Chapter 13 Second Chances
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Second Chances
Brad noticed Sophie the moment she walked in the door, a full three seconds before she saw him. His heart sped up like he’d just finished a sprint workout and his mouth went dry.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, from the little bit of makeup that let her natural beauty shine through, to the dress she wore—if one could even call it a dress.
His gaze trailed over her from top to bottom, marveling at how little Sophie’s outfit left to his imagination.
The trickier thing was that even though a third of her exquisite body was (sort of) covered by the invitingly soft, black fabric, Brad had seen, touched, tasted each inch of what the dress attempted to hide, and he wasn’t fooled for a moment.
He was intimately aware of the ins and outs of the woman who caught him staring, including what the flush in her cheeks meant when she noticed his less-than-gentlemanly gaze. His only question was whether or not she felt the same as he did.
House music came from speakers Steve had seamlessly and invisibly installed in every room.
While Brad appreciated that Christmas music was behind them for at least eleven months, this voiceless garbage wasn’t any better, especially not her taking up all the air in the room.
A classic like Frank Sinatra or BB King is what Sophie deserved.
Though he was excited to see her, he couldn’t help but notice when her attention shifted suddenly to someone else in the room.
Someone she was decidedly less excited to see than him, which piqued his interest. Brad’s gaze followed hers until it found the target.
A well-dressed man in a suit stared back at Sophie with eyes that Brad could read clearly.
Brad knew what the mystery man was thinking because he felt the same way.
It was longing, pure and simple. But the closer he looked, he realized there was something else there. Sadness.
Brad pulled old memories from a purposely forgotten part of his mind to remember how he’d looked at Julia around the first month after their breakup.
He’d ran into her, literally, as he rounded a corner at the grocery store.
They’d both just stood there, mute and resolute, Brad in his sadness, Julia standing her ground, looking for all the world like she couldn’t understand why Brad was so upset.
His eyes had reflected the sadness and sense of betrayal he felt toward them both for six more months. Until he’d met Sophie, actually.
Brad knew without a doubt the man he was spying on was Drew, the ex-boyfriend-and-boss Sophie’d told him about last week. What the hell was he doing at Steve’s?
He caught a whiff of the familiar and enticing aroma of plumeria and realized Sophie was heading his way.
Just before she got to him, she lost her balance.
He lunged and caught her, his hands knowing just where to hold her that would center her again.
Brad concentrated on the juxtaposition between the strong arms he held and the kitten-soft skin touching his.
Goose bumps rose on his own forearms, and he hoped to God she wouldn’t notice.
It wasn’t the time, not yet.
He had a lot of explaining to do and was in that moment eternally grateful to Jackie for making sure Sophie got there so he could have the chance.
“You’re here,” Sophie said, her voice like a whisper.
It was as if the music wasn’t playing anymore, like all the other guests had vanished.
All he heard, saw, registered, was her. Similar goose bumps rose on her shoulders but didn’t give her the satisfaction of taking his hands off her.
He missed the hell out of her touch and would only move if she asked him to. God, he hoped she wouldn’t.
“I am, and I am so damn glad to see your face. Happy New Year, Sophie.” He gazed into her eyes, hoping the love he felt for her—by now he was certain it was love, not just a profound lust—came through.
“Happy New Year to you, too. But that doesn’t explain why, though.”
“Why, what?” His face changed. His brows pulled together in confusion.
“Why you’re here. I don’t blame you, not anymore, really, for what you did, but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.
Since we have to work together to help with the wedding, faster than we thought, but we’ll get into that later, I promise to be polite.
But Brad, understand me now when I say I never make the same mistake twice. Never.”
Brad stared back at Sophie with the dawning realization that Jackie hadn’t prepped her friend at all. He scanned the room till he found Jackie—nuzzled up to Steve’s shoulder, of course—and gave her a “what-the-fuck” grimace.
She gave him a sweet little wave, a fake-as-hell beauty-pageant smile, and turned her attention back to Steve.
So, she’d done it on purpose. Man, did she look like she enjoyed making him sweat.
