8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
A week later, after getting a crash course on romance novel tropes, Stone knocked on Sophie’s front door, prepared to embrace tonight’s homework. The woman loved giving exercises for him to finish.
“Come in, sweetie,” she shouted.
Rolling his eyes at her insistence that they stay in character even when no one else was around, he let himself in and found her in the kitchen plating spaghetti, the steam wafting up in warm tendrils.
Tonight, her T-shirt proclaimed: Book Boyfriends Do It Better.
“It’s a good thing I’m not vying to be your real boyfriend,” he said, as he took in the scene and shuddered.
At one time, this would have been his dream: settling down and starting a family. A cozy home filled with laughter and love, children’s drawings on the fridge, and the scent of home-cooked meals wafting through the air. Lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed with Sophie. Wait. Fuck. Not Sophie. He and the redhead were oil and water.
“Why exactly is it a good thing you’re not secretly hoping to become my real boyfriend?” Sophie paused to give him her full attention.
For one, he’d have to compete with all the book boyfriends who currently held her heart. Not that he’d ever say anything along that line. No Navy SEAL worth their salt would ever back down from a challenge.
Instead, he held up his copy of Funny Story . The hero in the book, Miles, was so un-James-Bond-like that Stone had found himself wincing at several of his actions and words. “I’ve read your damn book, and I don’t possess one thing in common with the hero.” Not that there was anything wrong with Miles—in the end, he’d been quite likable. He just wasn’t wired the same as Stone.
“Wow.” Sophie looked at him like he’d just declared he hated puppies and kittens and sex.
He bristled. “Wow, what?”
Her look of dismay slowly faded away and became one of feigned nonchalance. “It’s nothing.”
“That sounded like a something.” This was how most of their conversations had gone over the past week.
“I just assumed you were…at the very least…probably good in bed…like Miles. Not that that’s the reason he’s my newest most favorite book boyfriend.”
Stone didn’t react. Not on the outside, anyway. Instead, he considered which part of what she’d just said he most wanted to address. The one that questioned his ability as a lover, or to inquire how in the hell Miles had taken the honor of most favorite book boyfriend? “Darling, the things I could do to you in bed would make Miles’ sexual knowledge fade to black.”
That was a new phrase Sophie had taught him while they’d been getting to know each other. In some romances, the sex is out in the open, and the reader gets to enjoy the journey. Other romances have a closed-door policy where the bedroom door is shut on the sex, a.k.a., fade to black. And then there were clean romances where sex simply didn’t happen.
Now, he watched in amusement while Sophie boldly eyeballed him up and down and then back up.
“Do you have any references that can verify your grandiose statement?” she finally asked. “I mean, it’s quite obvious when Emily Henry created Miles, she made him all that and a good book when it came to pleasuring a female.”
“How, for the love of common sense, do you consider that obvious?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “The guy owned several pairs of not sexy shoes.”
“Your theory is based on his collection of Crocs?”
“Spectacular sexual prowess was a must for the author to give Miles in order to salvage him from that wardrobe detail. Not that I’m bad-mouthing men who wear them. In fact, the detail endeared Miles to a multitude of women worldwide, because they shouted good guy who doesn’t take himself too seriously. Which makes Emily Henry a genius at creating book boyfriends.”
“Good guy but not sexy guy?”
“Correct.”
Stone pondered the revelation. Romance readers possessed layers of complexity that rivaled some of his former SEAL assignments. “I thought his personality saved him from his less than spectacular introduction to the reader.”
In all honesty, he’d spent a considerable amount of time thinking about Miles and what it was about him that flipped Sophie’s skirts. Stone had decided it was Miles’ willingness to be vulnerable. An attribute that might work on the written page but was an ingredient for heartache in reality.
“All heroes worth a damn,” Sophie said, “have a most excellent personality that comes out to play with the right woman. Now, back to the question at hand, do you possess proof of your claim to possess off-the-charts sexual aptitude?”
Having forgotten the origin of their conversation, sex, he chuckled . “Damn straight I do.” Seldom did a person surprise him, but Sophie’s brazenness continued to catch him off guard. Starting with her declaration of her intent to break his romance cherry.
“I’m listening,” she cooed, fluttering her lashes.
“You don’t need proof, because I am not your type.” While that last bit was for her sake, he took it to heart as well. A confirmed bachelor would be a fool not to load up with all the ammunition at his disposal to keep what ifs at bay.
“Which works out nicely,” she mused, “considering I know your I’d never , and that doesn’t mesh at all with my I can’t wait . Of course, we’ve not mentioned toying with the idea of a torrid fling. But I’m guessing that’s a thought better left unthought. So, forget I even spoke it.” She waved her hand in the air as if she could erase words already spoken.
