20 #2
Thank God.
Her head dropped back against my shoulder as I tasted the place where her pulse beat.
“But I…”
She trailed off and I froze, needing to hear the end of that sentence more than I needed air. Did I mess up again? She had been drinking. So had I. Was this crazy? Was she in a position to consent? She only had a few, but without food…
Her breathy voice continued, “I don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to do. I just want to be sure you want this too. I know I’m the one who called you in my room tonight and—”
Maybe the alcohol was making me bold. Or maybe enough was just enough. If she was still doubting that I wanted her—if that was the thing getting in our way—it ended now.
I cut her off with a tug of her body to mine. She gasped—the evidence of my desire obvious between us.
“I want this, Soph,” I murmured into her ear. “I know you can feel how much I want this.”
Before she could reply, my hands moved to cup her breasts.
Her soft, full, perfect breasts. Time slowed as I touched her, as I felt her pebble under the attention.
A moan slipped from her lips and I couldn’t believe what was happening—touching her, watching her react to my touch.
Logic and consequences were long gone as I let my hand wander farther down the front of her body.
“If I touch you here...” My fingertips teased the lace at the front of her underwear. “Will I find out that you want this too?”
“There’s only one way to know for sure,” she breathed, placing her hand over mine and guiding it lower.
Slowly, my fingers pushed beneath her waistband. I leaned over her shoulder, both of us watching my hand disappear under the pink silk.
“Fuck, Soph.” She felt like heaven, so wet, so ready. “I need to—”
Like a shockwave, an alarm blared through the apartment.
We screamed “Jesus Christ!” and “What the fuck!” and Sophie cried, “Is that your building’s fire alarm?”
I raced out of the bedroom. In the kitchen, Sophie’s highly coveted scallion pancake was not only burned but fully on fire on the stove. My cries of “Shit! Shit! Shit!” mixed with Sophie’s shriek of “Where is the fire extinguisher? Please tell me you have a fire extinguisher!”
I did not, but I had a backup plan. I threw on oven mitts, grabbed the pan handle, and thrust the entire thing into the sink, covering it with a dish towel to smother the flame before turning the water on.
A huge plume of steam rose up around it, which seemed to further anger the fire alarm which sounded even louder now. How was that possible?
“Come on Andy, we’re supposed to leave the building! It’s literally a fire drill! Or like, a real fire! I don’t know what it is but hurry up!”
“We just put out the fire—it’s fine!”
“Andy, if I don’t get out of this building and away from this sound right now I’m going to lose my mind!”
“Sophie, you’re still naked!”
She looked down at herself—chest fully out in the middle of the kitchen—then back up at me with panic.
“Come on, get some clothes and let’s go,” I insisted, halting her mid-spiral. There’d be time to lose it later when she was dressed and everything was much quieter.
She ran back into her room, threw on her robe, then took my outstretched hand as we raced away from the most horrendous noise we’d ever had the displeasure of hearing.
“I don’t understand how it could possibly take this long,” Sophie mused from where we sat on the steps of the restaurant around the corner. “I feel like each peal is burrowing deeper inside my psyche.”
“It’s an old building. I think the firefighters have to use a physical key on each alarm to turn it off.”
“This is because I don’t go to church, isn’t it?” she asked, looking skyward. “I’m sorry that I have a busy life! Can you cut me some slack?”
I chuckled as her head found a spot on my shoulder.
It was comfortable, like nothing had changed. Except it wasn’t, because it had. I was reeling and terrified and hopeful and totally unsure how to behave or what to say. Last week, I couldn’t even act normal after kissing her—I certainly wasn’t equipped to act normal now.
I forced myself to ask, “Hey, are you okay? With what we just did, I mean?”
“Yeah,” she said, not quite nervous, but not confident either. “I am.”
She placed a tentative hand on my knee, and it felt like a question. The night was dark and her eyes were fixed on the shop ahead and I clawed through the dirt in my soul, digging for the courage to keep going.
“What do you want, Soph?”
“What do you mean?”
“From me? What do you want from me? I hope that doesn’t sound rude. I really just need to know. Because if what you need is a friend then I will get it together and be a better friend, but these past few—”
“Be a better friend? Andy, you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. You couldn’t possibly be a better friend. You’re literally letting me live in your apartment and not pay rent, for God’s sake. I love you.”
“I know. I just feel like I’m ruining everything. First with the kiss. And then, God, tonight…”
I scrubbed my hands over my eyes, unable to look at her as I explained, “Look, I love being your friend. But since you moved in I’ve felt so confused about where we stand and what you want, and then I let myself do this crazy shit and I worry I’m ruining the best part.
The part where we feel safe with each other. Because I don’t feel safe with other people the way I feel with you. Even Nolan and Lia. I love them too, but with you everything’s just better.”
Sophie waited a beat, then shocked me by asking, “Would you ever… maybe… want to see if we could do both? Like maybe we can still be friends, still be us, but also see if we could be… more?”
In the time it took me to inhale and open my mouth, she was already walking it back.
“Only if you want to though, of course. No pressure. It’s fine if you don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m not trying to mess everything up between us with an ill-fated relationship, especially if you’re not into it.”
Her laugh was forced, her heart on the line.
I turned to face her, not laughing at all. “Do you really want to?”
Sophie swallowed, then said, “Yeah? I mean, I’d give it a try if you would.”
I reached up to cup one side of her face, then the other, enjoying the simple feeling of my palms against her jaw. She placed her hands over mine. Then she kissed me.
This kiss was different from our first. It was chaste, soft, slow. There was no rush of momentum, just her lips on mine, tender and real.
Eventually, Sophie pulled back gingerly and said, “The alarm is off.”
“So it is,” I replied, trying and failing to keep a lid on my smile. I stood from the stoop and extended a hand. She took it, and we walked back to the apartment.
By the time we got inside, the reality of the day was starting to hit me—the gala, the alcohol, the almost-sex, the conversation, the kiss. I was still reeling from it all when Sophie said, “I think we should go on a date. A real date. If you’d be into that.”
A date. Shit—I should’ve thought of that. “Yes. A date. Yes. Makes sense.” It felt like I’d never done this before. “Are you free tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m free all day.”
“Okay… I have an idea. How about after dinner, around 8:00?”
“Okay.”
Our uncertainty was a physical presence in the room.
There were a million things I wanted to say to her, but none of them connected to words in my brain.
After a too-long moment, it was Sophie who said, “Goodnight, Andy.”
Then she leaned forward on her tiptoes, kissed my cheek, and walked into her room.
I barely slept a wink, my mind whirling through the future and the past. The memory of Sophie’s body pressed against mine, the taste of her, all of the almosts, the missed opportunities, the opportunity in front of me.
A date. We were going on a date.
It had to be perfect.