self-deprecation? Bo wanted to leap from the table, rush to Jeremy, and find out every detail of what he was feeling. He wanted to explain, apologize, tell him—what? Tell him something that would take some of the hurt from his wide blue eyes.
Sage said, “You poor thing. You must be exhausted.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry. Just rehashing the events of the night.”
“I had no idea when you told me about the festival that it would be anything nearly so elaborate. Honestly, it was fantastic. I think people will be talking about it for years to come, or until the next one, whichever comes first.”
“Your boss didn’t seem too happy.” See, he was doing his snooping job.
She smiled and sighed at the same time. “I won’t lie. He believes he should have won first place in both categories, but I guess all vintners believe in their wines.”
“No. If I’d taken first place in whites, I’d have thought either the judges were amateurs or it wasn’t a serious contest. My whites are good, but not as good as Jeremy’s, just as the judging reflected. And neither are Ernest’s.”
She nodded. “Interesting.”
“Ernest is a good winemaker.”
“I’m waiting for the ‘but.’”
Bo shrugged. “But he’s too derivative. Someone like Jeremy takes big risks that sometimes don’t work but often result in genuine innovation. If a vintner’s wines taste too much like some other producer, good judges can tell.”
“How do they know which is the original?” She looked genuinely interested.
“It takes skill, but generally the original will have nuances and notes that the copy can’t equal.”
“Copy?” Her eyes widened.
“The one that came second, shall we say?” He sipped the soft white he’d had with his fish.
“You’re not the first to say Ernest isn’t original enough. I must confess a few people said that to me
at the party.”
“Ernest seems to have the means to support his business, which not all of us can say. He can afford to offer product at prices less-well-off vintners can’t match.”
She frowned. Damn, I’ve been shooting off my mouth. She said, “You mean losing money on every transaction and making it up in volume?”
He chuckled and tried to make it sound genuine.
“But you said yourself, he’s a good vintner. He couldn’t have won two second-place ribbons if he wasn’t.”
“Exactly true.” Of course, the person winning the ribbons could likely have been his reverse engineer, but Bo wouldn’t say that. “So you mentioned that he wanted to read every comma of your news release.”
“Yes. I’m doing two. One specifically for Ottersen Wines. Then I told Ernest that I had agreed to do a news release as a part of Ottersen’s contribution to the festival.”
“What’d he think of that idea?”
“Oh, he liked it. I brought the release for your approval, by the way. I hate to make you work any more tonight, but I’d like to get it to the wire service before midnight.”
“Sure. I’ll take a look.”
She fished her phone from her purse and handed it to Bo. He read over the Word document. “This is great, and it really emphasizes the win from High Top.”
She smiled. “I got the feeling that his being new to the area and new to winemaking made his win extra special. He also seemed so genuinely shocked, it was really cute.”
“Do you need me to okay this? Because I like it.”
“Sure. Do you want to call Jeremy and read it to him?”
He swallowed. Jeremy likely wouldn’t answer. “No. Let’s surprise him. He can use some good news.”
“I’d think his trophy would be very good news.”
“Some more good news, then.”
She grinned. “I think a few people were surprised to see us together.”
“Uh, yes.” Damn, that was an understatement. “Did Ottersen notice?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly. He was so distracted by the contest, I don’t think he paid much attention to anything else.”
“Will he be upset—in light of the awards?”
She shrugged. “He’s not that petty. He loves his wines and thinks they’re the best, but I’m sure he respects the winners.”
Bo wasn’t that sure, but he dropped the subject.
Sage said, “I think your sisters were happy to see me there.”
Bo nodded. “Yes. I’m sure they’ll tell my mother that her matchmaking was a huge success.” Which was both a good and bad thing. His mama would be all over him for the next step in their relationship.
She made a cute face. “Glad to be of assistance. I must confess you’re such a doll, I can’t help but wish it was all more than a date of convenience.” As he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “No worries. I’m not coming on to you. Exactly.” She laughed and he did too, though his was a little forced.
As they finished their meal, Bo tried not to look like his brain was elsewhere. He even asked if she wanted dessert but was really happy when she didn’t. He just wanted to talk to Jeremy.
Sage said, “I hate to cut our dinner short, but I need to send this release to the wire service so it can go out in the morning.”
“Oh sure, I understand.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome to come watch me if you want.” That was definitely fishing.
“I think I’ll quit early. It’s been a long day.” He slid out of their booth and stood for her to walk out first.
He helped her on with her coat as she said, “But what a great one. You guys really did do an amazing job. You should be proud.”
“Thank you. High praise.”
They stepped out into the parking lot. They’d driven their own cars, so all he had to do was escape and he just might be able to track down Jeremy. She gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
He smiled through his blush. “Thank you again for the news release. When you suggested it, we had no idea it would benefit us personally. So our thanks as well.”
She grinned. “My pleasure.”
He stepped back toward his car. “So I’ll talk to you soon. Thank Ernest again for his wine and contributing your services.”
“Oh yeah. I’ll remind him how great I am.” She laughed and got in her car.
