Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ROB
I promised myself I wouldn’t lie anymore, that the lying was done when the drinking was, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to step up for Sophie, especially when it means I get to puncture Jonah’s puffed-up ego.
It doesn’t hurt that you’ve been thinking about kissing her.
When she stepped onto that booth seat, she was Sophie from that video again, a vengeful goddess full of fire and passion. My fingers itched for my pen, wanting to write another song about her. But I have to admit I was more interested in gliding my hands all over her. I wanted to learn the dips and curves of this perplexing woman who’d seemed so simple at first glance. I wanted to show her that I was a man who could appreciate a woman full of fire and honey, unlike my dipshit brother, who only wanted the sweetness.
When she called me “honey,” it had felt like she’d reached into my head and pulled out the word.
It had felt natural to reach for her, to have her weight settle in my arms. To hold her against my chest in front of everyone, making a declaration. Then she’d looked into my eyes, hers alight with mischief and rage, and said, “I think we’d better tell him.”
Damn.
This woman is so unexpected. Like a cherry candy with a spicy cinnamon center. One minute I have Pollyanna, the next a femme fatale.
Her lips are bright red tonight, the same color as the imprint they left on my cheek last weekend.
I can’t help it. I lower my head and brush a kiss over them, soft and quick but deep enough to declare to my brother and every last person in this bar that this woman is now mine. Even if it’s fake.
That’s my intention, anyway. It lasts seconds longer than it should, because her sweet lips part and an electric feeling arcs between us, freezing my senses to everything except her and the places where we connect. The moment feels full of possibility and need. Now that I have my lips on her, I’m tempted to carry her out of here.
She’s only pretending, Rob.
I pull back.
She stares up at me with those big blue eyes, which can look as innocent as a baby doll’s one second and as fierce as the blade of a knife the next. “You can put me down now, babe.”
“What the fuck?” Jonah says, finally sidling out of the booth. It’s obvious he’d like to be the one to throw a punch this time, and maybe I’d let him—a punch for a punch—if she weren’t in my arms.
I set her on her feet to give him his chance if he wants it. I’m surprised, and pleased, when she stays by my side, her body pressed to mine. Then she steps slightly in front of me, as if she can feel the violence brewing between my brother and me.
“We didn’t plan for it to happen, Jonah,” she says softly, firmly. “But Rob felt bad about everything that went down with the phone, so he checked on me a couple of times, and we got to talking, and what do you know? He and I have much more in common than you and I ever did. We’re in love. So I’m thankful to you for cheating on me with several women?—”
“Yup, he’s the STDs guy all right,” someone mutters, reminding me that we not only have witnesses but a lot of witnesses. My mind was so sandblasted by Sophie that it had erased all of them, leaving only fuzzy pencil imprints behind.
I glance up and feel all the eyes on us, hear the buzz of countless people talking in undertones. I tell myself it’s no different than performing on stage.
My gaze darts to the stage, where Travis is gawking at me. I grin sheepishly at him.
Out of nowhere, a fist comes flying at me, clocking me in the face. I stumble, caught off guard. In my periphery, I catch sight of Sophie thrusting out a hand to catch herself, clearly having been knocked aside. And then there’s Jonah, shaking out his fist with a look of shock on his face, like he’d forgotten there was an opportunity cost for throwing a punch.
Got to hand it to him, for a guy who doesn’t know his way around the gym, he got in a good one. The pain radiates from the epicenter of the punch like an earthquake.
But I’m more pissed off than injured. He pushed Sophie. Not fucking okay. And no way am I going to let him get in a second punch, especially not with Sophie and dozens of other innocent bystanders hanging out around us.
Before I can react, Sophie pours the tasty nonalcoholic drink on Jonah. “You…jerk,” she says. “I hope you choke on it.”
I need to get her away from him. Now.
I go for him, and we scuffle—in a dance that’s been familiar to both of us since we were kids—and I manage to get his arms pinned behind his back without much difficulty.
I glance around for Sophie, feeling the wild need to check on her, and she’s standing just behind me, wielding the empty glass as if preparing to thump Jonah with it.
She’s okay. Thank God she’s okay.
Blood is pumping through my head, in my ears, and through my injured nose.
