Chapter 16 #2
The subject change is about as subtle as a brick to the head, but I go with it.
“Changed my life. Literally. Without therapy, I’d probably still be doing two-a-day workouts and pretending my ankle wasn’t screaming.
And I’ve got no doubt, now, that that would have left me on the bench, broken, with no future. ”
“So now you spend your time helping wayward nursing students assault baseballs and trying new things,” she adds.
“Exactly. My therapist’s whole thing was that I’d built my entire identity around hockey. When that got threatened…” I gesture vaguely at my ankle, the traitorous bastard that’d almost ruined me. “Well, I’d had a complete system failure, so now I try things I’m terrible at on purpose.”
“Doesn’t it scare you?” she says, voice quiet. “Or feel like a waste of time?”
“No.”
Her breath catches slightly. “No?”
“No.” The word hangs between us, weighted. “If I hadn’t started this whole experiment, hadn’t been willing to make an ass of myself in new ways, I might have just fallen back into old habits, obsessing about hockey. And I wouldn’t have…” I pause, suddenly unsure how much to reveal.
“Wouldn’t have what?”
“Wouldn’t have met you.” I shrug. “Sitting alone at that bar was a new thing to try. Focusing on your pleasure was a new thing to try.” The honesty feels risky, but her expression softens, making it worth it.
“Sure, eventually we’d have crossed paths, but I wouldn’t have gotten to know you. The real you.”
Sophie shifts her weight, unconsciously moving closer. “The real me is kind of a mess right now.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious.” She sighs. “I’m constantly one text away from a panic attack, I’m barely keeping up with grad school?—”
“You’re juggling a master’s program, family crisis management, and whatever complicated thing is happening between us with more grace than most people could manage on their best day.
” I turn to face her fully, needing her to see the truth in my expression.
“Trust me, I’ve been an actual mess. You’re just human. ”
The space between us has somehow shrunk to inches. I can see each individual freckle across her nose, the way her pupils dilate as she looks up at me, and the way her lips are pursed together while she thinks. The air between us feels flammable, and all it needs is a single spark to ignite.
“You’re good at this,” she says softly.
“At what?”
“Making me feel less crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. You’re just—” I search for the right words. “Feeling everything at full volume. I get that.”
“Even when I’m smashing balls with a bat?”
“Especially then. Your murder swing is pretty hot, actually.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and heat floods my face. But Sophie doesn’t pull back. If anything, she edges closer, until I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and it might just be enough to light the spark that will set us ablaze.
She looks up at me. “Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
My pulse hammers against my ribs. “What thing?”
“Looking at me like you want to kiss me but won’t.”
All the air leaves my lungs. “Sophie…”
“The other night, after poetry, you kissed my cheek.” Her fingers find the fence near mine, not quite touching. “Then you left.”
“I know,” I say, carefully, honestly surprised this hasn’t come up before but glad we’re finally discussing it.
“Why?”
Christ, how do I explain this without sounding like I’m playing games?
I swallow hard. “Because I like being around you. Talking to you. Helping when you need it. And I don’t want you to think I’m only interested in…”
“Sex?” she supplies, one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah.” My face burns hotter. “That night at your apartment was incredible. Beyond incredible. But getting to know you these past months, being your friend, that matters to me too. So if that’s all you want, just friendship, I’m OK with that. I need you to know it’s your choice.”
It’s only a partial lie. I would never be OK with just being her friend, but I don’t want her out of my life, and I’ll respect that choice if she makes it.
And, as she stares at me for a long moment, I can actually see the moment her walls come down.
Her whole face transforms, softness replacing wariness.
“Mike?”
I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. “Yeah?”
“What if I don’t want just friendship?”
She rises onto her toes, hands finding my shoulders for balance, and pulls me down to her level. Her eyes search mine, a question and an invitation all at once. This is it—her choice, made clear, with no ambiguity and no uncertainty—and my whole body screams with anticipation.
“Sophie,” I breathe, and then her mouth is on mine.
The first contact is soft, almost tentative, like we’re both remembering how this works. Then her lips part slightly, a tiny sigh escaping, and any thought of restraint evaporates. I band my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me as she melts into the kiss.
I’d forgotten—how the hell had I forgotten?—the way she fits against me, every curve aligning perfectly despite our height difference. But I could never forget the little noise she makes when I angle my head to deepen the kiss, which sets off fireworks in my bloodstream.
Yep. We’re well and truly ablaze now…