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have no trouble finding it. I like being alone,‖ he asserted, Reese‘s
    face suddenly looming in his mind, a silent testimony to the lie.
    ―That might be the path you chose, Hank, but it doesn‘t have to be the path you
    stay on. Maybe you‘re ready now to loosen that stranglehold you seem to have on life.
    Everyone needs to connect. It‘s part of being human. It‘s important to open yourself a
    little—to let someone in once in a while. We all need that—a chance to touch, to be
    vulnerable with someone we trust.‖
    ―That‘s where you‘re wrong, Mr. Sex Worker,‖ Hank said, forcing a laugh. ―Trust
    nobody. You do and they‘ll fuck you over every time.‖
    ―That,‖ Russell said, ―is the dumbest thing I ever heard.‖

Chapter 4

    Russell leaned back into the hot, bubbling water with a contented sigh. He was the
    guest of Stuart Robson and Vince Mundy in their suite at an elegant hotel. The couple
    had flown out from California for a local wine festival and he was glad they‘d thought
    to call him.
    ―It‘s good to see you guys,‖ he said, meaning it. He hadn‘t realized how much he
    had missed Stuart and Vince in the few years since he‘d returned from Napa Valley to
    Denver.
    ―It‘s good to see you, all of you.‖ Vince leered comically at Russell‘s naked body,
    mostly hidden in the hot tub‘s frothing water.
    ―Down boy,‖ Stuart laughed, patting his partner of twenty-four years on the
    shoulder with amused affection. Stuart and Vince, both in their sixties, were more like
    father figures than potential lovers to Russell, but that had never stopped the
    perennially optimistic Vince from trying. It had become a good-natured running joke
    between them.
    Russell actually found the older couple quite attractive, but had learned early on in
    life that work and play don‘t mix too well, especially with the guys handing out the
    paychecks.
    He had gained good experience from the pair while apprenticing at their California
    vineyard and winery, capitalizing on his own love of fine wine, and the opportunity to
    learn the business from the ground up.
    Stuart reached for the bottle of the latest offering from their label, Victory
    Vineyards, and poured Russell a glass. ―I think it‘s our best ever. No mere beer can
    possibly hold a candle to this merlot. I don‘t care how many fancy ingredients you brew
    into it.‖
    ―Stu, don‘t be such a snob,‖ Vince said, shaking his head.
    Russell inhaled the wine‘s rich, delicate aroma and sipped. Both men were
    watching him intently. He knew what they expected, and gave it to them. ―Do I detect
    blackberry and plum?‖ He sipped again, swirling the liquid over his tongue. ―A touch
    of espresso and bittersweet chocolate?‖
    ―Perfect!‖ Stuart exploded. ―Russell, we need you back. Nobody can write the
    labels like you did.‖
    Russell smiled, pleased. He‘d loved working at the vineyard, especially his time
    spent in the barrel room, which was cool and damp inside, compared to the dusty heat
    of a midsummer day. Oak barrels lined the walls, each labeled according to the type of
    wine stored there awaiting bottling. As he had carefully decanted the wines, he
    dreamed of someday owning his own label.
    Victory Vineyards was finally starting to get some serious recognition after quite a
    few years of blood, sweat, tears and some serious capital investment. Russell, with only
    a few thousand dollars and the shirt on his back to his name, knew he‘d never be able to
    come up with the cash to start his own vineyard.
    In doing some research, Russell had come to realize he‘d have a much better chance
    making it on his own in the burgeoning world of microbrewery. He wasn‘t one of those
    wine snobs who thought wine was by definition inherently superior to beer. The
    startup costs, while still significant, were much less than a winery, and beer could be
    brewed year-round, pretty much anywhere one cared to set up shop.
    When the opportunity to