Chapter 8 Dreams Come True
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dreams Come True
The bourbon burned as it slipped down Sophie’s throat, and she fought the urge to cough it back up.
Brad laughed at her; she tried to scowl at him, but it didn’t come close to working.
He had some sort of spell on her, and she couldn’t help but be happy around him.
She still had half her shot but didn’t know how she was going to force it down. Maybe she’d add some Diet Coke.
“Can you believe those two? They haven’t even looked up since we got here. I’d bet our bar tab that they don’t know we’re even here,” Brad said.
“Honestly, I have no idea what to say about them,” Sophie said, her eyes still watering. Her best friend danced with Steve, her cheek pressed up against his chest, her eyes shut and a stupid, reality-TV smile plastered on her face. “This isn’t like her at all, I can tell you that much.”
“Steve, either. In fact, I’ve never seen him do anything that might be deemed semi-romantic in the past few years. Definitely nothing in public. It’s fucking weird.”
Sophie nodded, and decided it was now or never. She tossed back the rest of the shot and let out a loud hiss, shaking her head violently.
“Another?” Brad asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Her eyes got big, a silent plea against that idea, and he laughed again.
“No, I mean, yes. Anything but that.” She shuddered again, a strong taste of what amounted to rubbing alcohol still lingering in her mouth.
“Let’s do something easier on the palate. Lemon drop again?”
She grinned, nodding.
“God, please. You don’t mind?”
He shook his head, and she so badly wanted to reach up and kiss that playful smile off his lips.
She was worried the moment between them had passed when they saw Jackie and Steve locked in their formidable embrace.
Brad’s hand had come tantalizingly close to giving her what she wanted, and in the hotel hallway no less. They had chemistry, that was for sure.
“Not a bit. Lemon drops it is.”
She flagged down Sam and made sure it was clear that when she or Brad ordered any other shots that night, they wanted something that wouldn’t make their insides feel like they were filling with lighter fluid.
“Do you think we should include them?” Brad gestured to the dance floor.
Steve and Jackie hadn’t so much as moved in the past ten minutes, except in a small circle that only they were a part of.
The most entertaining part was when a fast song would come on the speakers, the couple didn’t move.
They just swayed as if Aerosmith was really Marvin Gaye.
The bar was pretty cleared out, only a few of the wedding guests who looked like they took pretty good advantage of the open bar lingering in the dark corners. Other than that, it was eerily quiet, just the music and movement from the center of the dance floor.
“Nope. I want to watch this unfold. Wanna bet again on how long it takes them to look up?”
“Hell yes. Double or nothing one of them has to pee in the next twenty at least.”
Sophie shook her head, the room spinning while she did it.
“Too cheap. I wanna bet heavy on this one,” she said, a small hiccup passing through lips that were still swollen from her passionate but short-lived escapade with Brad a few minutes earlier.
The bartender arrived with their lemon drops, and Sophie burped, a tiny escape of air that left her in a fit of giggles. Brad joined in, which made it even harder for Sophie to stop.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she choked out between fits.
She was, too. She could only imagine what Drew would have to say about her burping, and in public, too, adding insult to injury.
No doubt he’d have sent her home in a car, only to lecture her the next morning on the perils of over-drinking and embarrassing oneself.
Brad let out a loud belch, drumming his hand on his chest. “Don’t be.”
At this point, Sophie could barely contain herself. She hiccupped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Oh, this wasn’t going well. But when her gaze met Brad’s, the way he looked at her said that wasn’t entirely correct.
There was something in Brad’s eyes that saw her—the burping, giggling fool she was—and didn’t shy away or try to change her.
His gaze was more intoxicating than all the shots in the bar.
It was also decidedly not the look of a friend.
There might still be a chance for their night to end the way it was heading before they’d seen Steve and Jackie.
“Okay, Sophie,” Brad began, his eyes taking her in with the look of a predator before he pounced. Oh, let me be the prey. “Then what’s your bet?”
She swallowed hard. “I’m going to go a little bit less optimistic and say they won’t come up for air until they get kicked out.”
