Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TYLER
RenegadeRush
So what are you up to tonight?
Leaning up against the bar as I wait for our drinks, I hit send and glance over at Sophie, seated at the high-top table we grabbed in the crowded bar area of the South Side club I brought her to.
I see her reach into her bag and pull out her phone.
She glances down at the screen, and I feel a little shot of jealousy at the way she smiles for a message from someone who isn’t me until I remember the message is from me.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
Am I the asshole for deciding to wait to tell her I’m RenegadeRush and that we’ve been unknowingly messaging each other for weeks?
Maybe, but it’s for a good cause, so I’m allowing it.
If I came right out and told her it was me, there’s a risk she would laugh it off like one hilarious coincidence and move on, never seeing me the way I want her to see me, which is more.
Everything. The center of her damn universe the way she is mine.
I have to make her see me that way first, and then we can laugh about it together. And kiss. A lot. I really want to kiss her a lot.
And if I happen to use my knowledge a tiny bit to my advantage, no one in the world would blame me. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I’m not lying to her, exactly. I’m waiting to tell her the truth, and that’s different.
Probably.
Sophie glances up from her phone and locks eyes with me.
I toss her a wink, and the flush that stains her cheeks has a little thrill rocketing through me that only gets stronger when she slides her phone back into her bag, leaving RenegadeRush’s message unanswered.
I don’t know exactly what that means, but I think it means everything is coming up Tyler.
“Here you go, Mr. Hansley, on the house.”
I glance up at the bartender who looks like he just turned twenty-one yesterday.
He’s taking me in with the most earnest expression I’ve ever seen from a fan, and even after four seasons in the league and growing up with a famous football player dad, being recognized still delights me.
I flash him a smile. “That’s so unnecessary. ”
He shakes his head. “Seriously, you won the Renegades the Super Bowl for the first time in thirteen years. You’re not paying for drinks when I’m working behind the bar.”
“Well then I appreciate it.” Flipping open my wallet, I grab a hundred-dollar bill and slip it into the tip jar, nodding in thanks and taking the drinks he sets on the bar, sauntering over to Sophie.
“Your margarita, my beautiful bestie.”
With a flourish, I slide the drink across to Sophie and take the seat across from her. Taking a sip of my own cocktail, I watch the way she looks at me over the rim of her glass, like she has no idea what to make of me.
She’s been a little off balance since she came out of her office and saw me standing there.
And while I think some of it is because of the interview she still hasn’t told me about, a lot of it is because of me.
For the last hour, I’ve been making it a point to touch her as much as I can.
A kiss on her cheek when she got into the car.
Her hand in mine when I helped her out. My hand low on her back when we were walking into the club.
And now, when I reach over and link my finger with hers.
It’s our thing, but this time she glances down at our joined fingers and back up at me, her eyes full of questions.
Questions I can’t wait to answer.
But not quite yet.
“I see your love of pink drinks is back in full force,” she says, looking at my drink with amusement.
Taking another sip, I grin because that’s fucking delicious. “I mean, they called it a Pink Elephant, Soph. How do you resist a drink with that kind of name? Also, it has cherry, pineapple, and lime, and that’s a winning combo if I ever heard one.”
Sophie takes a sip of her own drink, licking her bottom lip to catch an errant drop. My eyes track the movement, a bolt of lust arrowing through me as I imagine all the different places I want that tongue. Those lips.
My face must give my thoughts away at least a little because Sophie exhales audibly, her fingers tightening around her glass as I raise my eyes to hers, seeing the quick flash.
Jesus, I knew this was going to be great, but it turns out winding up Sophie Sullivan is more fun than winning the Super Bowl, with a much better prize at the end.
Her.
Respectfully, fuck the Lombardi Trophy. I just want Sophie.
She clears her throat, shifting in her seat and glancing around the club.
It’s getting more packed with people as we get closer to showtime.
The space is intentionally unfinished, black pipes and exposed ductwork lining the ceiling.
With brick walls, a concrete floor, and low lighting that illuminates a temporary stage set up on the far side, it gives warehouse vibes but in an oddly cozy kind of way.
“So, what, exactly, are we doing here?” she asks. “You’re being weirdly mysterious about it all and you suck at keeping secrets, so spill, Ty. Why are we out on a Friday night instead of watching a movie on your couch the way we’ve done for the last four years’ worth of Fridays?”
With my eyes on hers, I reach across the table and glide a finger over the back of her hand, lighting up when her pupils dilate and she sucks in a quiet breath. “Thought this would be fun. Movie nights will always be our thing, but it’s cool to switch it up every now and then, don’t you think?”
Swallowing hard, she tugs her hand away and takes a long sip of her drink.
“I can’t be the judge of that yet, because I have no idea what we’re doing at a packed South Side club at seven o’clock at night.
I didn’t even know clubs were open at seven o’clock.
Is this the early bird special or something? Why are there so many people here?”
Chuckling, I lean in, propping an elbow on the table. “Nah, this is a special event, and if you can manage to be patient for fifteen more minutes, all will be revealed.”
Sophie rolls her eyes and pushes her curls behind her shoulders. “You should know me better than that. I don’t even have thirty seconds worth of patience. What makes you think I can wait fifteen minutes?”
“I don’t know,” I say thoughtfully. “I have faith in you. Besides, sometimes the best things are worth waiting for.” I link my ankle around hers under the table and grin when she fumbles her drink, margarita sloshing perilously close to the rim. “Don’t you think?”
“Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?” she demands.
I hold up both my hands. “I have no idea what you mean.”
She wrinkles her nose, and it’s so fucking cute I can’t even. “You’re acting…different.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I think you’re going to need to be a little more specific than that. Different how?”
