Chapter 5
SOFIA
The Outside – Alex Warren
Sofia nodded, plastering a polite smile on her face and clapping along, even if it was the last thing she felt like doing. He came off as self-assured, arrogant, smug, and, most damning of all, a man.
And yeah, she was in her hating men era. Any person with a penis she hadn’t known prior to the Thomas disaster was automatically blacklisted.
Was it fair? No. But she was hurt, healing, and rationally, she knew Ilias had done nothing to deserve her scorn.
But irrationally? That was another story. And right now, her irrational side wanted to kick her feet and scream, Don’t you see he’s just another asshole? He’s going to break your heart.
She was fairly certain Jamie had a slight crush on him.
Figures.
The previous day, her irrational side had been screaming even louder when he’d leaned down and kissed her cheek.
Just a fleeting gesture, but her body had betrayed her instantly.
She’d hated herself for it, hated the betrayal of her own instincts.
That single innocent kiss had been enough to spiral her thoughts into chaos, reminding her painfully of Thomas, reminding her how badly desire could derail reason.
Alejandra had watched the heat with them, clearly Team Ilias. So was the rest of her family, gathered nearby after Alejandra’s own win.
“He came back stronger,” Carlos said, clapping. “Didn’t think it was possible.”
The night before, Sofia had shamelessly stalked Ilias online after he had popped up in her notifications. She’d denied him the pleasure of a follow back, out of pure spite and ego—God, she was behaving like a twelve-year-old—but she had checked his Wikipedia page.
The guy knew his way around a wave. And she couldn’t deny it, the last wave, the one that got him a perfect 10.00, had been phenomenal. A barrel he rode without flinching, arms raised as he came out of it, ending with an aerial.
Show-off.
Ilias came out of the water, drenched and grinning, surrounded by teammates and, she assumed, family. Then, to her horror, after the interview, he made his way up toward their group. That smug smile firmly in place, hazel eyes locked on her.
Thankfully, Jamie rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug. Distracting him. “You did amazing out there. I’m so proud of you.”
“You wanted me to win, and here I am.”
“Oh, you delivered, bro,” Carlos added, doing that annoying bro-style handshake thing.
Ugh. Men.
“You did good.” Alejandra hugged him with genuine affection.
They had been friends since they were kids, but somehow, life had never put him on Sofia’s radar.
According to Alejandra, and then to her own self analysis, she had been too focused on her own career to even care about something more than the Neptune Institute or Thomas.
“Just good?” Ilias grinned, peeling off his competition shirt, then slowly unzipping the top of his wetsuit.
The fabric slid down to his hips, revealing a powerful chest marked by a few pale scars.
Her eyes—traitorous—followed the V of his abs down before she realized what she was doing and yanked her gaze upward.
Gosh, Sofia, you are so weak. Have you never seen abs?
He was looking right at her. Of course he was.
“Aren’t you going to compliment me, habiba?”
She’d looked the word up. Arabic for sweetheart, darling, beloved. The kind of word someone might use when flirting. Which, of course, Ilias was doing without a shred of shame.
“Congratulations,” she replied stiffly, keeping her voice pleasant only because Jamie was nearby, now chatting with Alejandra.
Ilias stepped closer. As if personal space was a concept he simply refused to acknowledge.
“You’re my new lucky charm, you know that?”
Sofia frowned. “Why’s that?”
“You wished me luck. Look at the score I got. Now you’re stuck with me.”
Ugh. She had just wanted to be a good person and not an asshole, and now he thought she was going to be his lucky charm. Surfers and their ritualistic bullshit. She was a scientist, luck didn’t work like that.
“Sounds like a threat.”
“Nah.” He chuckled. “Are you coming to the final?”
“For Ale.”
“And for me,” he added with a wink. “For me, too, habiba. Remember, Spanish to Spanish.”
She rolled her eyes. His smirk didn’t budge.
God, his ego was ocean-sized.
“Ilias, Sofia, photo time!” Jamie called, pulling them into a group shot with Alejandra, her family, Elvira, and herself.
Sofia stepped into frame, only to feel Ilias press against her side, his arm slinging over her shoulders. His long fingers curled around her arm, warm, casual, far too at ease. As everyone posed, he leaned in, mouth brushing close to her ear.
“Smile and act like you like me. Might help your case with Jamie.”
His low voice in Spanish sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her cheeks burn.
Sofia exhaled through her nose, trying to regain control.
It was just biology. Fucking, useless biology.
Her brain and body were wired—genetically programmed—to respond to a healthy-looking male: low voice, confident posture, symmetrical features.
Every instinct designed to make her weak, to make her lean in, to make her heart race.
Evolution’s cruel joke, and she was falling for it anyway.
Then her gaze snagged on Alejandra’s. She was looking at her with a smirk, and before she could stop herself, she shot her best friend a murderous look.
“All say cheese!” the photographer called in broken English.
The picture was taken. Ilias stepped away. She could breathe again.
Her goal had been to impress Jamie, but it seemed like Jamie was more smitten with Ilias and his performance than interested in Salacia. When Sofia had mentioned her social media following, growing by the hundreds daily, Jamie had looked thoughtful but noncommittal.
Salacia might be new, but her personal brand wasn’t.
She’d been building this image for years—online, offline, in and out of labs and expeditions. And today, she needed to channel the version of herself who faced the Atlantic like it was her home, her battlefield, her temple.
“Still pining over that sponsorship?”
Ilias again. Of course. She shot him a glare as she grabbed a beer from the ice bucket.
He grinned wider. “You and Ale have the same murderous look.”
“We’re friends for a reason,” she replied coolly.
“Yeah, but she’s my friend too. We should definitely be friends, you and I, habiba.” He clinked his bottle against hers. “You think she’d hang out with someone boring?”
“She hangs out with you, so I guess she tolerates annoying people,” she muttered, taking a sip.
He laughed. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek, his hand cradling the side of her neck. Again.
Her entire body betrayed her. Goosebumps prickled along her arms, a rush of heat pooled low in her stomach, and her breath caught in her throat.
Her pulse hammered like it was trying to escape her chest. She could feel the tiniest hair on her arms stand on end, the electric tingle racing through her skin.
Every nerve ending was screaming that she wanted more, even though her rational brain screamed don’t.
She had to convince herself more. It was her body reacting to a healthy, genetically fit male, wired over millennia to respond to cues of strength and confidence. Her neurons and hormones conspired together, and there was nothing she could do to override it.
“I’m going to cool off. See you later,” he called, waving to the group like he hadn’t just knocked the air out of her lungs.
Sofia stood there, beer in hand, hating him. Hating herself more. And absolutely loathing the way her body reacted to his presence.