Thirty-Four Ben #2
“Got it.” Arya nodded and wiped his mouth, but he missed a bit of tomato in the corner. Ben reached over and wiped it away with his own napkin.
Arya’s eyes went wide. “Thanks,” he muttered.
On Arya’s other side, Carley snickered.
Ben got the sinking feeling he’d done something wrong.
Okay, maybe he’d overstepped a tiny bit. Everyone knew they were together, but that might’ve been too much PDA. But did Arya have to act so shocked?
Justin cleared his throat again.
“Now, for the wines.”
Maurizio rubbed their hands together. Brenda reached for her glass and brought it closer.
“As discussed, we’ll have three reds and three whites, plus a signature cocktail for the evening.”
One of Justin’s servers swooped in with a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and started pouring glasses. Arya shifted in his seat and produced—from somewhere, Ben wasn’t even sure where—a stainless steel thermos with the MME logo on it. He unscrewed the top and set the thermos in front of him.
“Spittoon?” Ben asked.
Arya nodded. “Don’t want to get buzzed in the middle of the day.”
Should Ben have brought his? No one had mentioned needing a spittoon, and Arya was the only person who seemed to be using one.
“Arya’s never any fun,” Maurizio said, though they said it fondly. “But he always gets us back to the office safely, so we forgive him.”
Arya chuckled and raised his glass in Maurizio’s direction, clinked with Carley and then with Ben, and drank. Ben tasted his, too.
The wine was bright and acidic, of course, crisp and overflowing with candied orange peel and fresh nectarine flavors.
“This is my favorite day of the year,” Brenda muttered, shooting Ben a wink and raising her glass. Ben toasted her back and took another sip.
It was good Sauvignon Blanc.
Next to him, Arya swished the wine in his mouth, thoroughly aerating it, then put his thermos to his mouth and softly spit. He licked his lips and nodded. “Nice and crisp. You said it was how much a bottle?”
“Can I get another taste?” Brenda asked, holding up her empty glass.
“Of course.” Justin poured out another taste—a big taste, basically a glass—and looked around. He poured for Maurizio, too. “Ben?”
Brenda nudged Ben’s foot under the table. “Say yes.”
“Sure.” Ben didn’t need one—he was an experienced taster—but apparently there was a system here.
“And we can do thirteen dollars a bottle on this one,” Justin said to Arya as he poured.
“Great.” Arya made some notes.
“Now, next up, I know we’d talked about Pinot Grigio, but our distributor got us a great deal on this Grenache Blanc, so I thought we could take a taste and see if you wanted to go that route instead…”
It quickly became apparent just why this was Brenda’s favorite day of the year: She was getting hammered. So were the other committee members. Maurizio’s cheeks were turning red. When no one was looking, Ben felt his own cheeks. They were getting warm, too.
After the Grenache Blanc came the Pinot Grigio, so they could do a side-by-side comparison (the Grenache Blanc won), and after that, a Chardonnay from Willamette Valley. Every time, Brenda and Maurizio had second (or sometimes third) tastes, and Ben followed along.
Shit, he was getting drunk fast.
Arya and Carley tasted, too, but Arya kept spitting, and Carley limited herself to small sips, never accepting a second taste of anything.
Shit, was Ben being unprofessional? He was just doing what everyone else was doing. Clearly it was the expectation that he get drunk with them. Given how stressful the rest of PhilBall planning was, he wasn’t surprised they made the most of this perk.
Besides, fuck it—he hadn’t let loose in a while.
When Justin poured Ben another taste of Chardonnay, he caught Ben’s eye and gave a little smile.
Ben held in a laugh. Oh, Justin knew what he was doing for sure.
Every pour had been a bit larger than the one before.
At some point, without even saying anything, Justin had made more of the cheese-stuffed tater tots appear on the table.
Of course he had. Justin was good at his job. He always had been. Back at Phoenix Mountain, everyone had loved him. The tasting room was always full; tours were booked out months in advance; people went out of their way to request he be the one to take care of them.
Justin was good with people, good to people.
He’d been good to Ben, too, up until he wasn’t.
There had been more happy memories than ugly ones.
He’d seen all of Ben’s less savory parts and loved him anyway.
He’d loved every bit of Ben except his sexual preferences, and yeah, he suggested a bonkers solution to it, but honestly, who out there had never stuck their foot in their mouth?
Arya swished again, spat again, made some notes, whispered in Carley’s ear, caught Ben looking at him.
He gave Ben a little closed-mouth professional smile, but under the tablecloth, his hand squeezed Ben’s thigh.
Ben wished he’d do it over the table. Well, not grab his thigh, but hold his hand.
Where everyone could see. Yeah, everyone knew, but they didn’t know know.
They didn’t get to see Arya and Ben holding hands taking Simon for walks.
Or cuddling up on Arya’s couch. Or making their way through their collections of sex toys.
Not that there’d been any of that lately. Arya was too busy, too stressed, or so he said.
Maybe he really was pulling away. Justin had done the same thing, in the weeks leading up to him asking about the open relationship. Stopped having sex with Ben, stopped spending the night in San Francisco as often, stopped being affectionate in all the little ways that made them a couple.
At least Arya hadn’t stopped that last thing. His thumb traced little circles atop Ben’s leg. No, not circles. Hearts. So what was Ben supposed to think? Talk about mixed signals.
After the white wines, Justin brought out another cheese platter, along with the reds for them to taste. First was a Malbec, which Brenda and Maurizio were fine with. Ben wasn’t completely sold on it, but Arya full-out frowned.
“Is this Bretted?” he asked, sniffing his glass. On his other side, Carley wrinkled her nose.
“It does smell like grass clippings,” she said.
“And wet bandage.” Arya’s face scrunched up, and he stuck his tongue out to scrape it against his teeth, like he could get the taste off that way.
Ben blinked and smelled his own glass again. The wine did smell like a handful of coins. He must be drunk if he didn’t even notice fucking Brettanomyces. He should really stop.
Maurizio shrugged, but Brenda tilted her head to the side. Well, it was more of a drunken flop. “Bretted?”
“Spoiled. By a yeast called Brettanomyces.” Arya turned to Justin, who had poured his own glass to check, his lips curled. “Justin? Any chance we can try another instead?”
“Oh, good idea,” Brenda said, finishing her pour anyway.
Justin left to go get fresh glasses for them. While they waited, Ben reached over and squeezed Arya’s leg under the table, too. Except he missed, because he got a handful of Arya’s dick instead. Arya squeaked and shifted.
Ben let go right away. Shit, had anyone noticed them?
Arya shot Ben a warning look and cleared his throat. “This is a marathon, not a sprint,” he warned. “You want some water?”
“I’m good,” Ben said. He was going to stop.
Except he did need to make sure the Malbec was actually okay.
Which it was. Better than okay, in fact: juicy and robust. And then there was a Beaujolais that was spicy and delightful, and Ben wasn’t nearly as knowledgeable about Beaujolais as he could’ve been, so he did try a second tasting of that.
After that was a Sonoma Cabernet, which was surprisingly full-bodied.
Ben was a die-hard Napa apologist, not just because of the family business but because he truly loved Napa wines, but even he had to admit this Sonoma one was good.
Better than good, even: bold and structured, with hints of something…
nutty. Black walnut maybe? Damn, he really was kind of drunk.