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I’m not surprised she doesn’t know. Today must have been a relief for her, a chance to finally escape football again.
“We won.”
“That’s great. How did the match go…for you?”
I hate that there’s a difference in her head. That she’s asking about my individual performance, knowing that’s a separate metric of success for me. And I love it too. Especially knowing she has little investment in the sport. That she’s only asking because she knows it matters to me.
“Three goals.”
“That’s amazing, Will. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” We stare at each other for a few seconds, me battling the urge to look down the entire time. The fucking dress she’s wearing. “Nice dancing.”
Her shoulders tense. “Just having some fun.”
“You should be careful. Your head?—”
Sophia laughs, but it’s not a pretty sound. It’s ugly and bitter, lacking any real amusement. “Oh, now you’re worried about my head.”
“What do you mean, now? I’ve been worried ever since it happened. If you forgot I came right over to check on you, then you’re definitely not fine.”
“I am fine. No need for you to be concerned.”
If only it was that simple to turn feelings off. I have them for her, and I can’t figure out how to get rid of them.
“Sophia…”
“What?” she asks. Her annoyance is faltering. I catch the nervous fiddle of her fingers before she lifts a hand to tuck some strands of hair behind one ear.
I missed this. Even more than I realized, now that I’m experiencing it again. Talking to her. Looking at her. Simply being near her is a relief, healing an injury I didn’t realize the extent of.
I step closer, drawn into her orbit. She smells like alcohol and a variety of perfumes. But beneath it all…Sophia.
“I’m sorry…sorry about what happened in Beck’s kitchen.” I’m sorry about a lot more than that, but this is the easiest apology. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She snorts. “You’re sorry. Great. Okay then. Can you go now?”
I take another step closer. Sophia backs against the counter surrounding the sink, her stare defiant and her chin lifted as she holds my gaze. In her heels, she comes up to my shoulder.
“I’m trying—it’s not—I just…” Fuck. I don’t know what I’m doing. What I’m saying. All I know is I want to be here—with her—more than I want to be anywhere else.
She tilts her head to the side, her blue eyes searing into me like cyan fire. “Is this what it was like? With her?”
My breath stalls in my chest, lungs squeezing tight. There’s only one her Sophia could be referring to. I never told her the pictures with Cassandra were of us leaving a restroom. Either she looked up the photos or someone told her. I never wanted her to know details. Never wanted that night to affect my relationship with her even more than it already had. I’m fighting this because I’m wrong for her. And I’m fighting this because it could be very bad for me. The only similarity between Sophia and Cassandra is that they’re both connected to men with power over my career. I didn’t choose to get involved with Cassandra, knowing that. I didn’t want her the way I’m desperate for Sophia.
“It was nothing like this,” I tell her. “I didn’t even know her real name.”
“But you had sex with her. And you won’t have sex with me.”
I exhale. Those plain terms don’t tell the whole story.
“She meant nothing to me. You…you mean something to me.”
She scoffs. “That doesn’t make any sense. I mean something to you, so you won’t sleep with me?”
I exhale roughly, dragging a hand through my hair. “It’s complicated. You deserve better than?—”
“Shut up.” She pokes my chest—hard. “I have an overbearing dad and an overprotective brother. I do not need another guy telling me what I deserve. That’s my decision. You don’t get to make that choice for me.”