A torrid fling? He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Her I-take-that-back technique had failed. No shocker there. If he’d learned nothing else this past week, it was that Sophie E. Clark was going to be the death of his serenity. A word he’d never once used in his thirty-five years before meeting her, but now found himself pulling it out several times a day.
She glanced at him as if expecting him to comment. He said nothing—another thing he found himself doing a lot around her. Not because he chose to hold his tongue, but because she mostly left him speechless.
“Have a seat.” She pointed to one of the two chairs around her minute kitchen table. “Dinner’s served.”
He shoved away thoughts of casual sex with Sophie, took a seat, and felt a tiny bit disappointed at the thought of her saying I Do to a normal relationship with some Miles-like man in the future.
Which was ridiculous. His relationship with Sophie was professional, and he never mixed business with pleasure.
Sophie handed him a bottle of wine. “Do you mind pouring while I take the brownies out of the oven?”
He glanced at the label. Romance in a Bottle: Uncork the Passion . He raised an eyebrow, smirking as he looked back at Sophie. “Seriously?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. I design these wine labels and sell them on my Etsy store. They’re perfect for date nights and book club meetings.”
“For someone who likes to appear as if you play life casual, you’ve got a real knack for business,” he said, popping the cork and filling the drinks. When he glanced up, he caught sight of a hint of pride in her eyes.
Quickly glancing away, she took a seat and picked up her goblet. “Shall we toast to being each other’s opposites-of-what-I’m-looking-for-in-a-romantic-relationship person?” She held her glass out toward him, waiting for him to clink his to hers.
He hesitated, his brain needing time to catch up to what she’d rattled off. “What makes you think you’re the opposite of what I’d look for in a woman…if I were looking?”
“Easy. I’ve read enough romances to figure it out. I’m the sunshine to your unfixable grump. You want a woman who doesn’t need romance but is instead content with little conversation and who allows you your broody opinions about the world without trying to fix you or change your mind.”
He raised an eyebrow, prepared to challenge, but then lowered it. The fact that he’d engaged in more conversation with her over the last two weeks than he’d done with anyone else over the last year didn’t count. They’d conversed so they could best pull off the fake-boyfriend ruse. Not because he’d suddenly become chatty. He did indeed date women who required little conversation. “You’re not wrong. But in my defense, my job is best suited to cynics who spend more time contemplating than discussing book boyfriends. A romantic in my position would give someone the benefit of the doubt and end up dead…along with the person they were supposed to protect.” With that declaration, he clinked glasses with her and took a sip.
“That is an unarguable excuse to keep love at bay.”
The fact that she agreed gave him heartburn.
She sat down her wine and swirled spaghetti on her fork, using a spoon as a prop. Then she glanced at him and gave him a smile. “Besides finding nothing in common with Miles, what did you think of your first romantic comedy book?”
“It wasn’t what I expected.” He took a bite of spaghetti so she wouldn’t ask him to expand.
She retrieved a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of her jeans. “As the reigning president of the Book Boyfriend Connoisseurs Club, I’ve prepared a few questions to see if you fully grasped why Miles is the epitome of a dreamy cinnamon roll hero.”
“In other words, you want to make sure I actually read the book.” He picked up his garlic bread and took a bite. If ever there was a sure sign a woman didn’t have romantic feelings toward you, it would be her serving you garlic bread.
“First question: What do you think makes Miles not just a love interest but a character with depth that resonates with readers like me?” Sophie twirled her fork in the spaghetti, then lifted it to her mouth.
“Hmm.” Stone took a sip of wine, his gaze steady on her, smugness filling him because he had an answer he didn’t have to pull out of his ass. “At first, I was ready to write him off as nothing but a crybaby. I mean, where I come from, no man would wallow in self-pity while watching a damn chick flick.” Or if they did, it would be their secret and theirs alone.
“But?” she asked when he stopped talking.
“But somehow the author—”
“Emily Henry,” Sophie said.
He nodded. “She turned Miles around. Saved him from himself.” A mental video of Sophie saving Stone from himself flashed before his eyes. He set his glass down, the clink resonating in the quiet kitchen, and shook his head to clear the fantastical musings.
“In what way?” Sophie prodded.
“For one, Miles stopped smoking weed inside.”
“And?” Sophie asked.
Stone tore off a piece of garlic toast, the aroma mingling with the rich scent of the spaghetti. “A douche, caught up in the whole I’ve-been-hurt scenario, wouldn’t have been so considerate.”