The second she drove away, he hopped in his Prius and, to the extent that a Prius could tear, he tore out of the parking lot. Despite the fact that he and Jeremy had worked on the party for three weeks, Bo still didn’t know where Jeremy lived. Damn. That was so dumb. He pressed the pedal to the metal on the extremely long shot that Jeremy might have gone back to Hill Top after he ran out of the party.
I have to tell him that Sage and I are just friends, but what else? Do I want to tell him that Sage and I are just friends because I’m gay? He wiped his finger over his eyes. Right, and what do I say next? I want to have sex with you. That sounded so good his cock gave a hop.
And after that, I’ll say please don’t tell anyone, and when we’re in public, please pretend to be my pal and put up with me going out with Sage to establish a cover.
Shit and grits!
Bo turned onto the side road that led to Hill Top Winery and began the gradual climb that the name of the winery described. When he got to the left turn into the parking lot of the medium-sized tasting room, lights shone in the windows. Could be somebody else. Could be Jeremy.
Bo kept the car far back in the big open space and stared at the soft, inviting warmth of the illumination. What am I going to say?
Being in the closet was crap. More than any convenient profanity, it was painful, life-denying, and cowardly. Why did he do it? The fact was, he loved his family, but they drove him mad. The idea of giving them another instrument with which to torture him made him sick. And it wasn’t like his mama would be indulgent or understanding. She’d never let up, and she’d make sure his sisters didn’t either. He dropped his head on the steering wheel.
Maybe I’m a coward. When his father died, it never crossed his mind that he didn’t bear responsibility for his family’s well-being. He’d even gone slightly round the bend one time and sought out a shrink who told him he had a choice. That he needed to recognize his choices—and he did. He chose to be the man he was raised to be.
He’d only been seven when his father had taken him into his study, just the two of them. He’d given Bo a small glass of watered wine, which Bo kind of thought tasted awful, but the honor was so great, he drank it all.
“Bo, I notice that you spend a lot of time with your sisters and their friends.”
He smiled. “They’re fun. They do fun things.”
“Really? Playing with Barbie dolls? Please, Beauregard.” He shook his head, and Bo felt so small. “That’s okay for a child—well, maybe for a very small child—but you’re growing into a man. Men do not spend frivolous time with women. It’s your job to take care of your sisters and your mother, just as that’s my job. Women are precious gifts that must be cherished and cared for. Not played with.”
Bo nodded seriously, though he had no idea what his father meant.
“I’d rather see you spending your free time playing sports. You’re good at them. Your teachers tell me so.”
He nodded even harder. He’d never really loved sports. The boys took them so seriously, it was no fun.
“I’d be very proud of you if you were to play football or baseball.”
“You would?”
“Yes. Which do you like best?”
He shrugged. In truth, he was good at both, and the coaches had tried to get him to join the teams. “Which one do you like best, sir?”
His father leaned back and sipped his wine, so Bo did the same. His father said, “Well, I’m a Southerner, son, so football’s my sport. But you choose what you want.”
“Yes, sir.” Two days later Bo was on the football team, and his career as a leader was w
ell-established, all the way to his distinguishing himself as quarterback of his college team. Every personal talk he’d had with his father drilled into him the unparalleled importance of caring for the Marchand family and the Marchand name. The fact that his father left them almost worse than penniless didn’t seem like the greatest care. Fortunately, Bo had received an inheritance from his grandparents when he moved to California that allowed him to start Marchand Wines. When his father dropped dead, that was all they had.
But his father’s teaching stuck. Tossing off his family on the shoulders of someone else or, God forbid, expecting them to care for themselves was inconceivable. His only rebellion had been insisting that he bear his burdens his way, doing his own work, and in California, not Georgia. He’d paid the price every day with his mother’s long-suffering censure.
Putting the car in gear, he rolled closer to the tasting room. He didn’t know how much more he could take of life as it was. He was horny, and most of all, he was lonely. He detested sneaking, hiding, and lying. As a result he simply stayed away from all personal and romantic contact, men and women.
Fuck that! He opened the car door, jumped out, and slammed it behind him. Determinedly he strode across the lot, up the stairs of the porch, and tried the door. Locked. He rapped—hard.
Nothing.
Maybe the lights were just Christian and he was scared to answer the door.
He knocked again.
No answer.
Okay. What was that saying? If a door didn’t open, it wasn’t your door. Right. That’s what he really needed. Inspirational sayings.
He turned and walked off the porch.
Chapter Eleven
“WERE YOU looking for me?” The voice snapped like a whip.
Bo hadn’t heard the door open, but now the light shone down the porch and all over Bo. He turned. Oh holy birds and sweet little fishes, what a shine.
Jeremy stood in the entrance wearing jeans so low-slung it was a miracle of nature in defiance of gravity that they remained poised on his hip bones. His white, wine-stained T-shirt clung to the body that had no reason to be so staggeringly fit. The cotton revealed all six of his packs, and dear God, his magic hair hung on his shoulders like the glow from inside had pooled there. All that glory stopped at his face, which was darkened by a dangerous scowl. Bo swallowed. “Uh, hi.”