"To the airport. I need to catch a flight to spank her gorgeous fucking ass."
Briggs chokes on laughter. "You might want to wait, brother. Last I heard, she isn't even in town. Hattie said she caught a flight out first thing this morning."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing deep. "I need to hang up now," I growl. "Because every sentence you say pisses me off worse than the last."
"My bad," Briggs says, his voice soft. "Just...don't do anything you'll regret. And don't even think about skipping Hattie's wedding this weekend, motherfucker. I will fly out there and drag you onto the plane my goddamn self."
"Your faith in me is still so inspiring," I growl before hanging up on him. Doesn't matter what's going on in my life, hell will freeze over before I miss Hattie's wedding. But goddamn. I feel like the wind just got knocked out of me.
Sophie quit her ballet company.
And where the fuck is she right now?
I dial her number, my hands shaking.
"If you aren't on my phone in the next ten minutes, I swear to Christ, ballerina, I will hunt you down and spank you in front of God and everybody," I rasp into her voicemail. "Do you hear me? Call me. Now."
I disconnect and then take the stairs two at a time. I don't stop moving until I'm in my room, and then I only stop long enough to grab my suitcase from the closet before I'm throwing shit into it, not caring what lands inside and what doesn't. I can buy anything that doesn't make the trip, but I'm not waiting until tomorrow to fly out there. I'm going tonight. Right now.
Within ten minutes, my shit is packed…and she still hasn't called back. I stomp down the stairs, my suitcase in hand, and head straight for the door.
I damn near rip it off the hinges, cursing up a blue streak.
"Damn, Captain. Are you always this cranky about answering the door?" Sophie asks, leaning against a column with a grin on her face.
I blink, positive I'm seeing shit. But her grin widens, her green eyes running up and down my body.
My suitcase hits the floor at my feet.
In two steps, she's in my arms, her body wrapped around me. She squeals, burying her face in my throat.
I haul her inside, tripping over my suitcase in the process. We go down hard. Somehow, I manage to twist so I take the brunt of the fall, landing on my ass with her sprawled on top of me, all flailing limbs and wild laughter.
"Jesus Christ, Harlan," she gasps, her body shaking against mine. "You trying to end both of our careers or what?"
I roll us until she's pinned beneath me, her hair fanning out across the rug, her eyes bright as she stares up at me. "You're here," I say, just staring at her.
"Well…yeah."
I can't help it. I dip my head, kissing her until the only thing I taste is her, until the only thing I remember is how perfect she feels writhing beneath me. And then I pull back, as desperate for answers as I am to be inside her.
"I need you to explain," I rasp. "I've been losing my mind all goddamn day. Briggs told me that you quit your company."
Her eyes widen and then narrow. "Dammit," she grumbles. "I wanted to be the one who told you."
"Why'd you quit?"
"You know the first thing Greg said to me when I got to practice on Monday?" she asks by way of answer. "He told me that he hoped I hadn't overeaten on my vacation because I'd already messed up his back."
"That little motherfucker," I snarl, my hands clenching. I swear to Christ, the only thing that keeps him breathing is the fact that I know there are photos out there of Sophie slapping the taste out of his ignorant mouth. Knowing she humiliated him on stage and the whole world saw it helps me sleep better at night. It really does.
"I wasn't even hurt," she says, her voice soft. "And that's a problem, Harlan. I shouldn't be so used to the vitriol and abuse that it feels normal. I shouldn't feel like I do every time I walk through the doors there—like there is no joy in dancing anymore because I'm just waiting for the next thing they're going to say to me, and then the next thing." She takes a breath. "I want to feel like I did this weekend, with you. That's how I'm supposed to feel. I forgot that, you know."
"Jesus."
"You reminded me that I'm supposed to be happy, not just surviving. So… I quit," she whispers.
I take a moment to process, afraid to say the wrong thing. But I'm equally as afraid to say nothing, not about something this monumental. Dancing is her life—it's been her whole life sinceshe was a little girl. She isn't ready to give that up. I know she isn't, especially not because of a little prick like Greg.
