Cole had no idea what he was going to show Rhett, but he needed to get him out of his bedroom and out of his bed. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached behind him and laced his fingers into Rhett’s and pulled him into the hallway. Cole stumbled on his way into the living room and Rhett slammed into his back, the heat of his chest noticeable through their clothes.

The kitchen counter looked like a good place to fuck Rhett. So did the couch. Cole needed to get him out of the house. He yanked Rhett toward the front door and onto the porch, leading him around the driveway and into the vineyard.

“I’ve never been down here like this,” Rhett said breathlessly.

“These are cabernet grapes,” Cole told him, plucking one from a bunch and rolling it between his fingers.

“They’re small,” Rhett observed.

“They’re late bloomers. They’re not quite in season yet.” Cole pulled him deeper into the vineyard.

“It smells really good,” Rhett said, inhaling deeply.

Cole inhaled also, but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Does it?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to Rhett, who was wide-eyed with wonder at the vines surrounding them.

“Do you not smell all the grapes?” Rhett laughed and squeezed Cole’s hand.

All Cole could smell was Rhett.

“I guess I’m used to it,” he answered, emerging from a short row of vines near the back of one of the vineyard’s private tasting rooms.

Cole dug his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling Rhett inside behind him. He flipped the light switch on the wall, illuminating the intimate room, decorated with display oak barrels and industrial-style chandeliers with brushed bronze finishings.

“Sit,” he told Rhett, pointing to one of the plush beige chairs situated around a low, unfinished wood table in the center of the room.

Rhett sat, running his palms back and forth across the soft upholstery. Cole ducked behind a small bar against the back wall and grabbed two bottles of wine, tucked one beneath his arm, and then took two glasses from under the bar and carried them back to the table.

Cole sat in a chair opposite Rhett and pulled a bottle opener from his keyring, slicing the foil seal on one of the bottles before popping the cork out. He did a three-ounce pour into each of the glasses and pushed one across the table to Rhett.

“Okay, so no boring questions,” Cole repeated Rhett’s demand from breakfast.

“Right.”

“Then start drinking.” Cole tipped his own glass toward Rhett before taking a sip himself.

“What?” Rhett sputtered.

“If we’re drunk, it’s less likely to be boring.”

Rhett took a small drink, his face looking pained. Once the wine hit his tongue, his features softened and he followed up with a larger swallow.

“You like?” Cole asked, feeling particularly proud.

“Yeah.” Rhett nodded.

“It was my favorite year,” Cole told him, taking another drink and encouraging Rhett to do the same.

The merlot they were drinking was almost seven years old. It was from the first year Cole assumed management of the vineyard. He might have been biased about the flavor, but nothing they’d produced since then tasted better to him.

“There’s another thing I know about you,” Rhett said proudly, leaning over the table and pouring himself another glass. Cole cleared his throat. He hadn’t even realized that Rhett had drained his first.

“What’s that?” Cole was genuinely curious. He shifted his weight, aware that he was resting more on his right hip than the left.

“You’re so proud of this place.” Rhett smiled loosely.

“I don’t think we’d be here if this place wasn’t important to me.”

Rhett rolled his eyes. “Not just important. That’s not what I said. It’s like you don’t listen when I talk.”

Cole raised his eyebrows.

“I said you’re proud of it,” Rhett repeated, gesturing with his glass before taking another drink.

“I have one about you,” Cole countered.

“What have you figured out, Mr. Future Fake Husband?” Rhett sassed.

Cole licked his lips, adjusting himself again, but more because of uneven blood distribution than uneven weight distribution.

“You’re a lightweight.” He tipped his chin down and saluted Rhett with his glass.

“No, I’m not,” he protested, shoving his glasses up his nose and back into their proper position.

“What’s your favorite way to pass the time?” Cole asked, changing the subject.

“Reading.” Rhett smiled at him, a bright and beautiful thing.

“What do you read?”

“Everything,” Rhett exhaled his answer and finished his wine.

Cole reached between them and picked up the merlot, pouring a few more ounces into Rhett’s empty glass.

“Why event planning?”