“Oh goodness ,” I hear a familiar voice say. The crowd, which has moved back by a few feet, parts like the Red Sea to admit Dottie Hendrickson and a tall, built guy I recognize as Dylan, the tasting room manager and therefore Sophie’s boss. He’s a former Marine, and even though he’s known as “the Gentle Giant,” he’s not a man anyone with half a brain would like to piss off.
Hannah and Briar are following in their wake.
“What happened?” Dylan asks with a slightly dazed look. “We have a strict no-violence policy, as you both know.”
“Does that mean Briar and I don’t get to knee Jonah in the balls?” Hannah asks.
“That’s exactly what it means,” Dylan says with an edge of annoyance in his voice. “Now, what happened?”
Most guys would threaten to call the cops, or tell us to take it outside, but Dylan’s different. He likes to settle things himself to make sure people don’t come back and make more trouble. Too bad this problem doesn’t have an easy solution.
“Well,” an old man says, wiping his mouth and standing up from his seat. His date tries to pull him down, but he persists. “This idiot”—he points to my brother, who tries to struggle his way to freedom and fails—“came in with a boom box, saying he wanted to serenade that pretty lady, but she was having none of it. She climbed onto the booth seat to try to get away from him, so this other young buck comes in and swoops her off her feet and kisses her. The idiot didn’t like that much and punched him in the face. They danced a bit, and there you have it. You know, I wasn’t sold on the live show, but it was actually pretty entertaining. Garbage Fire indeed.”
A woman pipes up: “He’s that young man who has all the STDs. I’ve seen flyers about him all around Asheville.”
Hannah is shaking with silent laughter, while Briar looks like a deer in the headlights.
“Let. Me. Go,” Jonah says.
I set him free and take a step back. Jonah’s hair is dripping from the drink, and he’s shaking out his hand. I know it must still hurt. Good. My face does too.
Sophie places a hand on my lower back, letting me know she’s there, and I feel like we’re back at The Ginger Station, when she first put her arms around me.
“You’re fucking dead,” Jonah snarls at me. “You’re going to regret this.” He glares at Sophie behind me, and I immediately sidestep so he can’t get to her. Right now, I don’t even want him looking at her.
“Oh, no,” Dottie says. “I think he’ll be quite all right. Looks like little more than a love tap, and I have just the thing to help him. I have something to help you, too, young man.”
“ Dottie ,” Dylan says, and then someone else, another man, calls her name worriedly from the back of the room.
But Dottie continues toward us without paying them any attention. My brother stands frozen in place as she slips a stone into his pocket and then lifts a hand to his cheek, giving him an actual love tap.
“There, now. If that doesn’t improve your energy, then I don’t deserve to call myself a crystal specialist. Try rubbing it for five minutes each evening and meditating. We’ll see what that does for your emotional stamina.”
Hannah starts snort-laughing, someone catcalls an insult, and a paper airplane soars through the air and hits Jonah in the cheek. He swats it down, but not before I see that it’s one of the STD flyers.
This situation is getting wildly out of control.
My brother looks like he’s about to blow an eye vessel. “Enjoy my leftovers, brother,” he says, his jaw clenching. “But you’re going to realize it’s not worth what you just lost. She’s vanilla in bed.”
I hear the glass slip from Sophie’s fingers, little sharp shards scattering across the floor as it explodes.
I start to lunge toward the door, rage eclipsing sense, but Sophie slips her hand into mine and holds on, her grip surprisingly strong. “ Don’t. He’s baiting you.”
“You’re banned,” Dylan calls out, losing his cool for the first time. He stalks toward the door, and Jonah, wide-eyed, backs away, his ass hitting the glass. Turning slightly to look at me, Dylan asks, “Do you want me to call the cops? You could have him arrested for assault.”
“No,” I say. “Fair is fair. I punched him a few weeks ago.”
Dylan sighs, shifting his weight, and gives Jonah his attention again. “Don’t come back here. If I ever see you in here again?—”
“That man kisses like a dead fish,” Hannah calls out as Jonah opens the door to the warm night. “And he’s a bad tipper.”
“He’s rude to elderly people,” Briar adds. “And he doesn’t know much about beer.”
Then the night swallows him, the door closing behind him. We’re inside while he’s left outside, a position I have never been in before with my brother. It’s always been the other way around—me excluded, him treated like a golden god. I don’t know what to do with myself. And now, Sophie’s hand is in mine. Not Jonah’s, but mine.
