“Yay, you came!” she says, and when I turn to look at her, she gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. I exchange a look with Lachlan. She’s even drunker than before.
“Of course we came,” I tell her as she beckons us to follow her into the bar. There are a few people lined up along its length, looking over lists and being doted on by wannabe sommeliers, but we follow Steph to the back where they’re all sitting around a private table.
They all cheer when they see us, and I give them a quick one-handed wave in response.
“So,” I say, looking over their empty, wine-stained glasses. “You’ve got quite the head start.”
“We’re just one drink in,” Nicola says, gesturing to the two empty seats next to her. Lachlan and I both sit down, and the wine girl appears immediately.
“Hi,” she says in an overly bubbly voice. I guess you have to be bubbly if you want to sell expensive crates of vintage. “Let me top you two off. We started off with a light sauvignon blanc blend.” She reaches with her bottle, expertly pouring in a mouthful, but when she moves for Lachlan’s glass, he puts his hand over it.
“I shouldn’t,” he says, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
I look at Bram curiously to see if this is odd behavior from his cousin or not. Bram in turn is watching Lachlan carefully, though he doesn’t seem surprised.
“Would you like another kind of wine?” the girl asks.
“Give him the red,” Linden says. “He seems more like a red wine kind of guy. Right? Less sugar in red wine.”
Bram gives his brother a conflicted look and opens his mouth to say something when Lachlan shrugs and removes his hand from the glass.
“Sure, red is fine,” he concedes.
I feel like everyone around the table has suddenly tensed, making Lachlan the center of attention so I quickly say, “Bram, thank you so much for arranging this.”
And then everyone’s attention is on Bram with numerous expressions of gratitude. I put my hand on Lachlan’s leg, his muscles flexing as he anxiously taps his foot on the floor.
The wine girl, whose name tag reads “Jennifer Rodriguez,” comes back and pours Lachlan a hefty dollop of their red grenache blend. She’s actually quite attractive in the white teeth, tanned skin, wavy, honey-colored hair, overly obnoxious way. She won’t stop making eyes at Lachlan either.
But she doesn’t even appear on his radar. While she’s giving him all the information on the wine, babbling on, her eyes flitting over his tattoos, the bulk of his arms and shoulders, he doesn’t even look at her once. He just takes a sip of the wine and nods.
The rest of us don’t get the same amount of attention, although the wine is quite good. Bram asks a million questions about everything we drink, but Jenn’s attention is always on Lachlan. At one point she actually touches his bicep and coos over it.
“I love your tattoos. My ex—boyfriend used to have a fleur-di-lis on his arm and a quote across his chest. I always thought they were very sexy on men.”
I’m so close to telling her to step off but Lachlan folds his hands in front of him and calmly looks up at her. “Just pour the wine, darling.”
Jenn immediately looks flustered, her pouty mouth dropping for a moment, but then she steps into professional mode, sparing herself from further humiliation. I feel like giving Lachlan a high-five but keep my small triumph to myself.
We’re a few wine glasses in and Bram has started filling out an order form to bring back a crate of his favorite when Lachlan leans into me and whispers, “Meet me outside in a few minutes.” He then gets up and strides out of the bar.
I turn around to face everyone else and they’re all looking at me expectantly.
“What?” I ask, finishing off my wine.
“What’s with him?” Linden asks.
“He’s your cousin. You know how he is.”
“Yeah,” he says, “but at this point, I think you may know him better.”
I look at Bram for backup but he just goes back to filling out the order form. “I’m afraid Linden is right, Kayla. You’re the expert now.”