Chapter Eleven
Harlan
By the time I'm out of practice on Wednesday, I'm ready to hit something. I don't even have a full twenty-four hours left until I see Sophie again, but I'm a fucking wreck.
Two days without her in my bed is two days too many. I'm losing my mind. We're on the phone as often as possible, but trying to find five minutes when we're both free is damn near impossible. Either she's busy with her shit, or I'm busy with mine.
I know it's fucking with her as much as it is me. I hear it in her voice when I talk to her. There's this distance there, like she's keeping something from me. It worries the fuck out of me. But she keeps swearing that everything is fine.
After she misses our planned call on my way home, I finally have enough and call Briggs. He's in Chicago. If there's something going on, if she's running again, he can find out for me.
"What's up, fucker?" he asks on the second ring.
"I need a favor," I growl, pacing around my living room. He owes me. He leaked the damn photos of me in that leotard and tutu. I've been catching nine kinds of hell at practice all week. I'm pretty sure the photo he took has been plastered all over the gossip sites all week, too.
My publicist, Emelia, is ready to kill me.
She's working overtime, trying to dodge everyone who wants to know what kind of bet I had with Sophie and if the two of us are together.
I'm ready to tell them all that I'm marrying her…
but I'm trying to make sure I've got my ring on her finger first. Just to make sure she doesn't kill me for telling the world before I've even told her.
"If this has anything to do with our mother, count me out," Briggs says. "I've reached my limit of dealing with her."
"It has nothing to do with her." I don't even think about that woman unless I'm forced to. She has no place in my life. The best thing I ever did was block her goddamn number after Hattie told her to fuck off out of our lives. "It's about Sophie."
"Ah." I hear the grin in his voice. "I heard that she quit her dance company."
That draws me up short. "She what?"
Briggs goes silent. "Shit. You didn't know."
"No," I choke out, grasping the back of the couch to keep myself upright. What the fuck? "When?"
"Hattie told me this morning. I guess she walked into practice yesterday morning and told them she was done."
Jesus Christ.
Why didn't she tell me? My heart clenches, icy fear like a goddamn knot in my stomach. This is why she's seemed off. This is what she's been hiding. Why?
I don't know, but I intend to find out. If keeping this from me is her way of trying to push me away again, it's not going to fucking work. She doesn't get to run again. She doesn't get to claim my whole fucking heart and then act like it isn't hers. Hell no.
"I need to go," I growl.
"Go where?"
"To the airport. I need to catch a flight to spank her gorgeous fucking ass."
Briggs chokes on laughter. "You might want to wait, brother. Last I heard, she isn't even in town. Hattie said she caught a flight out first thing this morning."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing deep. "I need to hang up now," I growl. "Because every sentence you say pisses me off worse than the last."
"My bad," Briggs says, his voice soft. "Just...don't do anything you'll regret. And don't even think about skipping Hattie's wedding this weekend, motherfucker. I will fly out there and drag you onto the plane my goddamn self."
"Your faith in me is still so inspiring," I growl before hanging up on him. Doesn't matter what's going on in my life, hell will freeze over before I miss Hattie's wedding. But goddamn. I feel like the wind just got knocked out of me.
Sophie quit her ballet company.
And where the fuck is she right now?
I dial her number, my hands shaking.
"If you aren't on my phone in the next ten minutes, I swear to Christ, ballerina, I will hunt you down and spank you in front of God and everybody," I rasp into her voicemail. "Do you hear me? Call me. Now."
I disconnect and then take the stairs two at a time.
I don't stop moving until I'm in my room, and then I only stop long enough to grab my suitcase from the closet before I'm throwing shit into it, not caring what lands inside and what doesn't. I can buy anything that doesn't make the trip, but I'm not waiting until tomorrow to fly out there. I'm going tonight. Right now.
Within ten minutes, my shit is packed…and she still hasn't called back. I stomp down the stairs, my suitcase in hand, and head straight for the door.
I damn near rip it off the hinges, cursing up a blue streak.
"Damn, Captain. Are you always this cranky about answering the door?" Sophie asks, leaning against a column with a grin on her face.
I blink, positive I'm seeing shit. But her grin widens, her green eyes running up and down my body.
My suitcase hits the floor at my feet.