Rhett scoffed at him, “Why not event planning, Mr. Mallory? Oh! Cole Mallory. I’m Rhett Kingston. When we get married, do we hyphenate? Whose name goes first? Mallory-Kingston or Kingston-Mallory? I’d never try to say that you should take my name, but Mallory-Kingston does seem to roll off the tongue a little easier, don’t you think?”

Cole was one more hyphenated last name away from kissing Rhett into silence.

“Rhett Mallory-Kingston?” Cole questioned, finishing his wine.

Rhett blushed from his cheeks down, and Cole almost pointed it out as an observation that he’d made, but decided against it. He wanted to keep it to himself for a little longer. It was a secret for his knowledge only.

“I like it,” Rhett breathed.

Cole jumped out of the chair and walked over to the bar, bracing his hands against the edge and dropping his head.

“Maybe drinking before lunch was a bad idea,” he mumbled.

“What?” Rhett asked.

Cole heard Rhett’s glass clink against the table, followed by him shuffling across the small room and lingering just behind him.

He could feel Rhett there, already accustomed to the way heat radiated out from Rhett’s chest through the rest of his body—the way it set Cole’s blood on fire.

“You’re drunk,” Cole replied, not turning around.

“So?” Rhett stepped closer. His chest couldn’t have been more than a foot away from Cole now.

“It doesn’t matter, you know,” Cole turned to face Rhett. “About the names. It’s pretend. You don’t even need to change your name if you don’t want to.”

Because it’ll be easier for you when we get divorced, Cole added silently, the meaning of his statement clear either way.

Rhett frowned slightly and closed the few inches between them. Cole closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Rhett reached for his fingers, twining their hands together.

“People need to think it’s real.”

Rhett’s breath was hot against his face now, their palms sweaty against each other.

“I don’t know about you, Cole, but I’m not the kind of person who would get married and not take my husband’s name in some capacity.”

Rhett squeezed his hands and Cole looked down, staring at the way their fingers twisted together at their sides.

“Mallory-Kingston, then,” he confirmed.

Rhett made an agreeable sound in his throat.

“Cole Mallory-Kingston.”

Rhett was far too close to his mouth. The air in the room was gone. Cole couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he knew was Rhett’s hands were in his, their hips were aligned, Rhett’s mouth hovered over his, exhaling names from a future that wouldn’t ever really exist.

Ideas that Cole hadn’t ever had before about anyone, let alone Rhett, sparked in his brain like out of control fireworks. Hyphenated surnames and shared bank accounts. Spring in the vineyard. All things that he couldn’t ever have. This arrangement with Rhett was just a tease, a taunt of things that were just out of his reach.

“Rhett,” he managed to say his name. “Please don’t do this.”

“Why not?” Rhett asked, so close now that Cole couldn’t be certain their lips weren’t touching. Rhett’s breaths were his breaths.

“It’s a bad idea.” Cole swallowed.

“But people will know.”

“What will people know?”

“If we haven’t been intimate.” Rhett breathed into Cole’s mouth, the deep fruit taste of the merlot was rich on Cole’s tongue. “There’s a sort of familiarity between people who’ve been inside each other.”

Cole’s cock pressed against his thigh and in a move he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t regret for the rest of his life, he shook free of Rhett’s hands and stepped aside.

“You’ve been drinking,” Cole reminded him.

Rhett turned, resting his butt against the bar and watching Cole retreat back to the table they’d been at earlier.

“I have. I am, you know, at a vineyard.” Rhett gestured to the room they were in.

Cole chuckled, debating another glass of wine for himself.

“What is it like?” Rhett asked him, eyes narrowed.

Cole decided he needed more wine and topped off his glass, emptying the bottle. “What is what like?”

“Being with you. Like that.”

Rhett pushed off the bar and slinked back toward the table, dropping into his chair while holding his eyes on Cole.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cole managed to reply, even though he was pretty sure he knew exactly what Rhett was asking.

“How do you fuck, Mr. Mallory-Kingston?” Rhett asked, far lewder than Cole had ever seen him before.

“Do you want to know how I’ve fucked everyone else, or how I’d fuck you?” Cole asked, unable to bolster himself against the intensity of Rhett’s stare any longer.

“Me.”

“With you, Rhett, I’d take my time.”