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This is how we should be meeting for the first time. Not me being an asshole and telling her that she was in my seat. Mentioning my wayward dick.
“Sophia Beck.”
A stupid thrill races through me when her smaller palm brushes against mine. When our eyes connect along with our hands.
This isn’t the first time we’re meeting.
I know Sophia Beck. Know her a hell of a lot better than the guy she’s here with, I’d bet.
“I’m Noah,” the asshole Sophia showed up with says, working his way around the room as well.
Sophia steps away. I shove my hands into my pockets.
Beck and Hans are just as stone-faced as they greet Noah as when I showed up, so I take it less personally.
Actually, I appreciate it.
No way this guy is good enough for Sophia. He’s good-looking, I guess, with longish blond hair and a friendly smile that’s slowly dimming. He’s the shortest guy here, but he’s on the tall side compared to the general population. I’m certain he doesn’t play football. His frame is too lanky, lacking the definition training requires. And he seems shocked to be here. Starstruck, glancing around the room. Erika attempts to ask him a few questions, and he stumbles through the answers, looking back and forth between Hans and Adler with an awestruck expression. If he knows who I am, he doesn’t appear to care, and that irritates me too.
The socializing before dinner is awkward, which bodes poorly for the meal itself. Thank God Saylor is here. Conversation between us flows easily while everyone else feigns interest in the places and people we have in common or holds side conversations.
I should be happy for Sophia. Hoping it works out between her and Noah.
I’m not. I’m pissed. Jealous.
I excuse myself to use the bathroom before dinner, then end up in the kitchen, trying to find my way back to the dining room. This place is huge, the layout similar to a labyrinth.
Sophia is standing at the kitchen island, pouring more wine into her glass. She glances up as I enter, before I can turn around and avoid this conversation.
“What are you doing here, Will?”
“I was invited for dinner. It would have been rude not to accept.”
“Right,” she drawls. “And we all know just how polite you are. Mr. Manners.”
I step closer. “Who’s the guy, Sophia?”
“None of your business.”
“Does he know you were screaming my name last weekend?”
She sets the bottle down so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t break. Her wineglass is so full; it’s close to overflowing.
“Did you know I was coming tonight? Is that why you brought a date?”
Sophia rolls her eyes. “Get over yourself, Will. I did.”
She did not just say that.
I can’t remember the last time I was this worked up. This turned on. Electricity crackles between us, buzzing with awareness and power. Fueled by frustration. I’m mad at her, for moving on from what happened between us so easily. I’m furious with myself for being the reason. She’s mad—maybe hurt—and she has every right to be.
I step even closer, caging her body between mine and the edge of the counter.
This kitchen is insane. It looks like something you’d see on a fancy cooking show. But I couldn’t care less where we are. All I’m focused on is the woman in front of me and the unfamiliar emotions she incites.
“You’re over me, huh? Six days ago, you were coming on my tongue. How long did it take you to get off, Sophia? Less than a minute?”
She’s breathing heavily, just like I am. Her heartbeat is a wild flutter just beneath her jawline as she tilts her head back to meet my gaze.
