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She smiles, very obviously checking me out. The interest on her face is flattering. And familiar, honestly. It’s also a little weird.
We’re not in a crowded bar, which is where I’m most used to this kind of attention. And from the outside, it looks like Sophia and I are a couple, I think, which makes it extra strange. I don’t find encouraging or participating in cheating to be sexy. Aside from the ways it affected my soccer career, that’s what made me most furious about Cassandra’s lies.
“You work here?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies, switching to English.
“You guys deliver?”
They’d better because there’s no way I’m fitting even one box into the back of Sophia’s sick ride.
“We do.”
“Great.” I hand her the list with all the stock numbers. “I’ll take all that, please. Where do I check out?”
“Right this way, sir.” Lina heads for the registers.
I wink at Sophia before I follow her. “Told you I’m decisive.”
This would’ve been an even faster trip, if I didn’t enjoy arguing with her so much. That, I don’t mention.
FIFTEEN
SOPHIA
“Aha! Found it!” I hold the missing bolt aloft like it’s a piece of missing treasure, then take a healthy gulp from my glass. It’s my…I’ve lost count of how many sips, meaning I barely notice the burn of the vodka as I swallow.
“Thank fuck,” Will says. They didn’t include any extras, so he couldn’t complete the couch without it.
Our fingers brush when he takes the bolt from me. I feel like he shocked me—literally. A zap of sensation races up my arm and through my body. Like sticking a finger in an electrical socket, except pleasurable instead of painful. And non-life-threatening. Except it’s killing my confidence that I don’t want him to touch me the way he did last time I was here.
I’m sitting cross-legged on Will’s new living room rug, sorting through the hardware that came with the couch. He texted me yesterday, letting me know that everything we’d picked out had been delivered and thanking me for my help. Not that I had done much. It was the shortest shopping trip I’d ever been on.
And I, for a reason I’m still pondering and possibly regretting, replied, asking if he wanted help putting it all together.
It’s a Friday night.
Normally, I’d be out in a bar with friends. My phone keeps buzzing with messages I’m ignoring.
Instead, I’m drinking vodka on the floor, wearing barely any makeup, with my hair knotted up in a bun because it was falling in my face and making it hard to see the paper pamphlet of instructions.
Will’s installing the missing bolt, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth and his forehead furrowed with concentration. No matter what he says, he’s rich. Or at least, wealthy enough to pay someone to do this for him. He could have gotten the furniture delivered fully assembled rather than spending an evening doing it himself. There’s something endearing about his determination to do so.
I give up on pretending to read the instructions. He seems to have figured it all out on his own anyway.
His apartment is a sparse mess, white walls and stacks of brown boxes. My attention returns to Will, more warmth creeping along my skin, the longer I stare at him. He’s not wearing a shirt again, and I can’t ask him to put one on without admitting it’s affecting me. Stubborn could be a synonym for my name.
But, fuck, he’s so hot. Attractive in a way that’s impossible to ignore. Seeing a photo of him shirtless was nothing in comparison to witnessing it in person. Like sniffing vodka in comparison to swallowing it. One exposure is much more potent than the other.
Will doesn’t have any tan lines, so he must go shirtless at practice a lot. Lucky teammates. His torso is an endless expanse of golden, sun-kissed skin that shifts and bunches as his muscles move. There’s something beautiful about the sight of the controlled power and savage strength, which I’ve seen on display when he plays. My eyes end up on his hands, which are sorting through the pile of hardware. They’re huge, long fingers and wide palms. I recall what it felt like to have his right one between my thighs, and a flash of fever appears that has nothing to do with the temperature of his apartment or the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed.
Coming over here was a terrible idea. Yeah, I just found that bolt that I was probably responsible for losing in the first place, but my other contributions have mostly been drinking the bottle of vodka I brought over because I figured he’d just have more beer and fantasizing about what’s under the shorts he’s wearing.
He’s a football player. He’s a very experienced football player.
And I’m very inexperienced, not that Will knows that. No one does. My friends all think I started having sex years ago.
I’m blaming that curiosity for how I can’t stop objectifying him. And the vodka. Plus the way his magical fingers made me come so hard that it felt like I couldn’t breathe the last time I was over here.
