16. Callum #2
Sophie rolls her eyes. “To be determined. Don’t worry”—she pats my hand patronizingly—“it’s not you, it’s your age. Daddies are all a little clueless on this modern day lingo,” she adds sweetly. Too sweetly.
“You little—” I get up to finally teach this little brat that lesson she’s been begging for since day one, but the knock on the door saves her sweet ass. “Saved by the bell, little menace.”
I get up to take our order from the delivery guy, Sophie’s laughter following me as I open the door and the guy perks up at the sound, trying to peek inside—no doubt he was coached by the Love Hive or our friends—but I block the view of the apartment, shooting him a glare I’m so good at, and the poor guy scurries away before I get to thank him.
Oh well. I shrug, shutting the door behind me and stride over to the coffee table to set the food down. Sophie is watching me with keen interest, and a slight nervous shiver runs over me.
Hell, am I seriously worried if she’ll like what I ordered for her?
“Did you just scare him away with one of your glares?”
“How did you know?”
“People don’t run so fast otherwise.”
“And yet, here you are, still a thorn in my side.”
“That’s because you’re a masochist. You chose this life, now you get to enjoy all the benefits.” She waggles her naked ring finger, and the sight bothers me a whole lot more than it should.
I’m not getting us any rings, so that sight can fuck right off.
“Does your humor get progressively worse the hungrier you get?” I ask.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t joking in the slightest—” Her words get cut off when I slide her food in front of her. “Is that a grilled cheese?” Sophie asks, eyeing the wrapped gooey goodness in front of her. “You got me a grilled cheese sandwich?”
“Mm-hmm. You wanted to find one that’s better than your brother’s,” I tell her, unwrapping my own Reuben sandwich.
“Yeah…but…but…you remembered?” She looks at me, stupefied that I did, in fact, remember that little piece of information she shared with me when she was in the statio n.
“Hard to forget a night like that.” Or any other encounters I’ve had with the woman, but I’ll keep that thought to myself, deciding to just stuff my mouth with food so I’m no longer forced to socialize.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, her grin and sass long forgotten as she sits completely unmovable for a long moment staring at the food, until her delicate fingers unwrap the brown paper and bring the sandwich to her mouth.
Everything inside me relaxes at the sound of her appreciative moan. And then it quickly tightens again…due to that same fucking moan.
“Good?” I ask, my voice a touch too gruff as I chance a glance her way.
Fuck my life…who looks that sexy while eating a damn grilled cheese?
“ Theè mou ! This is so much better than good!” I can’t take my eyes off her when Sophie takes another large bite of her sandwich and mumbles, “Oh, I’m so going to rub it in Vassar’s face.”
“Glad to hear it.” I go back to my food to pull my stray thoughts into a right direction.
“I think I’m going to have a food orgasm right now,” Sophie announces with another moan.
The bite I just took lodges in my throat, and I nearly choke, coughing. She did not just say that.
“You okay, Clover?” Her small hand smacks my back, but there’s no mistaking the tease in her voice. This little menace knew exactly what she was doing.
“How about we eat in peace and quiet from now on?” I ask, still coughing.
“Not a chance.” Sophie grins.
I groan, and so the torturous lunch time continues with her moans and praises for Peace Out diner.
Once we’re done eating, we move together to clean up afterward until we settle back on the couch.
There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation. We move around her apartment as if we’ve done it a million times before and it’s quiet unnerving how easy it all seems. And how far off this already is from what I imagined when I came up with this brilliant plan.
Despite her chaotic personality, she’s quite put-together. And she’s smart. Like brilliant, actually. It comes across in everything she does. From the way she talks to the way she organizes everything.
What seemed like a mess to me in her kitchen before now makes perfect sense with how she’s set it all up. It’s practical and easy and your hands just reach for the right thing without thinking.
The only thing we seem to be polar opposites on so far is the fact that Sophie’s mouth doesn’t seem to shut. Not for a minute, while I’d die a happy man if I never had to talk again in my life, but do you think she’d let me?
Of course not.
Sophie fires question after question at me. And they all start innocently enough. For example, do I prefer dogs or cats, but those questions veer off-course real quick, because she has a million follow up questions, some being rhetorical—but she just needs to know my take on the matter.