“I think that’s actually a pretty safe bet. But what’s your wager?”
She thought for a minute before answering, wondering how brazen she could—and should—be. Fuck it. There was only one way to see what sort of chance she and Brad might have. Playing it safe wasn’t going to get her anywhere, especially laid.
“Winner gets to plan the rest of the night.” She paused again before adding, “And morning.”
Brad grinned like he’d won the lottery, then pulled her in for a long kiss that sent her head spinning.
Sophie relaxed shoulders she didn’t realize were tensely awaiting his answer.
Okay, so not friends after all. Or not just friends.
She’d already told him more about her life than she’d ever told Jackie.
For some reason, Sophie felt like Brad could quickly become one of the best friends she’d ever had.
Add the fire that burned in her chest when she thought of kissing him, touching him, and he’d prove to be one hell of a worthy partner in the game that was her life.
They clinked glasses. Sophie surprised herself by taking back the whole shot in one swig. Brad raised his eyebrows at her and followed suit, waving the bartender over for two more.
“I’m only sad that we didn’t get to see how this romantic coma they’re in started.
” Truthfully, not even the depths of Sophie’s wildest imagination could conjure up a scenario in which Jackie Truman, her friend and roommate, would slow dance around an empty room.
Not all the alcohol in the world could factor into that decision.
“I know, right? I mean, he’s gotta be hammered. There’s no way he’s gonna remember this tomorrow. We should take a picture to remind them in the morning. With that blackmail, I’ll have free oil changes for life.”
Sophie nodded. “Should we let them get as far as tomorrow morning together?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Let’s see if we can get the story first. I want to know why they left us for dead in the wedding of my nightmares. Present company excluded, of course.”
“Agreed. So, not that talking about our ridiculous friends isn’t the way I want to spend tonight, but… I really don’t want to spend tonight that way.” Sophie slid off her stool and took a tentative step towards Brad.
She fumbled in her stiletto peep-toed heels, almost diving headfirst into the bar until Brad reached out to catch her.
His solid biceps wrapped around her, pulled her to his chest that felt like being pressed against a warm boulder.
Through her buzz, she felt a surge of longing for him.
Not just the type that could be taken care of in a night, but where she could wake up to him with his arms around her like they were right then.
Where she would fix him breakfast, kiss him goodbye when they were leaving for their jobs, and wait every minute of the long day for him to come home to her and make love to her until she passed out again and they could repeat the whole thing the next day.
For the rest of her days. It was a fantasy, she understood that—how much did she really know about this guy anyway—but it didn’t stop her from imagining every aching second of it.
“Hey there, pretty lady. No accidents tonight. I have plans for us that need you healthy.” He winked, and she felt lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.
“Um, thank you. For catching me, I mean.”
“Of course. I want to take care of you, Sophie.”
She glanced up at him, recalling telling him something of the sort earlier. “You do?”
Brad cleared his throat, took one hand off Sophie’s back and ran it through his hair. God, she wanted that to be her hand, starting at his tuft of thick, wavy hair and working down his muscled neck…
“Um,” Brad said, interrupting her thoughts, “yeah, of course I do. You’ve been a good friend tonight.”
Sophie pulled back from Brad, her mind suddenly sharp and clear. What the hell? She was getting whiplash with his oscillation between sticking his tongue down her throat one minute, then calling her a friend the next.
Well, which was it? Her libido and her pride couldn’t take much more of this back-and-forth.
“A friend?” she asked. Clearly Brad had a different vision of a future with her than she did, and that included not being able to make up his mind. “If that’s how you think of me, why can’t you stop kissing me, then?”
Brad’s face changed almost instantly. His brow furrowed, his cheeks turned a deep red and beads of sweat formed above his eyes.
“No,” he said, waving his hands emphatically. “That’s not what I meant. I only meant to say that you matter. To me. I want to protect you, but I’m not sure where that compulsion comes from. I mean, look at you.”
She stood there, her mouth open, and eyes wide.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked. Jesus, this had gone south faster than a car full of coeds heading to spring break in Cabo.