4. Sophia
4
SOPHIA
“He kissed you? On your lips?” Luna squeals when I give her a hesitant nod. “Wow.”
“Don’t romanticize it. I’m not at all pleased about it.”
Liar , my brain retorts, but I ignore it.
Even if I haven’t accepted it out loud, I haven’t been able to forget the feel of his lips on mine. In just a fraction of a second, he branded me. His touch lit every fiber in my body. I remember his thumb against my cheek and the way my heart galloped. How I managed to walk away from him is still a mystery to me.
“And you slapped him?”
I nod once again, pleasure skirting away and leaving embarrassment in its wake. I might be outspoken, but I’m not a violent person by nature. In fact, I took part in a parade against emotional violence in the workplace in the town’s square last month.
Hypocrite , my inner critic hollers.
But I blame my actions on the loss of consciousness his kiss had bestowed upon me.
“Who was he exactly?” Luna asks as she collects my things from the table and slides them into my bag. Yeah, I lose track of everything when I’m thinking about… the kiss. The burnt pot of breakfast oatmeal from this morning is more proof of that.
“Some jerk.” I shake my head. Yeah, I should hate him. He kissed me for God’s sake, took something that was mine to give. I’m not the shiny right breast of Juliet’s statue in the town square that anyone can touch as they please. “And I have no desire of ever seeing him again.” Something akin to disappointment pulls at my chest, but I’m determined to ignore it.
Fraud .
Go away, brain. You don’t know a thing about me.
“So what will you do now?” Luna asks thoughtfully.
I shrug, because I’m out of options and the time is ticking. Tomorrow night, I have to be at Miss Tee’s with my handsome, amazing boyfriend. “Maybe I’ll tell her that I lied.” My heart deflates and hope of ever performing at the New Year’s Gala evaporates.
“I think it’ll work out. When God closes a door, he always opens a window.”
I smile at Luna’s perpetual optimism. If she wasn’t so sweet, I might even be jealous of her. She has the luxury to be optimistic in life. I’m sure if one door closes for her, multiple windows spring open. My abhorrence of the wealthy doesn’t extend to Luna. I’m sure she’s an anomaly. Her volunteering at school three days a week is proof of that. Not many rich women would do that.
As we get out of the school’s building, frigid air hits my cheeks, and I tighten the wool scarf around my neck.
“It’s cold, Soph. Shall we drive you?” We stop where Luna’s driver is waiting for her.
I shake my head with a smile at her offer, which she makes every time, whether I’d be facing heat, cold, wind, or traffic.
After waving her a goodbye and watching her car leave, I’ve taken a step toward the bus stop, when I hear my name from behind.
“Sophia, right?”
Hairs at the back of my neck rise at a voice I’m trying to forget, though it has pervaded my thoughts every night.
“No,” I whisper to myself and hurry my footsteps. “I’m imagining this.”
“Sophia, wait.”
I lose my balance at the way my name rolls off his lips, and he gets right in my face.
“I’m trying to talk to you,” he says.
God, he’s handsome. I didn’t imagine that mole over his lip in my dreams; it’s really there. I take a deep breath, trying to get out of the stupor, but all I inhale is his rich cologne.
A gust of icy wind whips through, making me shiver, and I find my voice again. “And I’m trying to ignore you. Now, let me go.” My teeth chatter. “I’ve lost enough because of you. I don’t want to miss my bus too.”
I try to skirt past him, but he shifts, his big broad frame halting my every attempt. My nostrils flare when his lips twitch in amusement. This man has some effing nerves.
“Listen, mister, it seems like no one taught you any manners, so here’s a news flash. When someone asks you to leave them alone, you leave them freaking alone.”
“And what do you do when you want to befriend someone?”
“Befriend?” Did he really say that? “What gave you the impression I would even for a second consider being your friend?”
He starts to open that gorgeous mouth, which I now know gives hot kisses, when I stretch my hands before us and take a step back. “Forget it. I don’t want to get into an argument with you.”
“Why do you hate me? What did I do?” His brow creases in genuine confusion, and I wait for a second, hoping he’ll crack a smug smile. But when he doesn’t, laughter shoots out of me.
“What did you do? Let me think.” I tap my finger over my bottom lip, but only for a second. “You ruined my date. You—”
“Your fake date,” he interrupts, the humor long gone from his eyes.
“What… You…” I’m once again fumbling for words before him. I close my eyes because looking at his gorgeous face definitely kills some of my brain cells. “You ruined my chance at performing in one of the biggest events of the year.”
“How?”
My eyes shoot open when his thumb lightly grazes my cheek. Like the previous night, electricity crackles between us, but today I feel the calluses on his skin. His hand moves from my face to my hair as thin flakes of snow fall around us. A shiver runs through me, and I know it’s not because of the cold.
