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“I get it. I hate talking about my exes too. They’re mostly all idiots.” She rests her elbows on the counter and stares at the blank TV. “What are we gonna do without the ball drop? It’s the best part.”
I look at the bedroom door where Sophie and Leah have disappeared.
“Kai?” Maureen asks. “Are you disappointed that you don’t have anyone to kiss this year?”
I glance at her and take another swig. “Not particularly.”
She purses her lips with a frown and studies the label on her beer.
At the same time, Leah emerges from the bedroom alone. She picks up the remote. “Ok, Maureen, these boys clearly can’t get the TV fixed. Let’s see what we can do.”
Maureen grabs a strawberry from the half-eaten fruit tray and pops it in her mouth before following Leah to the TV without another word.
I look at the bedroom door. It’s still open. I bite my lip and study it for a moment. Is she ok?
I slowly push away from the counter and stroll through the room, pretending like I’m admiring the décor. Nick returns from the bathroom with only slightly less wet pants and sits down near the TV to help troubleshoot. When I reach the bedroom doorway, I casually peer in. I don’t see Sophie at first, but then I notice a glass door that opens to a balcony. She’s alone outside, facing away, leaning against the railing.
The rest of the group is preoccupied with the television, so I slip through the doorway and make my way through the room. The balcony door is already open, so I stop near it. “It sure is quieter out here.”
Sophie swings her head around when she hears me. She nods before turning back toward the view, which is lit up by the buzzing city.
I step up to the railing too, being careful to leave space between us. Neither of us speaks for a few moments while we watch the hustle and bustle beneath us.
“So, Brent’s been skinny dipping,” I finally say.
A small giggle escapes her lips. “So, he has.” She takes another sip of her beer.
“And is apparently unfazed by hot sauce,” I add.
She smirks into the breeze as it blows strands of red around her face. She turns to me and says quietly, “Thanks.”
I blink. “For what?”
“For pouring water down Nick’s pants.”
I grin and look down at my bottle. “He did it to himself. I just offered the suggestion.”
Sophie smiles again. “Well, thanks.”
I gaze at one of the buildings in the distance. There are lights flickering in a room even higher than ours where another party is likely playing out. I clear my throat. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she sighs.
I wait.
“I really hate that game,” she sighs again.
“He’s too hammered to be picking his questions carefully.” I watch her stare at the sky.
She frowns. “No, it was a perfectly reasonable question. I just have a lame answer for it. That’s my fault.”
My brows pull together just slightly. “Why is it your fault?”
She glances down at her fingers and twists them together. “My life is incredibly dull and unadventurous. That’s my fault.”
“You’re living in New York and you’re starring in a Broadway play. That’s hardly unadventurous or dull,” I suggest.
She eyes me with disapproval. “You know what I mean.”
