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“Thank you,” Sophie said as she took her menu and slid into the booth. She’d taken the lipstick off, her waves were back, and the eyeliner was a little smudged, yet she somehow looked hotter than she had when I picked her up.
“Thanks,” I said, and opened the laminated menu.
“I know I should get something healthy because I swore off fast food, but it smells so much like french fries in here that I don’t think I can resist.” Sophie opened her bag and got out her glasses, sliding them up the bridge of her nose.
“You’re not wearing contacts?” I asked.
“I hate contacts,” she said, not looking up from the menu. “I’d rather wear glasses all the time.”
“Except for tonight...?”
She glanced up and shrugged. “My glasses didn’t really match my dress.”
“So... could you seeat allat the wedding?”
“Ish,” she said dismissively, and went back to the menu. “I wonder if their chicken-fried steak is good.”
It was mind-boggling, how she moved on so effortlessly to foodafter what had just happened. I mean, technically it was just a kiss—one single, meaningless kiss.
But dear God, it had been next fucking level.
The joke was on me because I’d brought the whole thing up before the wedding to prove a point to her, to show her that it couldn’t have “been anyone” that made our last kiss spectacular.
For some asinine reason, I wanted her to realize the kiss was great because I was a great kisser.
Fucking idiot.
Instead, I’d proven to myself that I was crazy attracted to her and she still remained clinical about both kisses.
I picked up the water glass and took a drink, parched all of a sudden.
“Can you imagine if we had sex that way?”
I started coughing, absolutely hacking because the water went down the wrong tube. As I coughed and my eyes watered, Sophie sat there, watching me with her head tilted, like I was entertaining.
“I’m okay, thanks for asking,” I managed once I got the coughing a little under control.
“Oh, I know,” she said, closing her menu. “You just sucked your water down the wrong tube when I mentioned sex.”
“Whydidyou do that,” I asked, dying to know what she’d meant while knowing full well I didn’t need to talk about sex with Sophie. “I’m having a burger, by the way.”
“Same,” she said, grabbing my menu and setting it on top of hers. “All I meant, when I scared you into inhaling your beverage, was that can you imagine having sex for yourself, without giving a damn about the other person’s thoughts or desires?”
“That’s called masturbation.”
“Ha ha, very funny, but no,” she said, and I noticed she had goose bumps on her arms. “And I don’t mean as a kink, either, like a dom-sub situation where one person calls the shots.”
I snorted. There was something funny about hearing HR Sophie sayingdom-sub.
“Okay, forget it,” she said, rolling her eyes as her cheeks got a little pink.
“I guarantee you I cannot,” I admitted, which made her cough out a little laugh. “Tell me—I’ll be good.”
She looked at me for a minute before apparently accepting my promise and shrugging. “I just mean, like, kissing you—last wedding and today—was the most sexually gratifying thing that’s happened to me maybe ever.”
It sucked that she didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but I wanted to ask her to say it again anyway.
“And if you quit being a smart-ass,” she said, leaning forward and setting her elbow on the table, “I think you might agree. Like, kissing me outside just now, only interested in what you wanted from the kiss—wasn’t it hot?”
