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Impossible task downtown on a Thursday afternoon, when the entire city was at work.
I drove around and eventually found a spot a few blocks away, closer to Soph’s building than my own. After locking it up and plugging the meter, I took a good three steps before I saw it.
Fuckme.
There was Nick, her black car, parked a few spots away. It felt like a fucking gut punch, seeing her Ray-Bans on the dash and the sweater she’d worn in Detroit on the passenger seat, like a cruel reminder of what I’d probably already lost by caring too much.
When I got into my building, I had to use my key at the vestibule door, since I didn’t have my badge, and something about that pissed me off.
What a fucking terrible day.
I threw the door open when it unlocked, so hard that it slammed into the wall behind it with a loud bang.
“Dear God, you scared the crap out of me.”
My heart stopped and my entire body froze.
I turned around and there was Sophie, curled up on the oversize reading chair that sat in front the mailboxes, her eyes heavy like she’d been asleep, her heels lying on the floor in front of her.
“Hey,” I said inanely, trying to figure out what this meant, what her presence in the lobby of my building meant.
“Can you spare five minutes?” she asked, climbing to her feet and gathering her shoes.
Her face was unreadable, her hair a little wild, and I had no fucking idea what was going on.
“Of course.” I held the door for her, and neither of us said a word as we waited for the elevator and rode it up to my floor. I forced myself not to look at her—I’d already shown my cards and she knew how I felt—because the last thing I wanted was to look like a lovesick loser.
Especially when I was betting she was about to give me a let’s-forget-everything-you-said-about-feelings speech.
I unlocked the door, and as we walked inside, I said, “Do you want something to drink?”
“That depends,” she said, dropping her shoes on the floor of the entryway. “Are you going back to work today?”
I looked down at her face, at those autumn eyes, and just shook my head.
“Then please have a whiskey with me,” she said, and I wished I knew what was going on in her head.
Cookie appeared out of nowhere and weaved his way around my legs, but I didn’t have time for him at the moment.
“Well, come on, then,” I replied, walking away from her and toward the kitchen. “On the rocks?”
“Yes, please,” she said, and my shoulders were tense as I went straight for the booze cabinet and pulled down a bottle of Jameson.
Because all of a sudden it occurred to me that if she said she wanted to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened, I wasn’t sure I was willing to do that anymore.
Somehow, confessing my feelings had spoken them into an undeniable existence.
“So what’s up, Sophie?” I made our drinks with my back to her, doing my best to sound chill when I was anything but.
She cleared her throat, and I tried to ignore the smell of her perfume. “So I owe you multiple apologies.”
I turned around with our lowball glasses in hand, only to see she’d hopped up onto the kitchen counter so her bare legs were dangling over the edge.
God, she was beautiful.
“Thank you,” she said as I held out a glass to her.
“You’re welcome.” I leaned my backside against the counter behind me, facing her, and lifted the Jameson to my mouth.
