Draw Me In (19 page)

Taking
the cloth into my hands, I twisted it in a knot at the back of my head and
awaited further instruction.

“
Well, now that you
’
re blind folded you
’
re not gonna be any help to me,
”
Ian complained, and I could hear the
shuffling photographs between his fingers.

“
They are all hot.
”
I waved a hand in the direction
where I assumed the photos were still situated.

“
That doesn
’
t help.
”

Leo
laughed as he poured a glass of wine, the liquid audibly sloshing into the
crystal.
“
Julie
’
s not really good at stuff like that
anyway. I took her shopping and she pretty much convinced me to buy the entire
store.
”

“
Yes, she is quite easy to please,
”
Ian agreed. I take back what I said
earlier. Their camaraderie was annoying.
“
There
was this one time when I needed an opinion on a portfolio I was putting
together and she picked out every single image where the male model wasn
’
t wearing a shirt. Didn
’
t matter what his face looked like, so
long as he was practically naked and
—”

“
Still here!
”
I interjected, thrusting my fist out
into the air in an attempt to slug Ian. I missed by a mile and suddenly felt
five years old again trying to whack a
piñata
at a backyard birthday party.
“
And
I
’
m still blindfolded, Leo. Where
’
s that wine?
”

“
Sorry. Here.
”
Coming around behind me, Leo
deposited the glass onto the counter, his chest just inches from my back.
Though I couldn
’
t
see him, I could feel his heat radiating from the arm that bracketed my right
side, and I could smell his scent as it wafted over me, an intoxicating mix of
mild cologne and some type of spice. I hadn
’
t even taken an actual sip yet and I
felt like my blood alcohol level was way over the legal limit.
“
Try this one first.
”

Slipping
his fingers into mine, he guided my hand forward along the marble until it came
in contact with the glass. We curled each of our fingers onto the stem, one
after the other, and he lifted the cup toward me, only dropping his hand when
the cool crystal came in contact with my quivering lips.

Well
that was sexy.

“
Don
’
t drink it just yet, but focus on the
aroma of it first.
”
His hand was on mine again as he swished the contents of the glass in slow,
circular motions.

I
replayed Ian
’
s
voice,
‘
I
’
m still here,
’
over and over in my head to remind
myself that he was, in fact, still here.

“
Do you notice anything?
”

I
noticed a lot. Like every nerve ending in my body.

“
Anything specific you can detect?
”

I
gathered in a long, slow breath through my nostrils and paused to evaluate what
it was I was smelling.
“
Hmmm.
It
’
s
kinda smoky? Like tobacco, maybe?
”

Was
that the wrong thing to say? To compare his family
’
s prized wine to a cigar? I tried to
imagine that bust from back in my room lighting up a stogie, but just I couldn
’
t make that visualization work.

“
Right. Good. Anything else?
”

I
pulled in another deep breath.
“
Some
kind of berry maybe? I don
’
t
know. Blackberry?
”
This was hard. Wine smelled like wine to me. I
’
m sure there was some way to define
the exact tannins or notes or whatever they were called, but that wasn
’
t a skill I possessed. They were just
a bunch of squished up grapes.

“
Exactly. You
’
re really good at this, Julie.
”
He placed his hand on mine again and
lifted the glass back to my lips. Heart in throat, I gulped.
“
Okay. Go ahead and try it now.
”

Angling
the cup to pour a small sip into my mouth, I held it there on my tongue, trying
hard to think of more ways I could impress Leo with my newfound wine sommelier
talents. It tasted good, kind of smoky and berry-ish, but I
’
d already used those two descriptors.
I racked my brain, but for the life of me couldn
’
t come up with anything else.

“
Any thoughts?
”

I
paused, then blurted,
“
It
sort of makes me crave a liver and some fava beans.
”

Great
Caesar
’
s
ghost, someone shut me up. I downed the rest of the entire glass in one
enormous gulp like I
’
d
been in a desert for forty days and someone just handed me a bottle of fresh
spring water. Maybe all that liquid pouring down my throat would keep the words
from making their way out. There couldn
’
t
be room for both, right?

So
now Leo probably thought I was a cannibal.

