Fever Lust

I had never understood wine bars. Or people who frequented them. I had always thought they were nothing but a bunch of snobs, so pretentious. “Hey, I’m so cultured and hip and I can distinguish between grape juice and a very expensive wine.”

I, myself, couldn’t tell the difference between a chardonnay and merlot. To me, all wines tasted like sour, fermented grapes. Nevertheless, here I was, sitting by the bar and having a staring contest with three full glasses of wine. The bartender—or was he called a sommelier—had asked me if I would be interested in sampling their specials. My own sampling, a combo of authentic Italian wine for only thirty bucks. What the heck, since I was already here, I went ahead and ordered. Minutes later, I already regretted my decision. I did not even like wine. I’d come here because Nadia had said I had no class, and I couldn’t even pick up the right type of wine to go with red meat. And for the highlight of our conversation last night, she dumped me.

I knew I shouldn’t be bothered, but this time I really was. Nadia dumped me every two weeks, but always took me back on account of her big heart. I would be so lost without her. To top it off, she also happened to be the daughter of the CEO where I worked. She was beautiful, an ex-teenage pageant queen, and currently contracted by an esteemed New York modeling agency. Guys in the office always congratulated me on my luck. Though lately, I had reason to think my luck was actually a curse. I had loved Nadia because she had been the first girl I’d dated and slept with, but as of late, I had come to the realization that I might not even like her.

I had always been one of those gangly, unsightly, awkward kids when I was growing up. When girls had clamored about how handsome the captain of the football team was, I had been a jealous dork who’d wished girls had gone gaga over me too. After I had graduated from high school, I had gotten a job at a telecommunications company as a customer service specialist. And last year, during a company sponsored Christmas party was when I had met Nadia Sharp. She had been the one to ask me out, because I was nothing but a big chicken. In all of the twenty-one years of my life, I had never asked a girl out on a date. I was a hopeless geek with a taste for only hot girls, and since most hot chicks dug hot guys, it wasn’t as if they were knocking down my door, asking me out. When Nadia had showed interest in me, I’d thought I was the luckiest man alive, under the stars. It was hard to believe a nobody like me could land such a rich, beautiful girlfriend. What more could a guy want?

I took a sip of the dark purple concoction from the middle wine glass in front of me and cringed. Dry, strongly fermented, and tasted bitter on my palate. How could this be enjoyable? Maybe Nadia was right. I had no class or taste in wine. I suppose I just didn’t like booze like everyone else. I also hated beer; to me, it was a waste of epic proportion. Not only did it taste horrible, it made me want to run to the bathroom every five minutes. In my humble opinion, if I needed to get hammered, I would just go with the hardcore stuff like whiskey and be done with it.

“How was it, sir?” the bartender asked.

“Excellent,” I lied, “it tastes…” Like horse piss. Grandma’s soaked underwear. A week-old puddle of rainwater, I thought.

Instead, I quoted from a wine review I’d read in a magazine. “It’s intense, with an elegant hint of underlying floral and fruits.”

“I’m glad you like it, sir,” the bartender returned, nodding with satisfaction. “Would you like a glass of water to clean your palate between sampling?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Right away, sir.” The bartender scuttled toward the end of the counter.

“Are you a wine connoisseur?” A warm, buttery voice came from behind me.

I turned my head. My heart did a quick jolt when I saw him. Actually, there were two of them. Each one flanked me side by side, taking a seat at the bar. They looked like twins. Probably in their late twenties or early thirties. Both very striking. They were tall, well-built and wrapped in formal black suits. If it weren’t for their waist-length platinum hair, I would have guessed they were Feds. But I’ve never heard of federal employees being allowed to wear their hair long, so I gauged these guys must be models or something of the like. My guess, the suits they wore weren’t something a federal employee could afford. Besides, didn’t most models like to go to snooty places like this to socialize with fellow snobs and elitists?

I realized my face was heated when they sat next to me. What was happening? I was blushing. Over guys.

Then, I noticed every patron in the bar was checking out the twins. Okay. I wasn’t weird. They were too gorgeous—enough to even make a guy like me feel funny.

I swallowed hard. “No. I’m not a wine connoisseur.”

The twin who spoke to me lifted a light-colored eyebrow. “Oh. But you seem very knowledgeable.”

“I made that up. I know shit about wine.”

He laughed. His brother also gave a light chuckle. “I’m Arael Shaezu. And this is my brother, Drasen.”

We shook hands. Arael sat on my left. Drasen to my right. The two mirrored one another. From their faces down to their voices, the length of their hair, and the impeccably neat and expensive designer suits they wore. Or so a “tasteless” man like me thought anyway. I bet the whole ensemble must have cost them a few grand, at least.