She blows out a frustrated breath, and I can practically see her brain working, trying to decide if she should detail to me all the ways this night feels different to her. Feels like more.
Do it, Sophie baby. Tell me what you feel.
“No one has recognized you,” she says finally. “That’s different.”
Okay, not exactly what I was going for, but I’ll roll with it. “I don’t think this is the kind of place people expect to see me, and if they don’t expect me, they assume I’m not me.”
Sophie laughs, her whole body relaxing for the first time since we walked in the door. “I think we’ve been friends for too long because that absolute butchering of proper sentence structure made perfect sense to me.”
“I think we’ve been friends for exactly the right amount of time.” I say with a grin. “And if it makes you feel better, the bartender recognized me and wouldn’t let me pay for these drinks.”
Sophie leans back in her chair and studies me. “Let me guess. You protested, and when he still wouldn’t let you pay, you left a ridiculously extravagant tip.”
I shrug, sucking an ice cube out of my drink and crunching down on it. “It’s fucking weird that the more famous you are and the more money you have, the more free shit you get. He should be giving free drinks to someone else. I can pay for mine.”
This time it’s Sophie who taps my foot with hers. “Tyler Hansley, you are too good for this world.”
I grin and open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted when the lights flash and then lower, a host of spotlights illuminating and a booming voice reverberating through the club.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome my beautiful Broadway babies, to THE GREATEST SHOW.”
He screams the last three words, and the room erupts in riotous cheers as orange-tinted laser lights shoot across the ceiling and “The Greatest Show” from The Greatest Showman blares from the speakers.
Every single person in the club starts singing at the top of their lungs, a group of people practically surging up to the makeshift stage to dance and sing for the crowd.
“Come on!” I say to Sophie, jumping up off my stool and grabbing her hand, tugging her up and into my side, leading her straight into the middle of the raucous crowd.
“What is this magic?” she asks breathily, her entire body vibrating with a barely concealed energy as she looks, wide-eyed, around the room.
“Broadway rave,” I say directly into her ear so she can hear me over the music and the sound of a couple thousand screaming voices. It doesn’t hurt my feelings at all when she shivers, her body moving even closer to mine.
She barks out a gleeful laugh that makes my chest feel like it’s filled with air. “That’s a thing?”
“Sure is. For the next two hours, we’re channeling our inner theater kid and scream-singing all our faves.
” With a hand on her shoulder, I turn her to face me, leaning in closer.
“I know you miss the theater, so I thought I would try and give it back to you, at least for a night.” I wink at her.
“Show me what you’ve got, Sal. I always loved watching you perform. ”
She looks at me skeptically. “You remember my performances? High school was a long time ago.”
I scoff. “High school could have been a hundred years ago, and I would still remember freshman year when you were Elphaba in Wicked and you brought the house down with your rendition of ‘Defying Gravity.’ Sophomore year you were Sandy in Grease, and when you sang the line feel your way, I think every single guy in your school fell a little in love, and I almost punched this one guy for the way he was leering at you in that black skinsuit. Junior year it was Hamilton, and you were the smartest, sassiest Angelica Schuyler the stage has ever seen. And senior year was my favorite of all—your iconic turn as Velma Kelly, one of the six merry murderesses of the Chicago Cook County Jail.”
A slow smile spreads over Sophie’s face until she’s practically beaming at me, and my heart squeezes tightly in my chest because fuck, she’s gorgeous. “You remember all of that?”
Taking a chance, I slide my hands around to either side of her neck, holding her there gently, tipping her head up with my thumbs under her jaw to keep her eyes on mine.
Leaning in until our faces are inches apart, I watch as her eyes flare, feeling her body tremble slightly with what I could swear is anticipation when my gaze dips to her lips and back up again.
Hear her breath whoosh out when I bypass her mouth and bring my lips directly to her ear.
“I remember everything about you, Soph. Every. Fucking. Thing.”
I linger there for a few more seconds, breathing her in, relishing the feeling of being so close to her, absorbing the mix of attraction and confusion radiating from her, before I reach down and grab her hand.
She yelps as I spin her out and then back in again, and when she collapses against my chest in a fit of giggles and wild, dark brown curls tickle my chin, I think I have never been happier in my entire life.
“Now come on, Broadway baby. Let me see you dance.”
The song switches to “Dancing Queen,” and the crowd lets out a roar so loud the floor shakes. Sophie’s eyes glitter with happiness and fun before she grabs my other hand and leans in. “You going to dance with me, Harry?”
Her words send a spiral of contentment through me, and I know my grin is huge. “Always and forevs, Sal.”
She tosses her head back and laughs before joining right in with the crowd.
For the next couple hours, we dance and sing and meet a million new people who are immediately our best friends, and we have the time of our freaking lives.
We get hot and sweaty and I never stop touching Sophie and, to my absolute and utter delight, she’s touching me too.
Her hand reaching for me. Her arms wrapping around my neck. Her body pressing tightly to mine.
When “Light My Candle” from Rent comes on, she drags me up onto the stage with her and we channel our very best Mimi and Roger to the wild applause of the crowd, and fuck, I hope someone got it on video because I want to keep it forever.
But then I realize I don’t need the video because this night will be tattooed on my brain for all eternity.
During “Seasons of Love,” Sophie stands in front of me, her back to my chest, head resting on my shoulder, my arms wrapped around her waist in a gesture only I know is possession.
And when she rolls her head to look up at me, brilliant smile I love on her face, and says, “This is the best night I’ve ever had,” as the crowd sings the song about how you measure a life, I realize I’ve always measured my life in her.
And if I have my way, that will never, ever change.