I don’t think I’ve talked this much in all of my years in the Navy combined! Which, funny enough, she never asks about. I’ve mentioned that I served while answering other questions, but Sophie never looked further into it, somehow sensing once again that it's not my favorite topic.
I’m still in the middle of telling her why I prefer a notebook over Post-it notes at work when a soft mumble reaches my ears. I glance to the side and feel the corners of my mouth tug up.
Sophie is dead asleep, her small frame huddled over on her side of the couch, her hands tucked under her head. Those sweet lips parted, and I stifle a laugh when another bout of soft rambling comes out of them.
Jesus Christ, I rub my face trying to dislodge the smile I’m now spotting. Even in her sleep, the woman can’t shut up.
Silently, and careful not to wake this question monster, I get up, pulling my phone out to call the station and make sure everything is going fine without me, but just as I do a soft whine leaves her throat, and the foot that was closes to me extends as if looking for something. Or someone.
I stand there, my head tilted as I regard my fake wife who keeps shifting around, dislodging from her comfortable spot. Is she looking for me?
Something lights up and sends a warmth through my cold heart. I set the phone down on the coffee table and lift one of the blankets off the floor, covering her and hope she’ll go back to sleep, but that foot is still searching around.
Why would she be looking for me? What the fuck is wrong with my sick imagination.
Don’t do it, Callum. Don’t you fucking do it.
I curse under my breath and slide back into my spot. Almost immediately, her small foot connects with my thigh, pressing into the tight muscles and her restlessness seizes.
She even lets out a soft humph, as if to say “Finally” and burrows her foot under my leg.
I sit there, not moving a muscle in fear of waking her up but Sophie looks so peaceful, so content and safe, and the egotistical part of me, the one I thought had died a long time ago, wants to revel in the notion that I might be the reason she feels like that.
Fuck…that warmth in my chest expands, spreading further and seeping into every blood vessel, loosening my own stiffness. I know I shouldn’t let it. I know I need to get away, put up my barriers but her warmth has claimed me.
And the last thought I have before sleep claims me is, my wife will be my undoing.
“Oh fuck.”
My eyes pop open as I draw a startled breath at a hushed curse. “Sophie?” I whisper, my voice hoarse as I try to see her in the evening light. The sun must’ve set while we slept.
“Clover!” There’s panic in her voice and my body is off the couch instantly .
“What? What is it, Sophie? Are you okay?” My eyes finally focus well-enough to see her frantic face expression as she searches for something all over the living room.
My instincts take over and I’m at her side that same second, halting her movement as I search for what’s happened.
“No, I’m so not okay!” She shrieks. “We missed a whole first period already! And now I can’t find the damn remote!” Sophie uses my stupefaction as a chance to slip out of my hold and resume her search.
Period…what in the world does she mean?
Wait a minute…
“Hockey.” I deadpan. “I thought you were dying, or something along the lines, and this is about missing some game?”
Sophie stops her search and slowly turns my way, those brown eyes narrowed into slits. “Dear husband, I suggest you never call hockey ‘some game’ or else this will be a very short marriage.”
“And I suggest you stop scaring me like that unless you want to become a widow just a day into it. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
She bends down, searching underneath the couch. “Do you have life insurance?” she asks without looking up.
“Yeah, why?”
“Then widow sounds good.”
“Jesus Christ.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as she giggles.
“Relax, I’m just joking. And I thought you were supposed to be all tough with what being in the Navy and now a Sheriff?”
“I am tough.” I puff out my chest like a dumbass.
“A-ha!” Sophie exclaims, dragging the remote out from underneath the couch. “Found you, baby.” She even kisses the thing. “I hope we didn’t miss too much.”
“Okay, you have fun. I’m gonna go make some calls.”
“But what about the game?”
“Sophie, I don’t really care about hockey.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Have you ever watched it?”
I mull that over, trying to think back but don’t recall any time that I’ve actually seen it apart from those few minutes at my parents’ house the other day. “No, I was more of a football guy in high school.”
I’m barely done talking when she snatches my wrist, pulling me down onto the couch next to her. “You can’t say you’re not into hockey if you’ve never watched it. Give me at least one period.”
I pucker my lips. “Just one period and you’ll leave me alone about this forever?”
“Yep.” She pops the p, and I sigh.
“Fine. One period it is.”