Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SOPHIE
By the time I knock on Murphy’s door, my nerves are fizzing like the Prosecco I didn’t drink before coming.
Game night is the same setup as always. Cards, pizza, beers, bad jokes.
But tonight feels different because it isn’t just the two of us, everyone is here, well not the whole team but the usually suspects.
And all I can think about is my body still remembers everything about the last time I was here.
The weight of him. The scrape of his stubble against my skin.
The filthy things he whispered into my neck as if we weren’t supposed to be pretending.
And now we’re back to pretending but with more complicated muscle memory.
Murphy opens the door with that ridiculous lopsided grin and a beer already in hand. “About time. Thought you were ghosting me.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve ever had,” I reply breezily, pushing past him into the flat. He smells annoyingly good. Again. Like temptation.
In the living room, Ollie’s setting up the cards, looking way too enthusiastic for someone who got elbowed in the face three times last game. Jacko’s already half a pizza deep and giving commentary as if he’s on Bake Off.
Dylan’s here too, parked in the armchair like some dark cloud in expensive joggers, nursing a beer and his signature emotional constipation.
And Mia’s sitting the floor between his legs, her legs tucked underneath her, calm and observant with a glass of wine in one hand and the other resting casually on his knee.
She flashes me a warm, knowing smile that makes me feel like she’s read the group chat I haven’t sent.
“Hey, Sophie,” she says with her usual lowkey charm. “You survived another Murphy invite. Impressive.”
“Barely,” I mutter, tossing my coat on the back of the sofa.
Dylan’s eyes flick toward me, then Murphy, narrowing just slightly. His version of raised eyebrows, I think. “You two still pretending this isn’t a thing?” he mutters into his beer.
I shoot him a look. “You and Mia still pretending you don’t undress each other with your eyes every ten seconds?”
Murphy nearly chokes on his drink. Mia just sips her wine, serene as a Buddhist monk.
“It’s a good job she’s my best friend,” Mia says, deadpan, and I stifle a grin.
Murphy flops down beside me on the couch, a little too close.
His thigh brushes mine, and my body goes stupidly on high alert like I haven’t already been all over him.
He leans in, murmuring, “How long you reckon we can keep this up before someone throws us in a closet and tells us to get it over with?”
I turn to him, arching a brow. “You assume I haven’t already booked one.”
His grin widens, wolfish. “God, you’re hot when you threaten me.”
“Good,” I say, leaning in until we’re practically nose to nose. “Because I’ve got an entire list of threats.”
We’re halfway through the first round of cards when Dylan finally pipes up. “Murph, if you keep throwing the game to impress your girlfriend, I’m revoking your pub bragging rights.”
“I’m not throwing the game,” Murphy says, but even Ollie laughs.
Mia raises her brows and nudges Dylan. “He is definitely throwing the game. You’re just mad she’s better at cards than you.”
“Everyone’s better at cards than Dylan,” I say, fanning out my winning hand.
“Even the six-year-old at the hospital,” Murphy adds, nudging me with his elbow.
That pulls a quiet smile from Dylan, and I watch him lean closer to Mia, their shoulders brushing.
She glances up at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking and isn’t about to say a word.
It’s subtle, intimate in a way that makes me hyper-aware of the space between Murphy and me. And how little of it there actually is.
Murphy clears his throat and leans back. “Alright. Enough of the hearts and unicorns. Who’s up for another round?”
“I will,” I say, standing. “But I want a proper drink. Murph, come pour me something dangerous.”
He follows me into the kitchen like a golden retriever with a dirty mind. “You asking me to get you drunk, Hart?”
“Just asking you to try and keep up.”
He pours two shots of tequila and slides one my way. “Here’s to fake relationships, explosive sex, and wildly inappropriate game night banter.”
I clink my glass to his. “Cheers to all that. Especially the wildly inappropriate part.”
We toss them back, and the burn settles into something warmer as his gaze lingers on my mouth just a little too long. I lick a drop off my lip and enjoy the way his jaw tightens.
Back in the living room, the energy shifts.
Dylan and Mia are now seated next to each other on the floor, card game abandoned in favour of some low-voiced conversation.
Mia laughs softly, her hand brushing Dylan’s knee without fanfare, and I clock the way his entire body seems to lean toward her as if gravity’s changed direction.
I sit back on the sofa with Murphy, and this time, it’s his arm that ends up behind me, casually draped, but his fingers graze the back of my neck. I don’t move away.
“So,” Mia says, catching my eye over the rim of her glass, “you two still faking it?”
“Absolutely,” I say at the exact moment Murphy replies, “Barely.”
Dylan smirks and mutters something under his breath. Mia doesn’t press but her look lingers. She knows me too well.
The rest of the night blurs into a warm, fizzy haze of laughter, teasing, and more card games.
When the others finally start to drift out, Ollie heading off with Jacko and Dylan and Mia slipping out together, their goodbyes soft and understated, I start collecting empty glasses like that’ll distract me from how close Murphy’s still sitting.
“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough behind me. “Don’t overthink it. Just stay.”
I turn slowly. He’s watching me with a look that isn’t playful this time. It’s serious. Wanting. And it breaks something inside me that I’ve been trying so hard to keep taped up. I nod, almost imperceptibly. “Okay.”
The glasses clink back down on the table and his hand slips around my waist, pulling me onto his lap as though I belong there.
And for once, I don’t feel like running.