It wasn’t like he’d actually done anything wrong, either, or he could see the purpose in making this night even harder for him than it already was.
Oh well, fuck it. He was there for Sophie and nothing else. If he had to start from scratch with her, so be it.
“Sophie, can we talk?” His heart dropped as she scowled at him. He cursed Jackie under his breath. “Please? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would clear everything else up. Jackie and Steve already know, and that’s why we’re both here, Soph. So you can hear it from me.”
“What?” Sophie shot Jackie the same pissed-off look he’d thrown her way moments ago, but if Jackie knew they were watching her, she didn’t let on.
She laughed heartily at something Steve said, playfully slapping him on the shoulder.
“She knows I don’t need to hear it from you to move on.
In fact, I’d prefer it if they eloped and I never had to see you again.
No offense. What the hell is she playing at?
” Sophie trailed off, the last sentence said more to herself than Brad.
“Do you think she would have brought you here if she didn’t think it would be worth your while?”
Sophie gazed up at him, and he could see the pain working its way through her thoughts as she undoubtedly weighed her curiosity against a fierce protection over her heart.
This was going to be more difficult than he imagined. He tightened his hands around her arms just enough to remind her he was there, waiting for an answer.
“Fine,” she spat. “But make it quick. I plan on having enough drinks that I forget all about you, Brad Connors, and I’d like to start sooner rather than later. I’ll deal with Jackie tomorrow. Steve, too, if I have to.”
He released her, wishing he could pull her into an embrace and kiss those pouting lips like he’d done at the wedding.
The hardest part, besides knowing she still thought the worst of him, was not kissing her right then and there.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind she’d understand what he wanted to tell her if he didn’t have to use words to explain himself.
Instead, he watched her tan, muscular legs as she sped away from him.
Words, though cumbersome, were necessary this time.
She stopped halfway through the crowd, a look of pure annoyance on her face, her arms crossed over her perfect chest. “You coming?” she asked him.
He made up the distance between them in two strides, surprising her enough that she gasped. He tucked his chin in by her neck and whispered, “I’ll follow you anywhere, Sophie. You know that.”
Brad felt her breath catch. She started to walk away again, but this time, Brad grabbed her hand and smiled when she didn’t pull away from him.
He found himself in Steve’s room and saw small touches of Jackie already infiltrating what was once the ultimate bachelor pad slash auto mechanic’s office, with naked pictures of pinup girls, engines, and Harleys.
There wasn’t even a pinhole to show where they used to hang.
Instead, tasteful art—nothing too feminine, but definitely reeking of Jackie’s taste—adorned the walls.
There were actual frames polishing the paintings and pictures, which was enough of a clue a woman had been there.
Not to mention that the pool table that he and Steve had spent countless hours drinking, crying, and playing on had disappeared.
That thing had seen them both through their breakups, and now it was nowhere to be found.
In its place was a small table and some plush chairs on either side, all facing the windows.
Sophie led them there, releasing his hand as she sat down across from him.
Brad noticed two books on the table, both with bookmarks.
Stephen King on one, Barbara Kingsolver on the other.
He never remembered Steve talking to him about reading, ever, unless it was to tease him about the time Brad spent on the hobby. Well, at least they had good taste.
His friend was obviously pretending to be someone he wasn’t for a woman since Brad couldn’t find any evidence that Steve had ever lived there.
He’d be worried, except he was singularly focused on the way Sophie crossed her legs so that her thighs tensed and flexed and showed each run she’d taken in her life.
He followed them down past her shapely, still-tanned calves, to her shining, iridescent shoes, which he wanted to take off so he could nibble on each of her toes that he knew would be decorated with red polish.
“You’ve lost the right to look at me like that, you know,” she said. Caught. Dammit. Her voice dripped with animosity, and her arms were crossed over her chest again. “Your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate it, I’d be willing to bet.”
Brad sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend, Sophie, at least not in the way you think I do.”
“She dump you again already? I can’t say I blame her. Once a cheater, always a—”