In two steps, she's in my arms, her body wrapped around me. She squeals, burying her face in my throat.
I haul her inside, tripping over my suitcase in the process. We go down hard. Somehow, I manage to twist so I take the brunt of the fall, landing on my ass with her sprawled on top of me, all flailing limbs and wild laughter.
"Jesus Christ, Harlan," she gasps, her body shaking against mine. "You trying to end both of our careers or what?"
I roll us until she's pinned beneath me, her hair fanning out across the rug, her eyes bright as she stares up at me. "You're here," I say, just staring at her.
"Well…yeah."
I can't help it. I dip my head, kissing her until the only thing I taste is her, until the only thing I remember is how perfect she feels writhing beneath me. And then I pull back, as desperate for answers as I am to be inside her.
"I need you to explain," I rasp. "I've been losing my mind all goddamn day. Briggs told me that you quit your company."
Her eyes widen and then narrow. "Dammit," she grumbles. "I wanted to be the one who told you."
"Why'd you quit?"
"You know the first thing Greg said to me when I got to practice on Monday?" she asks by way of answer. "He told me that he hoped I hadn't overeaten on my vacation because I'd already messed up his back."
"That little motherfucker," I snarl, my hands clenching.
I swear to Christ, the only thing that keeps him breathing is the fact that I know there are photos out there of Sophie slapping the taste out of his ignorant mouth.
Knowing she humiliated him on stage and the whole world saw it helps me sleep better at night. It really does.
"I wasn't even hurt," she says, her voice soft.
"And that's a problem, Harlan. I shouldn't be so used to the vitriol and abuse that it feels normal.
I shouldn't feel like I do every time I walk through the doors there—like there is no joy in dancing anymore because I'm just waiting for the next thing they're going to say to me, and then the next thing.
" She takes a breath. "I want to feel like I did this weekend, with you.
That's how I'm supposed to feel. I forgot that, you know. "
"Jesus."
"You reminded me that I'm supposed to be happy, not just surviving. So… I quit," she whispers.
I take a moment to process, afraid to say the wrong thing.
But I'm equally as afraid to say nothing, not about something this monumental.
Dancing is her life—it's been her whole life since she was a little girl.
She isn't ready to give that up. I know she isn't, especially not because of a little prick like Greg.
"You were born to dance, baby," I finally murmur. "You can't walk away from that. You'll regret it forever."
"I know," she says. "But you told me that I opened doors and changed the ballet world. I decided it was time to see if you were right."
My gaze flits across her face.
"I'm not quitting ballet, just my company. I asked my mom to help me find another company to take me." Her lips curve, her smile blinding. "I found one, Harlan."
"Where?" I growl. I'll find a way to get myself traded to wherever she's going. I don't care what it takes. I want to be wherever she is.
"Here," she whispers. "I auditioned two hours ago. They asked me to join on the spot. I'm moving to Los Angeles, Harlan."
I crash my mouth to hers, my kiss wild as pride surges through me. Hope does too, so much of it that I can't fucking breathe for a minute. All I can do is cling to her, my tongue sweeping inside her mouth to steal her smile.
"No, ballerina," I growl against her lips, my hands sliding down her body. "You're moving in with me."
She gasps, her eyes flying to my face.
"I promised your brother that I wouldn't get you pregnant before you were ready to quit dancing," I mutter, dragging her shirt up her body. "I intend to keep that promise. But you're moving in here. You're marrying me."
"You can't just decide that," she says, but she's smiling.
"Oh, yeah?" I rip her bra down the middle, leaning down to wrap my lips around one hard nipple. "Watch me, baby."
She groans, her hands flying to my hair, her back arching.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings and yank. She makes this little gasping sound, half protest, half fucking dare, so I drag them down her legs and toss them somewhere behind me. Her panties don't even survive. I tear them in half, groaning when I see how wet she already is for me.
"Jesus, Sophie. Did you miss me this much?" I run my thumb over her clit, watching her tremble. "Or did you touch yourself thinking about me?"
She gives me that look, the one that says she wants to murder me and kiss me at the same time. "What do you think, Captain?"
I grin and duck my head, burying my tongue in her before she can get another word out.
She shrieks, her hips jerking so hard I have to lock my arms around her thighs to keep her from bucking me off.
I lick every drop, every shudder, every moan from her body until she's begging.