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Dreams of Sofia lull me into the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.
* * *
We havea day of rest in Kansas City before we move on to our next tour destination, and I’m determined to apologize to her, so I show up at the bar from last night. I don’t expect her to be there, but I can ask someone for her phone number.
It is two in the afternoon when I arrive, and per the hours on the door, they won’t open for another hour, but I see movement inside, so I try the door. I turn to my security guard, Andreas, before going in. “Wait out here.”
Andreas nods.
I enter the bar and freeze when I see her. Even from her backside, I can tell it is her. My eyes glue to her slender frame as she stays busy taking chairs off the tops of tables and placing them on the floor. She has the body of a supermodel. Why the fuck is she waitressing?
“I’m sorry, we won’t open for another hour,” she says. “Lola, you forgot to lock up when you got in this morning!” Sofia calls out, though I can’t see anyone else.
“Sorry!” A voice drifts into the room from elsewhere. Then the same woman yells something in another language—Spanish, I think—and Sofia yells back, also in Spanish. Sofia is smart, I think to myself, and I smile. That is such a turn-on.
“Um, actually, I was hoping to speak to you,” I say.
Sofia spins around, and her breath hitches as her posture stiffens.
She has a uniquely rare beauty that almost leaves me speechless. I can’t tell if her heritage is American, American Indian, Hispanic, Asian, or a combination of those things. But the sound of her voice in Spanish carries a sensuality to it that I shouldn’t be thinking about, especially after I jerked off to thoughts of her last night.
“You,” she says, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t see what we need to talk about.”
I clear my throat. “I owe you an apology. Last night—I acted like an ass. I’m sorry.”
Sofia uncrosses her arms. “I appreciate that. Apology accepted. Anything else?”
“See, you accept my apology, then you’re short with me.”
“So?”
“So, it makes me think you don’t really accept my apology.”
“Look, I appreciate you making the trip. You apologized. I accepted. I’m not sure what else you want from me—”
“Dinner,” I say, surprising us both. That was not my plan.
“What?” she asks, stunned.
What the fuck did I just do? I swore I’d apologize and get on with my life, my next tour destination, forget all about the waitress named Sofia. “Yeah. Dinner. I’d like to make it up to you and explain why I—”
“It’s really not necessary, Brenner—”
“Please. Call me Bren. All my friends do.”
Sofia cocks her head to the side with interest. “We’re not friends.” She keeps her hands busy pulling more chairs off tables as we continue our conversation. It doesn’t escape me I’m trailing her like a puppy.Pathetic.
“I’d like to be. Please. Just one dinner.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” She spreads her arms as if she were showcasing the room. “I work tonight.”
“All right. How about a nightcap after?”
The woman who matched the voice in Spanish from earlier materializes, interrupting our conversation.
“Oh, sorry,” she says. “Am I interrupting?”
The woman, if she can be called that because she looks like a teenager, is short and wears her blond curls in a mess of a bun like a bird’s nest on top of her head.
