“It’s good. That’s what I’m having,” Rhys pipes up from beside me. “Yeah?” I don’t look at him, instead watching Scotty chat up a few women at the end of the bar while he pours my glass. Great bartender, even if his brain is in his dick. “2015 was a good year for Bordeaux.” I do look at him now, shifting my head so that my ear is propped against my palm. “I know.” It’s not only annoying that he’s drinking wine but also that he has knowledge about it. “I chose it.”
