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Sabrina
Murphy insisted on bringing me to my dorm and waiting for me while I got ready. I think he was worried I’d try to back out of this impending disaster we keep referring to as dinner with my parents. Not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind a few hundred times today. I’d rather stand naked in front of Congress than have to listen to my mother defend herself tonight, and I know, without a doubt, that’s what’s in store for us.
Truth be told, last weekend was the first time I’ve ever stood up to my mother.
It was a gut reaction.
Instinct.
I think the only reason I had the nerve to do it then was because she was threatening the incredible man currently sitting on my big purple chair, laughing at something on his phone. The bathroom door is open as I finish my hair and makeup, allowing me to see him through the reflection in the mirror. He looks as handsome today in a charcoal grey sweater and dark-washed jeans as he did yesterday in the custom suit he was wearing after the game. The smile on his face is the carefree one I’ve seen most of my life, not the heavy look of grief he’s carried most of the week.
“What’s so funny over there?” I ask through the reflection.
“Coop. He got his phone and computer back Friday night, and he hasn’t stopped texting since. He’s like an alcoholic who just fell off the wagon and can’t help himself, so he drinks every drop of liquor in the store. He’s on a quest to find every new meme that’s been created in the last two months.”
I continue messing with my hair. “Will you tell him I said hi, and congratulations?”
Murphy’s fingers fly across his phone, and he laughs again.
“Do I even want to know what he said?”
“Probably not.” His eyes twinkle with mischief.
He tucks his phone in his pocket and crosses to the bathroom door, his hands stretching to reach the frame above his head and his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Quit stalling, Princess. You look gorgeous. It’s time to go.”
Pushing out my bottom lip, I pout.
What the hell?
Since when do I pout?
Unplugging the curling iron, I begrudgingly admit, “You know, it’s annoying when you’re right.”
Murphy steps forward into my tiny bathroom, his presence sucking all the oxygen out of the space as his big body crowds mine against the sink. Strong fingers caress my neck and play with the ribbon tied in a bow at the back of my sweater. “I like this sweater. You look like a present waiting to be unwrapped. Completely covered up, but the promise of what’s under the wrapping is going to taunt me all night.”
I tried to dress conservatively tonight in an attempt to satisfy my mother. My black boatneck sweater is demure, with bell sleeves and a small ribbon tied in a pretty bow above my shoulder blades. A cute grey and black checkered wool skirt, black tights, and black knee-high boots with a square heel complete the outfit I put way too much thought into. I stare at the mirror. No doubt my mother will find some flaw in what I’m wearing, but I did make an effort.
“You’re zoning out on me, Princess.” Murphy leans down, kissing the sensitive spot on my neck.
His gaze roams my body, heating me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head before I turn in his arms. “We better leave now, or we aren’t making it to your parent’s house.”
“I’d be okay skipping.” I lean my head to the side, giving him better access.
He nips my ear. “Nope. Not happening. Come on. Time to deal with the evil queen.”
I feel the frustration bubbling up. I know he’s right, but I’m dreading this.
* * *
As we pull into the driveway of my parent’s home, my phone vibrates with an incoming text.
Penny:Sorry, Sabrina.
Sabrina:What’s up, Pen?
Penny:...
Sabrina:What are you sorry for?