Ignoring the noise that’s broken out all around us, I turn toward her.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a feverish voice as she lifts her free hand to my painful face.
“There she goes again,” I tease. “Does my nose look crooked?”
“I can’t tell.”
“It would be a good time for you to roll out some of that Pollyanna charm.”
Her mouth tips into a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You look very handsome with a somewhat crooked nose, but I never should have done that without asking. I didn’t mean to. I just thought…I really wanted to get back at Jonah, and I also hoped it might help you with your problem. You said they would be more likely to approve your application if they thought you were in a serious relationship.”
My heart starts beating faster, something like hope rising inside of me, a feeling I don’t want to attach any expectations to. From my experience, hope can plummet fast. “You’d do that for me?” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Pretend to be my girlfriend?”
You’d be lying , a voice in my head whispers. More lies. Deeper ones.
“Of course,” she says, her eyes wide. “And Emil. I can’t believe Jonah tried to stop you from helping him. I want to make that right, and to be perfectly honest, I also want to piss Jonah off. He deserves to be upset, don’t you think? He shouldn’t be able to do whatever he wants and get away with it.”
“I won’t disagree with you there. For how long?”
She squeezes my hand. “We’ll figure that out later. You know, I don’t understand what I ever saw in that…” She pauses, as if searching for a word that can adequately explain my brother. “Imbecilic asshole.”
“You and me both, sister,” Hannah murmurs, reminding me again that there are other people around us. A lot of them.
I glance around, finding the brewery full of confusion. Someone’s sweeping up the glass, thankfully. Travis and Bixby are still on the stage, giving me what the fuck? looks. Understandable. I just got punched in the face. My hand is fine, given that I didn’t fight back much, but I don’t feel up to performing tonight anymore. I’m guessing Dylan doesn’t much want me up there like this either.
My gaze finds Sophie’s again. “You saw the best sides of him. You see the best in everyone.”
Something warms in her eyes, and suddenly everyone else is gone again. No, not gone. They’re in black and white and she’s in warm, pulsing color—her dress and lips that perfect shade of red, her eyes oceans of blue that a man could lose himself in—and a sense of awe envelops me. She was here, all along, and I didn’t notice.
Well, now I’m noticing. I can’t seem to stop.
She holds my gaze for several long seconds, the connection feeling like my fingers strumming the strings of my guitar, and then looks away.
I can’t read the expression on her face.
I can’t really figure out what’s going on in my own chest, other than that something significant happened here tonight. Something that’s going to change everything that comes afterward.
“Here,” Dottie says, returning from God knows where with a little lidded canister. The world floods back in. “Rub this all over your face tonight, my dear,” Dottie instructs as I take the canister she’s shoving at me, “and you’ll wake up feeling like a new man. It should help with the bruising too. I am sorry I wasn’t there to stop it from coming to fisticuffs, but I felt, very strongly, that Sophie needed a chance to confront him. I must admit that I kept the others occupied in the back to give our dear girl that cathartic moment.”
Dylan sighs. “I should have known something was up when you kept asking about the names of the old beers. You had the Buchanans worried you were going senile.”
It amuses me that she thinks she could have stopped Jonah from punching me in the face, but I don’t say so. Turning to Dylan, who looks like he’s doing breathing exercises to get back to his usual state of zen, I say, “I don’t think I can play tonight, man. Can we make it up to you another time?”
He laughs ruefully. “Not a problem. I think we’ll be getting more foot traffic for weeks because of this. The people around these parts have a taste for drama.” Turning to Sophie, he says, “Sophie, can you work?”
That’s when I notice all of the gawking bystanders are now lined up at the bar for drinks, and there’s only one bartender working. She has a fixed smile on her face that makes her look like the before in a commercial for anxiety medication.
Hannah whispers something to Briar, who nods decisively and then says, “We all will, if you’d like.”
“Really?” Sophie asks, her face full of wonder. “Wouldn’t your father mind?”
“Oh, yes,” she says, “but I think we’ll have a riot on our hands if we don’t start serving these people soon.”
“I wish someone would work,” says the grumpy old man who’s decided he enjoys dinner theater. “I need a refill.”