Straightforward

Harley

I was feeling the effects of the wine when we got back to my apartment. I flicked on the lights and poured myself a glass of water from the tap while Rick shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coatrack by the door.

Then he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up shirt, revealing his forearms which were corded with muscle and lined with a thick vein that, for some reason, always made me feel like a damsel in distress at the sight of them.

“Do you still want to crack open that bottle of wine?” he asked.

I nodded and set my empty water glass on the counter beside the sink. “Absolutely. It’s on the wine rack at the end of the island.”

Rick went to the kitchen island and bent down to look at the selection on the wine rack, which was not much. A bottle of red and two bottles of champagne people had given me as gifts that I intended to save for special occasions.

He popped the cork on the red while I fetched us two wine glasses. Within a couple of minutes, we found ourselves dr