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“I don’t know. I’m feeling an irrational sense of fear of flotsam.”
John laughed then said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I’ve just never heard anyone put it quite like that.”
“You don’t have to,” I told her. “It’s okay.” I was disappointed, though I wasn’t sure why. But I felt like I wanted to share my life with Sophie. Not share my life as in be with her, but show her I wasn’t just the guy sitting on a barstool.
“No, it’s fine.” She took a deep breath and held her hand out to me.
I took her small hand in my callused one and helped her onto the boat. “Don’t worry, there are no actual lobster on board right now. We off-loaded them at the floating market. So nothing is going to run up and pinch you.”
“Now I’m just disappointed,” she said, complete deadpan.
John laughed. So did I.
And fucking fuck, there it was. A sense of pride that Sophie was with me. Pleasure that she wasn’t just some ordinary girl who simpered and squealed and faked fear. She was different and she was mine.
I watched her curiously glance around, taking in everything in her view.
Her ass looked adorable in those jeans and I had a sudden urge to reach over and smack it. I didn’t, but it took some serious self-control.
Something happened in my chest that made me want a drink. It was a big fist reaching in and squeezing my heart and it almost dropped me.
I realized that Sophie, with her logic and her no-bullshit style, had taken a crowbar and pried open the locked vault to my feelings. Just a crack at first, but now she was pushing, and it was yawning open with a rusty growl.
And I was okay with that.
