Page 8 of Bordeaux Bombshell (Sunshine Cellars #3)

Sydney

He cleaned the fucking house.

“You’re the best,” Kel says in my ear as he hugs me at the door.

Guilt heaps on my head from letting him give me credit for cleaning up downstairs. Technically, I thought about it. I was planning to do it once Olive was asleep, except when I came downstairs after putting her back to bed, I found Nate gone and everything tidied up already.

But I know Nate will say something to Kel about stopping by, and if I don’t say something now, I’m going to be the one who looks bad. “Nate stopped by. I think he wanted to talk to you about something. He…uh…he helped.”

Kel whistles under his breath and looks around his house. “Nate was here? With you? Unsupervised? And the house is still standing?”

Fighting not to roll my eyes, I step out of reach and grab my coat. I changed back into my dress and heels while Kel and Maggie were putting Jordan down, and now all I want is to go home and take them back off. “Whatever.”

“Love you, Syd.” Kel holds the coat while I slip my arms inside. “Thanks again. And thanks for not starting World War III in my living room.”

“Goodnight, go get some sleep, you weirdo. Give Maggie a squeeze for me.”

By the time I get home and crawl into bed, I’m so exhausted I can barely see straight.

But as I lie in the dark, my silky sheets caressing my legs, the sight of Nate on his knee as I blocked him from coming inside won’t leave me alone.

He’s been on his knees for me before, peeling my jeans down and worshiping my pussy like the gift it is.

I hate how good he is with his tongue.

And I’ll never admit those French girls taught him a thing or two to do with his fingers that I never would have thought I’d like.

Why can’t I get him out of my head? My whole life, the man has infected my thoughts. Every date I’ve ever been on, I end up comparing the man to Nate. It makes me hate him even more.

Tonight was no exception, and thinking about it builds a fire in my belly.

The way his half-hard dick pressed into my ass.

The way he took care of the house—and me by proxy.

Those long fingers gripping the edge of the sink as I wrestled my way beneath his arms. It should not have turned me on that he was fighting me to clean up the kitchen, but it did.

The constant ember of anger that burns inside me travels down to my core, blooming into a new kind of fire.

With an exasperated groan, I roll over and fish a toy out of my bedside table.

I slide my underwear off and flick on the vibrator, running it along my inner thigh while my other hand traces circles around my clit.

Hitching one leg up, I continue using both hands, one circling and rubbing in the exact spot I know will get me off the fastest—damn Nate for knowing that too—while the other guides the vibrator in and out of my wet pussy.

Every time my thoughts flick to Nate’s long fingers or his brown eyes looking up at me, I force myself to imagine the football scene from the new Top Gun movie.

Hot, sweaty faceless men with abs and asses I could bounce a quarter off.

Miles Teller doing a victory shimmy in slow motion—stupid mustache and all.

But whenever I get close, my mental image switches to Nate grinning at me across a bar seven years ago, his drink lifted in acknowledgment as I flirt with some rando, his eyes locked on me.

His lips skating across the skin of my exposed shoulder in the shade of the grapevines farthest from his house.

His fingers dancing up my thighs as he confesses it’s always been me.

My orgasm shivers through my body, but it doesn’t bring me any relief.

“Goddammit. Fuck that motherfucking asshole and his shitty, smug ball sac.” I flip the sheets off me with a frustrated cry, tempted to throw my vibrator across the room, but my neighbors already hate me, and it’s not the sex toy’s fault my brain is trying to ruin my life.

Jackie and my mom giggle at something behind their menus while our server raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m so sorry, I would like a mimosa, please.”

Mom slaps her menu down. “We would also like mimosas. And bacon.”

“Would you like to order now?” The server looks us over, her pen hovering above her notepad. Heat creeps up my cheeks as my mom and her best friend act like idiots in public. Again.

“No, no.” Jackie waves a hand. “We’re not ready to order. The bacon is our appetizer.”

Christ.

With a nod, the server leaves me alone with them. “So, how come I scored an invite to your weekly brunch and bitch?”

Mom and Jackie have been meeting up for Tuesday morning brunch since I was a kid.

Of course, I was never invited to join them while I was at school.

Even now, I rarely get invited, despite making my own work hours.

But now that I’m here, I’m not so sure I want to be.

I can’t tell if they’re getting ready to stage an intervention for me or plan a heist.

“We’re planning a bridal shower for Maggie, but we want it to be good. Up to her standards, you know?” Since Maggie is an event planner, I do know.

When June was pregnant with Olive, we held the baby shower at the winery, stringing up some crepe paper and store-bought decorations before calling it a day.

Not that we didn’t put in effort; it’s just that no one in our family is much of a girly girl, and I didn’t have any girlfriends to help me do better.

As a kid, I’d spent so much time chasing after Kel and Nate that by the time I got to high school, I didn’t really know how to be friends with girls.

