Chapter Two
Sophie
"We should hit the slopes early tomorrow," Hattie says, waving her fork in the air for emphasis. "That way, we have time to go shopping afterward."
"Whatever you say, Hattie baby." My brother's expression is soft as he stares at her like that's the best idea he's ever heard.
It's a terrible idea. Hattie is a disaster on the slopes…
and I'm whatever catastrophe comes after a disaster.
Being thrown into the air or pirouetting across a stage, I can do.
Riding death sticks down a mountain with nothing but the dubious protection of a jacket and my own questionable skill is not for me.
"I think I'll sit this one out," I mutter.
"Me too," Harlan immediately says, his eyes locked on me. I swear, the man is Satan's brother. Except, I actually like both of his brothers. Him? Not so much.
How did I get stuck sitting beside him?
I narrow my eyes at him, but he just stares at me levelly. "Never mind. Dying on the mountain sounds like a great time!" I say with false exuberance.
Harlan's right eye twitches, his hand clenching around his fork.
"That's the spirit!" Hattie cries. "You have to come too, Harlan. You can't be boring the whole trip."
There is absolutely nothing boring about Harlan Ward. Isn't that the problem? He's fascinating. He's also a dirty liar.
I've been fed a lot of bullshit in my life. It hit different coming from him, mostly because I actually believed it for once. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who just said what he thought I wanted to hear…right up until he proved me wrong.
All those lines about how I'm so dedicated, so driven, and such a talented dancer were just that—lines. He doesn't have a single shred of respect for what I do. How did he put it? Oh, that's right. Ballet isn't a sport. Comparing a ballerina to a hockey player is an insult.
Yeah, my feelings are hurt. I'm disappointed, too. I thought he was different. I thought he actually liked me. Turns out, I was wrong.
I refuse to get involved with a man who thinks the time and effort he put into learning how to shoot a puck is worth more than the time and effort I put into learning ballet.
I haven't fought as hard as I have just to carve out a space in the ballet world for women my size, just for a man to shit on what I do.
It's hard enough when my own dance partner actively tries to sabotage me. And God, Greg does nothing but try. He intentionally drops me, calls me fat, and talks down to me. He makes my life hell.
He isn't the only one. There's very little space in the ballet world for a curvy woman like me.
If you don't look the part, you aren't wanted…
and I have never looked the part. Thanks to genetics and my thyroid, I've always been big.
It doesn't matter that I dance six hours a day, every single day. The weight doesn't come off.
And that makes me a problem.
As far as most dancers are concerned, I'm taking roles from ballerinas far more deserving. They've never let me forget that I don't fit. It doesn't matter how perfectly I dance a part or how many people come to a performance just to see me; it's never enough. I'm never enough.
I refuse to spend my time outside the studio dealing with a more insidious version of the same thing. And that's exactly what Harlan Ward is—insidious. Intense and beautiful and so full of shit, I feel like an idiot for falling for it.
It's embarrassing how much time I spent talking to him, telling him things I don't tell anyone. It's ridiculous how many times I've gotten myself off, thinking about him.
Clearly, my vagina's judgment can't be trusted.
She has terrible taste.
I just don't understand the game he's been playing. He could have anyone. Why spend four months pretending to be into me? Who has that kind of time to waste, just to get laid?
Harlan, apparently.
If he stares any harder, I'm going to set him on fire with the candle currently flickering in the middle of the table. I turn slightly in my chair, trying to block him out. It's like trying to block out the sun, though.
He's too damn big to ignore. Apparently, he also refuses to be ignored.
"Sophie."
I take a giant bite of my salad, pretending he didn't speak.
"Sophie," he says again, practically growling this time.
"How's the wedding planning going?" I ask Hattie, raising my voice so he knows I don't want to hear anything he has to say.
She turns to me with wide eyes. "Next time, I'm eloping," she says, completely serious.
"Next time?" Sidney narrows his eyes at her, a displeased growl rumbling in his throat. "There won't be a next time, Hattie baby."
"There might be, Cranky Pants," she says, leaning into him with a bright smile. "Maybe I want to marry you five times."
He dips his head to kiss her, and I glance away…only to find Tye kissing Vanessa across the table. Directly beside them, my other brother, Austin, is whispering God only knows what in his fiancée, Serena's ear. One of Sidney's teammates and his fiancée are seated on Harlan's other side.
Jesus. If ever there were a sign from God that I need to get my life together, this is it. Harlan and I are the only single people at this end of the table…and I'd, literally, rather die on the slopes than deal with him right now.
He has other ideas.
"Quit ignoring me, Sophie." His massive hand covers mine on the table, trapping mine beneath his palm. The way he says my name pins me more than his grip ever could.
I try to yank my hand away, but his fingers just tighten. I glance up and meet those impossible denim eyes. There's an entire storm system moving through them.
The delusional part of my brain wonders what it'd feel like for that system to break wide open right on top of me. The less irrational, angrier part hopes he drowns in the rain.
"Go talk to one of your real athlete friends," I say, yanking my hand free as I jerk to my feet. The chair scrapes back so fast it nearly topples.