“
Whoa there, tiger.
”
He pulled the now empty cup from my
grasp and settled it onto the counter with a clink.
“
I think we should get something in
your stomach before you go to town on the wine like that.
”

“
Oh no,
”
Ian piped up. Of course. He was
still here. Thank you for the reminder.
“
This
could be really fun. Alcohol convinces Julie she
’
s an incredible dancer. I say you
guys do another tasting.
”

Annoyed
that suddenly Leo and Ian
’
s
friendship turned into a
Let
’
s-get-Julie-so-drunk-to-the-point-of-dancing
type of partnership, I ripped off the blindfold with angry fingers and tossed
it to the counter. I don
’
t
know how it could have hit me so fast, but the room sort of spun around when I
did that, and I was pretty certain Leo
’
s
Villa wasn
’
t
placed on a fault line. I gripped onto the counter until everything wobbled
back into place and the earthquake in my brain ceased rattling. Then I teetered
slightly. Whoopsie. Must
’
ve
been a little aftershock.

Leo
filled the remaining two empty glasses and slid one toward Ian, the other one
kept within his own grip. The way he propped one hand on the counter, his hip
leaning slightly into it, and the other hand holding a glass of wine that he
had actually
made
was all kinds of irresistible.
And he still wasn
’
t
wearing a shirt. Ian needed to race to his room to retrieve his camera and
start snapping away because this image would be enough to fill that entire
portfolio of his and then some.

“
You want another glass, Julie?
”

“
Fill
‘
er up!
”
I slammed my cup onto the marble
with gusto, and the round base of it snapped completely off and went skittering
across the counter like a Frisbee about to land.
“
Oh my God. I
’
m so sorry.
”
With my luck, these glasses were
probably some ancient family heirloom and I
’
d just broken the wedding gift of
Antonio Carducci the Second and his bride Princess Fiona of Macedonia.

“
No worries.
”
And it probably didn
’
t worry him because Leo reached into
a cupboard and I could easily see that they had at least forty more glasses
exactly like the one I
’
d
just destroyed. That made me feel a little better.

Until
he pulled out a pink plastic Sippy cup. That didn
’
t make me feel good at all.

“
We should be safe with this one,
”
he chuckled, his head still facing
into the cabinets as he placed it onto the counter next to him.

It
took a lot to embarrass me. When you did something so often, it became second
nature, to the point where you couldn
’
t
feel the sting of it anymore. Kind of like ramming your head into a wall until
you lost consciousness
—
that
sort of thing. Lately, I wasn
’
t
even conscious of the stupid things I said or did.

But
this cup sitting in front of me screamed of my blatant lack of grace, neon
lights flashing on a billboard. Evidently I had just as much coordination as a
toddler. Quite sad.

As
I struggled to reconcile the fact that Leo was not the 100% perfect gentleman I
’
d thought he was
—
more like 98%,
which was still pretty darn close to an A+
—
he
pulled out about five more children
’
s
cups before turning around to scoot a clear, plastic wine glass my direction.
After that, he returned all of the other cups to their original home within the
cupboard and regained that 2% of perfection like he
’
d just earned extra credit.

“
I think that will work, don
’
t you?
”

Relieved,
and even thankful that he
’
d
take the time to find a cup I could actually drink out of without the worry of
breaking, I took the glass and the bottle and poured myself another generous
tasting of the Chianti. It really was good as far as wine was concerned, and I
figured having a little of it pumping through my veins might even help in the
artistic process. Not too much because I wasn
’
t one for the abstract. But if
anything, it would make me all the more credible when I finally submitted my
masterpiece, having tasted the actual product.

Lifting
my glass into the air, I practically cheered with all the enthusiasm I could
muster,
“
To
Renaldo Carducci!
”

“
To Renaldo,
”
Leo and Ian rang out in a baritone
chorus, our glasses clinking (mine more thumping) together as we stretched our
arms over the island in a toast of raised hands and voices.

“
To
Modern Matters
and the article and photographs that will make Leo
even more famous!
”
Ian added, and we clinked/thumped once more.

“
To affirming the fact that I
’
m not a lesbian!
”
I shouted raucously, wobbling a bit
on my stool. Okay, the wine had definitely taken over both my balance and my
words.
“
To
Chianti and liver and fava beans!
”
And here
’
s
to shutting the hell up, Julie!
That little inner pep-talk didn
’
t work, because I proceeded to add,
“
To jetlag and sweatpants with elastic
and God only knows how many calories are in this amazingly tasty wine!
”

Ian
curled his hand around my shoulder and lifted his glass to join in another
toast. The tangy bite of alcohol fell from his breath.
“
To Julie and the hopes that she doesn
’
t have a massive hangover tomorrow.
”

“
To strong coffee and aspirin.
”
I hoped Leo actually had those two
things that he
’
d
just toasted to on hand because I would definitely need both come sunrise.

“
Here
’
s to running for purpose and not for
sport!
”
Where I was pulling all of this from, I wasn
’
t sure, but we all drank after every
toast like maybe cheering for these things wasn
’
t completely moronic. That or Ian and
Leo were just really nice guys.