“Woah, hey now,” Brody said. “I don’t need all that pressure on me. We’re just here to have some fun. What are y’all drinking?”
Eric carefully picked up the wine bottle by the neck. “This is a Caymus cab sauv. Two thousand and twelve—a very good year for them.”
Brody nodded and turned to the waitress. “We’ll keep things going with another bottle of that, please and thank you.”
The waitress looked at the bottle in confusion.
Eric leaned over and put a hand on Brody’s arm. “A place like this wouldn’t have Caymus. I brought this from home.”
“Hah, no problem,” Brody said amicably. “We’ll take a bottle of whatever cab sauv you’ve got. We’re not too picky.” He flashed me a grin.
A tingle of excitement ran up my spine. I didn’t realize it until now, but I had been craving Brody’s attention. Having him sitting here at the table with us, just three feet away, was like suddenly being near a warm fireplace after being out in the cold.
Even if his arm is around his girlfriend, I thought.
“Tell me,” Eric said, “are you a wine aficionado, Brody?”
Brody chuckled. “Can’t say that I am. I love wine, but my palette is about as refined as my husky dog’s.
“I’ll drink just about anything,” Isabella said.
“I’m sure you would,” Eric replied, punctuating the insult with a smile.
I elbowed him and whispered, “Be nice. Isabella is my boss.”
“Dean Armbruster is your boss,” he replied.
“You know what I mean.”
The wine came and the waitress poured two glasses. Brody took a taste and nodded in satisfaction.
“Tell me about that wine, Brody,” Eric said.
Brody twisted the bottle around. “Looks like Cupcake Vinyards.”
“Aw, that’s cute,” Isabella said while leaning into Brody.
“I meant the flavor,” Eric clarified. “What do you taste?”
Brody shrugged. “It’s good. Not too dry. But not sweet, either.”
“Is it fruit-forward? Or more flavor on the back-end?”
Brody took another sip. “Little bit of both, I guess.”
Eric chuckled. “A wine will typically only be one or the other. Not both.”
Brody flashed a disarming smile. “If you say so. It might not be a Caymus or whatever, but it’s wetting my whistle nicely.”
Professor McHolmes raised his whiskey glass. “Cheers to that.”
Isabella leaned toward me and said, “Are you ready for Sunday? The big home opener against the Patriots?”
“I can’t wait!” I said. “It felt like such a tease for the first two games to be on the road. I’m itching to show my moves.”
“Great,” Isabella said, stretching the word out into three syllables. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, sweetie. Keep up the practice and you’ll move to the A-line soon!”
I gave a start. “Where am I starting on Sunday?”