“Listen…” I press my lips together. My voice is obnoxiously soft when I continue. “If you’re here to apologize, I accept your apology. But I don’t want to see you ever again. I’m sure a rich guy like you has better things to do on a Friday evening.”
“I’m not here to apologize.” His hand drops, but somehow the distance between us has shrunk. “And how do you know I’m rich?”
“You were at The Queen’s, weren’t you?”
“You were there too, or did you forget?” He gives me that mesmerizing twitch of his lips, which is equally frustrating and hypnotic.
“I’m sure one of your friends didn’t lie to the hotel manager and make the booking in their father’s name on your behalf.” I grit my teeth. Why does he get on my nerves so easily?
“No, nothing so dramatic. One of my friends invited me to his party. Does your hatred toward rich men also extend to their not rich friends?”
“I don’t hate anyone. Except for maybe one person…” I give him a wry smile. “Now, if you’re done, I need to leave. I have a bus to catch.”
I take a step toward the bus stop, but before I can go any farther, the scarf tightens around my neck.
“Let me go.” My growl is fiercer than that of a grizzly bear saving her cubs. I turn around to find him standing with both his hands up in the air and the end of my scarf tucked inside his wristwatch.
How the hell did it end up there?
“Is this the last one, Sophia?” The sharpness of his gaze seems to see past the thick, icy wall of my bravado. I stand tongue-tied, my gaze still locked on the end of my scarf dangling through his watch, when he asks again, “Is this the last bus?”
He looks past my shoulder and I follow his gaze, where the red bus, decorated inside with Christmas lights, is leaving.
“The next one will be here in thirty minutes,” I whisper.
He nods and without tugging the fabric that now holds us together, he takes a small step forward, erasing the distance between us. “I’m asking for thirty minutes of your time. Let me prove to you that I’m not the guy you think I am.”
“Why?” The falling snowflakes get thicker, and I can see my warm breath in the air.
“Because I like you.”
“Are you always this forward?” My teeth are chattering again.
“No.” He doesn’t explain more but lightly presses his palm to the small of my back. I feel the warmth of his touch through the layers of my clothes as he guides me toward the bus stop shelter.
By the time we take our seats, the grassy sidewalk is covered with a thin layer of snow.
“I missed this weather. This town,” he says softly, as if he hadn’t planned to voice his thoughts out loud, and then adds, “I can’t stop wondering why in the hell a pretty girl like you would need a fake date.”
“I think you need better hobbies or a more engaging job.”
The laughter that shoots out of his mouth has my frosty toes curling in my shoes. “You are…”
I hold my breath, excited and nervous to know how he’ll end this sentence.
“Fascinating.”
My heart soars in delight.
“Tell me,” he prompts again.
“I’m not in the habit of sharing my personal life with strangers.”
Something resembling surprise and amusement flares bright in his whiskey eyes. He places his hand forward. “Hi, Sophia. I am Ash… Asher.”
I can’t hold back my snort. “Hi, Ash… Asher. Does this make you less of a stranger?”
“It makes me more of a friend.”
“What are you doing here, Asher?” I ask before he can put me more under the spell of his enchanting smile.
“Is it so hard to believe I want to be your friend?” He slightly drops his head to the side.
Heat rushes at the back of my neck, and I drop my gaze. I drag my feet back and forth over the thin sheen of ice. “Are you sure you’re not some rich guy who has an ongoing bet with his friends that he can get the girl spotted sitting alone in the fancy bar with a classic romance book?”
A muscle tics in his jaw, but before I can flinch back, he gathers my cold hands between his palms. “I don’t lie, Sophia. Please never forget that.”
Only when I nod does he continue.
“I’m here right now, not because of any bet but simply because I cannot stop thinking about a fiery girl with deep blue eyes. I can’t help but imagine how the night would have ended if she were with me and not with that coward, loser Jeremy.” His jaw pulses for a second. “I’d have probably received a kiss instead of a slap.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“I’ll accept your apology if you tell me what you were doing there.”
With my hands still in his, I end up telling this stranger why I was desperate enough to have a fake date.
“I’ll accompany you,” Asher states once I tell him how I’ll miss a chance of a lifetime.
“No!”
“Why not? You might have guessed by now that I like you enough to track your place of work. We can get to know each other some more, and if I’m correct about us, by the end of the night, you’ll give me a real kiss.”
I push away the butterflies who are eager to take flight in my stomach, and say with a regal tilt of my chin, “You are one cocky guy.”
“Say yes, Sophia.” Asher squeezes my hand. Behind him, I spot the headlights of the bus skating through the snow. “Worst case, you won’t lose your chance of performing at the New Year’s Gala.”
I tug the end of my scarf, which is still held in the metal of his watch, and get up to take the bus. But before the door closes, taking me away from Asher, I holler, “14 Mulberry Street. Dress to impress, Ash… Asher.”
The giant smile that lights his face has me wondering if tomorrow night will save me or be my biggest fall.