Conversation at the table stalls, everyone turning to look at me. I feel my brothers watching intently, trying to get a read on the situation. One of these days, they might actually believe it when I say I don't need them to rescue me.
I can do that all on my own. I'm not helpless, and I never have been.
But they still try to swoop in and save me like I haven't been doing it by myself for years.
I love them for caring, but sometimes, a girl just needs to don a little lipstick and kick ass herself. This is definitely one of those times.
I drop my napkin onto my unfinished food and look at Hattie and Sidney. "I'm calling it a night. See you in the morning."
I get as far as the coat rack in the lobby before a massive hand lands on my elbow.
I whirl, already winding up for a punch, but Harlan is faster. He blocks the punch, backing me up against the wall like it's the easiest thing in the world.
"Are you kidding me right now?" I growl, yanking my hands free of his grip. "Get off me."
"Keep ignoring me, and I'm going to spank your pretty ass in front of all these people, ballerina," he growls, caging me in with his arms.
"Try it," I snap, shoving my palms into his chest. He doesn't budge, not even an inch. It's honestly humiliating how little impact I have on his big ass body. Aren't hockey players supposed to be lean and fast? Why is this one built like a damn mountain? "I'll drop you just like I did today."
"Yeah?" he smirks, leaning in until I feel his breath against my ear. "You really think you can take me, baby?"
"Any day of the week," I snarl, even as my stupid heart pounds like a drum. Can I take him? Probably not. But I know just enough self-defense to make sure his pride takes a few hits before I lose. And right now, I'm just mad enough to take the L just to make a point.
His lips slide down my jaw, and I swear, I feel it all the way to my toes. Then, in a move so fast I can't even brace for it, he cups my face and his mouth crushes mine.
He doesn't kiss me so much as devour, his mouth slanting over mine with all the finesse of a hurricane. I grit my teeth, refusing to give in, but then his tongue touches my bottom lip, and I melt like a damn popsicle anyway.
I taste whiskey, mint, and the kind of need that only comes from denying yourself something you really want for way too long. And I'm not entirely sure if that need is mine or his. I just know it makes me dizzy. It might also have my clenching my hands into his shirt to anchor his body to mine.
He pulls back slightly. "They took my words out of context, Sophie. Unblock me, and I'll tell you what I really said."
The audacity. The actual audacity of this man!
"No, thanks," I say, letting my head thunk back against the wall. How did I even end up here? Oh, right, because he's a bully. And I'm just dumb enough to want him anyway.
His mouth comes back to mine. "God, you're so fucking stubborn," he mutters, sounding almost proud before he bites my bottom lip hard enough to sting.
"It's called self-respect."
"No, it's called running scared." He steps back finally, but not before he lets his hands trail down my arms, his rough fingers lingering at my wrists. "I got too close, and it scared the hell out of you."
"In your dreams."
"You have no idea what I dream, baby," he practically purrs.
I cross my arms, hoping it hides the way I shiver, because I think maybe I do know. And if his dreams are anything like mine, I might be in serious trouble here. But every drop of snow on every mountain in the world will melt before I tell him that.
"I didn't mean it the way they printed it, Sophie. You know me better than that."
"Do I, Harlan?" I ask. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like I know you at all. You sound like every other man who has smiled in my face and then insulted me behind my back. I'm not playing that game with you. Find someone else."
"To hell with that," he growls, his eyes narrowed on my face. "I've never insulted you. What they printed isn't what I said, at least not all of it."
"But you did say it."
"Not the way it was printed. Unblock me."
"No."
He growls at me, actually growls. And damn him, but that sound shoots straight to my clit. "Fine," he says, his eyes glittering with something dangerous. "Then let's make a wager."
I'm not falling for this. I'm not.
"What wager?"
Dammit.
"If you beat me down the mountain tomorrow, I'll do anything you want. Anything at all, Sophie."
"Anything?"
"Anything," he growls. "Even if it's giving you space for the rest of the weekend."
For some reason, I don't believe him. "And if you win?"
His gaze runs down my body, his eyes hot and wild. "You unblock me. You stop running and go out with me. We do whatever I want."
My first instinct is to tell him to go to hell, but something twists in my chest at the thought of backing down. It feels too much like losing, and I've never been very good at that.
Did they really take what he said out of context? Maybe. That is what they do. But I'm not sure there is a context that makes his words any less of an insult, either.
"You scared?" he taunts, his voice soft.
Dammit.
"Fine," I say, jabbing a finger at his chest. "But if you even think about cheating, I will break your kneecaps, Captain."
He leans down until his mouth hovers at my ear again. "That's what I love about you, baby. You're all bite."
"Whatever." I shove against his chest again, refusing to melt at the thought of him loving anything about me. They're just words. They don't mean anything. "Let me go, you Neanderthal."
He grins and steps back with his hands up like he's surrendering. "See you on the slopes, ballerina."
I stumble to the elevator and slam my hand against the button. I'm so mad I could scream. I'm so mad I want to run back and kiss him again. And I'm furious that both things are true at the same time.
"Dammit," I groan, burying my face in my hands as soon as I'm on the elevator, with the doors safely closed between me and him. Why the hell did I agree to his little bet?
I can't even ski!
This is going to be a shitshow.