Chapter 4 Sophie #2
But I’m not that girl, and that reality is more than apparent right now as I stand here on this damn patio, staring back at Elijah with misty eyes.
“Hey…” he says, reaching out to grab my wrist. I should pull away from him again, because I know he doesn’t mean to be so fucking tempting. “I just wanted to see if you were okay…” His voice is soft, sweet. Caring.
That’s the thing that used to aggravate me the most about Elijah. It was so easy to fall in love with him. Not because he was my friend, but because he’s the walking embodiment of a warm hug.
He cares. Some would argue he cares too much, but that deep concern and care is where I’ve always felt the most comfortable. The most me.
I should pull away and tell him I’m fine, to go back to the dinner table before dessert comes. But I’ve also been drinking, and my mom pissed me off, and I’m cold and his touch feels warm and too familiar and maybe, just maybe…
A part of me wants to soak up that familiarity just for a little bit.
Because I know no one can fix me quite like Elijah. So I don’t push him away, I let him pull me gently toward him like I’m a moth succumbing to flame.
“I’m fine,” I say, but even I don’t believe me. For one, I can hear the shake of my voice, the undeniable sound of a woman about to cry like a baby.
I wish my mother didn’t have to be so…so…
I sniffle, looking down at where his hand grips mine. There’s a moment of silence as he gently tugs me closer, and I let him. I follow him without question. His thumb brushes over my knuckles in that rhythmic, soothing fashion that’s so familiar, yet so foreign.
He used to do this all the time when we were kids.
When I was upset because Sam wouldn’t let me hang out with him and his friends.
And when we grew up, became teenagers…it was his comforting touch after lost friendships and relationships that gave me the hope and courage to keep chasing my dreams. To not give up on love or getting out of this fucking town.
It’s okay, you got this.
I lick my lips, nodding as I look up at him. His spicy scent surrounds me and the wind rustles the trees in the distance, causing a symphony all too familiar and melancholic.
“You don’t look fine,” he says, and I feel the faintest brush of his fingers, pushing some chaotic strands of hair behind my ears. “You look like you could use a friend right about now.”
I look up into Elijah’s dark irises, feeling the weight of his words.
You look like you could use a friend right about now.
He’s not wrong. I could use a friend. The problem is we’re not friends. Not anymore.
But maybe for the moment, I could just…pretend that we are.
Pretend that I didn’t leave. Pretend that I didn’t delete his social media in a fit of jealous rage.
Pretend that I don’t want to wrap my arms around him right now and bury myself in his silky shirt and let his scent become my damn oxygen.
Pretend that I don’t want to kiss him right now, because I’m suddenly more than acutely aware of how close his mouth is to mine.
And then I say the very thing I should not fucking say. Because I’m drunk, and more than just the wine is hitting me right now.
“Keaton’s not sick,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. Elijah’s thumb continues to stroke my knuckles, his palm heating against mine.
“He’s not?” His voice is warm, dark. Smooth, like molten chocolate.
I shake my head, my entire body flushing with heat, though I’m not sure if it is from him or the wine. Or the admission, or maybe a little of everything. Whatever it is, I blame it for the words that fall out of my mouth without warning.
“Well, he’s sick alright. Sick bastard, technically,” I say, leaning into his space. My chest brushes against his and I realize his hand is still in my hair. He hasn’t moved it, his fingers gently gliding through my locks. “Found him in our apartment with his cock in some other girl’s ass.”
I have the faintest thought to apologize for my language. Not that Elijah’s never heard me swear, but I know I must sound drunk right now speaking this way in this tone—and I don’t want to appear unpolished or imperfect.
Elijah doesn’t like messy. He likes things to be perfect, and I’m far from perfect.
His hold on my hand tightens, and I watch as his jaw tenses, watch as the unmistakable glimmer of anger courses through his soft brown gaze.
“I didn’t really think twice, just…told him it was over and hopped the first plane here.”
“Jesus, Soph, why didn’t you say something?” he asks, leaning closer, his lips inching ever closer to my own.
I could kiss him. Easily. All it would take is one swift motion, one bridge of the gap, to know what he tastes like.
To know if his kiss would dispel all my problems the way his arms always used to.
“My fiancé cheated on me doesn’t exactly feel like appropriate dinner conversation,” I joke, my chuckle half-hearted and tinged in sarcasm as well as anxiety.
Elijah lets out a deep sigh. “Besides, I don’t exactly want to bring down the vibe, you know?
We’re supposed to be celebrating, supposed to—”
“What a fucking idiot,” he says, and I don’t miss the animosity, the heat in his tone. It makes my insides twist with delight.
I give him a soft smirk, his words resonating deep within me. Because he’s right, Keaton is a fucking idiot. It’s nice to be validated. Especially by your best friend.
Well, ex–best friend, but still.
Right now it kind of feels like we’re not ex-anythings.
Right now, it kind of feels like history is repeating itself.
Like when Roman Corden stood me up for prom and I arrived alone…
Elijah and his date Jennifer had gone with Benny and Sam and their dates in one big group. I’d decided to go without the asshole, convinced I could have a good time on my own, but when I got there, I suddenly realized I was alone at the prom and had no one to walk with, dance with, or…
Elijah’s breath is warm on my skin as his gaze dips from my eyes to my mouth, then back up to my eyes so quickly I almost wonder if I imagined it.
Maybe I did.
Clearly, I’m not in my right mind. There’s a lot buzzing in my brain right now and it’s hard to keep things straight.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Just do it, my brain says, edging me toward mistakes I know I can’t come back from.
And then I feel him. Or rather, the softness of his lips crashing against my own, and I think maybe I have lost my marbles. I startle from the sudden shift in sensation, the warmth that floods me.
Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, because I don’t remember closing that gap…
But it takes all of two seconds for me to crumble like sand as Elijah’s hand in my hair holds me still, his thumb still brushing those soft circles over my knuckles.
My entire body loosens as his scent fills my lungs, surrounding me like a warm hug.
His lips are softer than I thought they’d be. But just as sweet as I always imagined.
I part my lips easily for him. I break for Elijah like glass on concrete, shattering to a million pieces like I always knew I would.
I’ve dreamed of this moment a hundred times in my life.
But then reality hits me as I realize I am kissing Elijah Brecker! My ex–best friend, my brother’s groomsman, my—
The sobering thought echoes through me as I realize I’ve just crossed a line I will never come back from.
Fuck.
I push away from him, noting the look of guilt on his face.
Shit. What the hell was I thinking?
The door opens, and my gaze flashes to Matt, who looks completely oblivious, thank God. I can only hope he didn’t see anything. I don’t need to start some kind of drama days before this wedding, drama that could ultimately ruin it.
And kissing Elijah Brecker—no matter how badly I wanted to—is definitely grounds for disaster in more ways than one.
“Dessert’s served,” Matthew says, looking between us.
“Thank you, Matthew.” Elijah’s voice is detached, cool, calm. I know that voice. The one where he pretends to be in control when he’s really spiraling.
Fuck, this isn’t good.
I expect Matthew to turn around, since he’s always been the type to take orders when it comes to the other guys, what with them being older and all.
But instead, he nods at Elijah and pushes past him, the door swinging behind him as he heads toward me.
“Come on,” he says, motioning for me to follow. “They have cheesecake.”
My insides twist once again, this time in hunger as well as desire.
“I love cheesecake,” I say like an idiot while the entire time my insides are screaming at me that I just kissed Elijah Brecker!
But I can’t focus on that right now.
So I follow Matt, leaving Elijah in my wake once more.