Sophie giggled. “True. What else.”
“He’s likable, and I can see why some women would find that attractive.” He popped the bread in his mouth.
She raised her brows, her fork pausing mid-twirl. “You say that like you’re not likable?”
“Being likable is the kiss of death in my line of work. I can be scary, intimidating, a dick, frosty, any of those, but I can’t be likable.”
“That’s too bad. Women like kind.” She leaned back, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows over her face as she chewed her food.
“So do criminals,” he countered. “Kind is equivalent to an easy mark.”
She twisted her lips as if wanting to dive deeper into what he’d said but instead asked another question. “Miles faces several personal conflicts that force him to grow. How did those elements contribute to his appeal as a book boyfriend to the heroine?”
“Isn’t that a question you should answer? I don’t know how women think.”
“You know how Daphne, the heroine, thought because you read the book.”
“Yeah, but—”
“There’s no but.”
“I guess, it made him more…”
“More what?”
“Can’t we just eat in peace?”
“Not if you want anyone to believe you’re my authentic boyfriend.”
“Somehow, I don’t think anyone will quiz me about the hero in a book.” He finished his wine, refilled his glass, and topped off hers.
“Of course, they’ll quiz you,” she said, toying with her goblet. “Any guy of mine will be well read and more than happy to discuss book boyfriends.”
“Are you for real?” A wave of irritation washed over him. The kind that happens when a guy realizes he’s not going to get the girl…even though he doesn’t want the girl. It was a male pride thing. “You expect the guys you date to sit around and talk about book boyfriends? That’s like me saying any woman of mine will be expected to sit around and talk about—”
“About what?”
He swallowed, shocked that he’d almost let slip the one thing he couldn’t reveal. The family secret. It was the real reason behind his being out of commission for the time being, the way his injury had caused his magic to glitch. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about me, it’s about you and keeping you safe.”
“On that note, I have something for you,” Sophie said. “Wait here.” She popped up and hurried out of the room.
While she was gone, Stone pondered how Sophie would respond if she learned of the side gig Clarabelle had set him and his brothers up with when she had come back into their lives. A side gig that made Sophie’s look insignificant by comparison.
Actually, it wasn’t a side gig. It was an equal gig. For every normal case they took, they had to take one abnormal case. Otherwise, as Clarabelle would say, what was the sense in going to all the trouble to get them certified in the field?
His gut told him Sophie would be thrilled.
But when it came to romance, his gut couldn’t be trusted.
Sophie whipped back into the room carrying a gray T-shirt and wearing a smirk.
He stiffened. Damn, he knew that smirk. Had experienced it several times since meeting her. Whatever came next, he wouldn’t like it.
“Here.” She thrust the shirt at him. “This is for you to wear on your first official outing as my boyfriend while I interview potential candidates for my second column.”
He took the shirt by the shoulders, slowly turned it around so he could read the words and groaned. Real Life Book Boyfriend in Training.
“Was that a groan of pure love?” she asked, rubbing her palms together like a foster child who had just been asked if they’d like to be adopted. “I mean, of course it was. What’s not to love about it? It’s absolutely perfect. I sell it in my Etsy store. It’s a huge hit with wedding parties, book clubs, and girl’s night out events.”
He shook off the shock. “I am not wearing this.”
Her confident smile wobbled. “Why? What’s wrong with it? I thought you’d be thrilled to wear it compared to the sweater vests that Naked Runway wants you to wear. I heard Ziggy found a black and white striped Beetlejuice cardigan in your size at a vintage shop that he plans to pair with pink trousers designed by Isabella. And Frankie actually approved it without argument, which is supremely rare…according to Ziggy, who seems to know a lot of things.”
An image of Beetlejuice popped into Stone’s head. The rambunctious spirit had been extravagantly strange. Stone ran his hand over his jaw and weighed his options. The T-shirt was better. Barely, but better. “If I wear this”—he held up the garment like it contained a man-eating bacterium—“can I ditch the Dockers and loafers and wear my jeans and combat boots, and you’ll back me with the Glam Team?”
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “Do your combat boots have blood on them?”
“Not that you can see.”
“Then I don’t see why not. I mean, you’ve already ditched the hair,” Sophie said.
“Thank you. I owe you.”
“Great. I know what I want.”
“What?”
“I want nothing but smiles out of you on Monday even after you’ve had a chance to read what my T-shirt says.” She took a seat and picked up her wine.
“I’m not great with surprises,” he said gruffly. “Why don’t you show it to me tonight?”
