Juliet Immortal

flushes hot and then cold, prickling with awareness, almost as if my moment of weakness is being observed. I turn in a circle, scanning the muddy parking area in back ofthe barn and the drooping vineyards beyond, searching for the source of the crawling sensation. But there’s nothing. Just acres of bare vines with a gray sky above and black clouds moving in along the horizon—a sign of more storms to come.
    “Come on, Ree. Move your skinny ass.” Gemma’s hiss comes from behind me, where she and Ben linger inside the metal door that serves as the entrance to the modern, very unbarnlike barn.
    I hurry to join them, forcing a laugh when Gemma pinches my arm on my way by. Something like that would normally make Ariel laugh, so I do. It doesn’t matter that I am uncomfortable and ashamed. Ariel would never covet her best friend’s boyfriend—not even for a second—and I am an Ambassador who knows better. Who’s known better from the start. From now on, I vow to remember it isn’t part of my job to feel. My feelings don’t matter.
    “What’s up?” Ben asks as we follow Gemma down the first row of barrels. They’re stacked all the way to the ceiling and give off a pleasantly sour, woodsy scent.
    “Nothing.” I deliberately move closer to Gemma. “Just trying to figure out if that storm is coming our way.”
    “It is. My brother texted me during practice and told me to come straight home after,” Ben said. “There’s supposed to be a tornado watch or something.”
    “But Ben didn’t go home right after practice, did you, Ben?” Gemma turns to run her red fingernails down Ben’s arm. They match her tight red T-shirt and black and red striped dance pants and complete a look that is pure vixen. “What a bad boy you are.”
    “There’s a reason I’m a troubled teen on Monday and Wednesday mornings,
mija.
” He winks at her, but it’s the lookhe shoots me over his shoulder that makes it hard to swallow. I tell myself it’s because his words make me nervous, make me wonder if he’s more dangerous than he seems. It certainly has nothing to do with the way the expression on his face changes him, gives him an edge, makes him look so … so much more …
    “Are all these barrels the same type of wine? Or are they different?” I ask, determined not to even
think
words that start with
S
and end in
Y
.
    “All of these are chardonnay, aged in French oak, for anywhere from six months to a year,” Gemma says, putting on her tour guide voice, turning to motion to the barrels on either side of the aisle. “Chardonnay is Sloop Vineyard’s biggest seller and twenty-six percent of the market share nationwide. Sloop also prides itself on its Bordeaux varietals, but you won’t be seeing any of those on this tour.” She cocks her head, flicking her hair around her face like a slightly deranged Barbie doll. “Those wines are aging in barn three near the Sloop family home, where Gemma Sloop’s dickhead father might actually be working today.”
    Ben laughs. “You know a lot about this stuff.”
    “Dude, I was raised with a wine bottle in my mouth,” Gemma says, dropping the perky persona. “Of course I do.”
    “You ever think of doing what your dad does?” he asks. “Making wine for a living?”
    “I don’t want to do anything my dad has ever done.” For a moment Gemma’s expression grows dark, almost … haunted. But then the big smile is back and she’s urging us to “Come on!”
    She darts to the left, down another row of barrels, toward a line of large upright tanks near the wall. She drops to thesmooth concrete near one of the tanks and reaches underneath, pulling out a package of paper cups decorated with cartoon characters that she proceeds to fill from the spigot on the side of the tank.
    Ben laughs when Gemma hands him a cup with a green monster on the side. “Nice. Very
fancy
,” he says, catching my eye, checking to see if I’ve noticed he’s used the word he said he likes to hear me say.
    And I have. Of course I have.
    I look at the ground, worried that my presence here is a bad idea. It could be my mind playing tricks on me again, but I would almost swear that Ben is
flirting
. With
me
. Right in front of his soul mate. Which is so bad that
bad
can’t even begin to describe it.
    “You know, I’m not sure I’m in the mood for wine after all.” I make a face and put a hand on my stomach. “Maybe I’ll just wait in the—”
    “Don’t even think about it, Ree.”