And most of them avoided me once they realized Kel and Nate’s protective streaks made it impossible for any of the other boys at school to get close.

Despite being pretty, I had a reputation as boy repellent.

“Why don’t we ask Ophelia to help?” Surely, Maggie’s younger sister has helped her plan parties plenty of times.

“She and Philip just got settled in South Carolina, so I don’t want to ask her for help now,” Mom reminds me.

I shouldn’t need the reminder. Ophie and I are closer in age, but since the only impulsive thing she’s ever done in her life was get married on a trip to Vegas, we don’t actually have much in common.

He was her best friend for years before they did it, so it’s not like it was even technically that impulsive. Maggie and I are much more similar in that regard, although she has two kids to take care of, and I don’t even have a cactus.

“Fine. Do you guys have a date in mind? A color or a theme? Anything?”

Once they’ve decided on their food order, we hammer out a few details about the shower.

Getting a straight answer out of either of them is an exercise in frustration.

You would think a pair of sixty-year-olds could act like adults for longer than five minutes at a time, but apparently that assumption means nothing in the face of being best friends for over twenty years.

Just one more crime to add to Nate’s list, really—if he and Kel hadn’t become friends, then our parents wouldn’t have either.

And then I wouldn’t be stuck seeing his stupid face all the time.

And I wouldn’t be babysitting a pair of grown-ass women who had too many mimosas on a Tuesday morning in April.

Thank God no one said anything about the shower being co-ed. And we are definitely not having it at Sunshine.

Giggling, my mom excuses herself from the table, leaving me with Jackie. Who looks at me with suddenly sober eyes and a raised eyebrow.

“So, tell me what it’s going to take for you and Nate to patch things up.”

The change in topic is too quick for me to stop the disgusted noise that escapes me at the mention of his name. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” Jackie sips her water, gaze locked on my face.

“Jackie, this is between me and Nate. How do you know he isn’t the one to blame for everything?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of blame to go around, dear. Trust me, he’s got his own conversation coming. But this is about you. What’s it going to take on your end to bury the hatchet?”

“For Nate to go back in time and not abandon us…erm…you.”

“If only we had a time machine.” She gives me a sad smile. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible. And this isn’t about you holding on to your grudge for my sake. I know you’re smarter than that. So the question remains. What is it going to take for you to forgive him?”

A miracle. “I can’t forget the way he just disappeared.”

“I’m not asking you to. No one is. But forgiving and forgetting are two different things.” Piercing me with eyes similar to her son’s, Jackie stabs her fork into a piece of melon and takes a bite.

“I’d rather talk about anything else than this.”

“Too bad. And hurry up before your mom comes back.”

“Jackie, I really don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Listen, my little Hellcat—”

I wince at the nickname, but she misses it as she sips her water.

“—enough is enough. We’ve all let this drag on for far too long.

I thought letting you two fight it out would be best, but obviously, I was wrong.

I never thought for one second my little tiger-girl would give someone the silent treatment for almost two years.

” Jackie tips her head and grins at me. “I’m actually a little impressed, but I will deny it in a court of law.

You have to talk to him, figure out a way to move forward. ”

All the “have-tos” and “shoulds” Jackie is tossing my way burrow under my skin and scratch at me. If I had fur, it would be standing on end while I hiss and spit. Just like my old cat Amelia used to.

Except, instead of Nate and me being the only ones who could soothe her, now we’re the ones who set each other off.

Thankfully, the conversation cuts off as my mom stumbles back from the bathroom. Her short-sleeved dress sways as she walks, the blue fabric swishing around her ankles.

“Brr, it’s chilly out here.” Mom’s hip bounces off the edge of the table when she attempts to slide back into her seat.

“You’re the one wearing a sundress, Mom,” I point out as she dramatically rubs her arms. Jackie is wearing a thick sweater and cropped pants, while I am toasty warm in my oversized hoodie and jeans.

“It’s not a sundress, Sydney. But it was so lovely and warm earlier this weekend, I couldn’t bring myself to pile on so many layers. I’m so ready for it to be summer.”

Containing my desire to roll my eyes yet again—my mother has never once in her life checked the weather before getting dressed—I stuff my mouth with one last bite of French toast instead of being snarky.

“Greg and Nate have been watching the weather like nervous Nellies. There’s a chance of frost tonight, and this late in April, it would be a disaster.”

That would explain Nate coming to find Kel last night. Vaguely, I wonder how his head is and if I left a mark. “Is there something we can do to help?” Reaching across the table, I take Jackie’s hand, my irritation vanishing in the face of something so much bigger than my grudge.

My whole childhood was spent at “the Ridge,” running around after the boys, helping Jackie and my mom make charcuterie boards, playing with my cat, learning how to fix things from Greg. Just because it has a new name and I hate Nate’s guts, doesn’t make it any less mine.

Jackie pats the top of my hand. “You know.”

I do know. And I hate the answer.