“Eww,” she squealed, but not in disgust. She wore a huge smile. Instead of immediately explaining the exclamation, she paused and took a leisurely sip of her wine.
He raised a brow. “Eww?”
“That’s your fatal flaw,” she said with a shrug as if he should have figured that one out on his own.
“I’m going to need more context,” he said.
“It’s the thing you’ll need to overcome to become book-boyfriend-material worthy.”
“Say what?” He picked up his goblet and took a drink.
“You’ll need to learn how to be okay with not having full control in any given situation,” Sophia explained, eyeballing him like a pet project.
“Being in control is not a flaw.” He spoke the words slowly, clearly as if talking to a child.
“Isn’t it?” she said, tilting her head.
He fisted his good hand. “Stone-cold control is a superpower that was branded into every fiber of my being by the fucking United States Navy. It’s because of that superpower that I was so successful as a SEAL. And am successful in my current line of work.”
“What can I say?” Sophia said. “One woman’s heartthrob characteristic in a guy is another’s meh.”
“Meh?” She found his best asset a meh? He took a large gulp of wine and emptied the rest of the bottle in his glass.
“It’s not personal,” she said, picking up her fork. “I’m sure your superpower does come in very handy for what you do for a living. It’s just not my cup of tea in a guy I wish to pass off as my boyfriend. So, for the sake of us both being happy in our forced time together, you’ll pretend to be working on your control issues, while I pretend you are my boyfriend. Deal?”
“And what will you be working on? Or is it just me that gets assigned a fatal flaw?”
She finished chewing and then smiled sweetly. “Just you. I’ll be so busy executing my superpower that there won’t be time for me to work on myself.”
“But if there were time, what would you need to fix?”
“Honestly?”
“Every time.”
“I have a slight blurting problem.”
“Expand?” This sounded very much like another solid reason why he could never give Sophie his heart. In a case where he tried love again, the woman would have to be able to keep a secret.
“I say things better left unsaid.”
No matter how much she might possibly love his secret, he couldn’t share it with a blurter. “Such as?” he asked, sounding like a man hoping he’d misunderstood.
“The usual. Jeopardy questions, Wheel of Fortune Puzzle answers. World-domination secrets.”
It wasn’t until he saw her lips twitch, that he realized she was messing with him, and his lungs filled with air again. “What exactly is your special power and who gave it to you?”
“Finding living book boyfriends for others…and it’s a power I got from my mother.”
Barely, just fucking barely, he kept from spouting off, That’s who gave me my super power as well. “If that’s your specialty, what’s your kryptonite? What will stop you in your tracks? After all, as your boyfriend, I should know that.”
“A grand gesture. They get me every time.”
“Just how many have you experienced?”
“Zero.”
“Then how do you know grand gestures are your kryptonite?”
“Because I read romance novels. They all have one, and I always fall for the guy who lays it all on the line with one.”
“You like guys who grovel?” Stone resisted an urge to be an ass and say real men didn’t do grand gestures. Because, honestly, there were probably a few who did. None that he knew of, but then again, he mostly hung out with ex-military types who would rather take a bullet than grovel.
“I like a guy who is willing to do whatever it takes to win the heart of the heroine. That might mean groveling. It might mean overcoming a fear. It might mean being the first to say I love you. ”
“I’ll add that to my protection duties—shield you from random grand gesture attacks.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across her features. “You see that you do. I wouldn’t want to have to complain to Ms. Birdie that you only did your job half-ass.”
Stone’s lips twitched as he nodded. He now knew her I’d never . And her kryptonite. Two things he didn’t know about any other woman he’d ever dated.
He was prevented from saying as much when both their phones dinged at the same time. Ignoring his, he watched as Sophie flipped hers over and read the screen.
She frowned. “I have a message to give Ms. Birdie a call.”
He pulled out his phone and read his message. It was from Clarabelle.
Your glitches have been brought to the attention of the council. Your assignment with Sophie is temporarily on hold. Possibly forever.
He glanced up at his dinner companion. Would this be their last encounter? The thought gave him heartburn.
“Is yours from Ms. Birdie as well?” Sophie asked.
He shook his head. “It’s from my mom. A family matter needs my attention. I’m sorry to eat and run, but—”
“No apologies required,” Sophie said, waving him off. “Family trumps fake girlfriends…or even real ones as far as I’m concerned.”
“On that we agree.” He stood and hurried to the door. With one hand on the knob, he turned for what might be his last glimpse of Sophie. Damn if the thought didn’t leave a lump in his throat. “Send me a text and let me know if Ms. Birdie is changing things up.”