Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
But that’s Riggs, and I didn’t mind sharing that with him. While I fucking love these other guys to death, I don’t think I’m ready to share my feelings about Sophie with them yet. I don’t want to jinx anything, and I want to make sure there’s something really between us. I get vibes from her, but I also know she might just have a case of hero worship. I don’t want to get sucked down the wrong path if that’s all there is.
I can truthfully tell Dax, though, “She’s amazing. It’s become a blessing to reconnect with her. But right now, we’re just friends.”
“But there could be something—” Dax starts to press, but his eyes lift over my shoulder and he snaps his mouth shut.
I’m guessing Sophie is approaching.
She plops down beside me, beer in hand that almost sloshes over the top. Giggling, she curses her near mishap. “Shit. Better be careful.”
“Are you drunk?” I ask with a laugh.
Her grin is impish as she carefully sets her beer on the table. “Not drunk, but totally buzzed. And it’s all your friends’ fault. They keep buying me beer.”
“She’s had three,” someone says from behind us, and then Veronica bends forward to loop her arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “But I cut her off.”
“It’s true,” Sophie says, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. “This is my last one.”
The straight, silky hair makes her look so different from her usual golden curls. I almost didn’t recognize her when I first laid eyes on the new hairdo, and her makeup conceals the real Sophie.
Not that it’s bad at all.
She’s stunning tonight, and I’ve noticed the single guys on the team watching her.
Still, I reach out and playfully tug on a lock hanging over her shoulder. “I like your curls better.”
Sophie’s eyes light up, round with happiness. “Really? Because I love my curly hair better too. It’s a pain to straighten it out, so I rarely do it, and when I do, it just makes me look so… so…”
“Un-Sophie-like?” I guess.
“Boom,” she exclaims, holding out her fist. I tap mine against it, and she says, “Fist bump, blow it up.”
Everyone at the table laughs because Sophie is indeed quite tipsy, and it’s a fucking joy to see. She’s having fun, mingling, and putting herself out there. I’m no therapist, but this is important for her.
Just the ability to have fun again.
We stay for another hour while Sophie nurses her last beer and chases it with water. She’s not a hard partyer and knows her limits.
Still, when I insist it’s time to go since I have to be at the DA’s office early tomorrow, some of the alcohol she’s had manifests into sweet, dramatic claims of undying affection for her new girlfriends. And it’s not just Sophie. Veronica, Emory, and Jenna all hung out together most of the night, so there’re hugs, more hugs, promises to text all the time, looser promises to visit, and declarations that they’re all now best friends forever. There are extra hugs between Jenna and Sophie. They’ve apparently made all kinds of plans together once Jenna moves to Pittsburgh.
Sophie blows kisses to everyone as we make our way down to the first floor.
The stairs are easy enough, but I keep a light glide of my hand on the rail as we descend side by side.
At the bottom, I take Sophie’s hand and weave through the throng of Vengeance fans. We’re at the doors when a man yells, “Fucking Titans… a losing team.”
No doubt Sophie’s jersey spurred the slur, and ordinarily, I would blow it off because trash talk is part of any professional sports.
But these aren’t normal circumstances.
First and foremost, it’s Sophie that slur was directed toward, and rage burns hot with a need to protect and defend her.
I’d also be defending myself. Because I’m now a member of the Titans.
Most of all, circumstances are different because the Titans lost tonight not because they suck but because they’ve had their entire world ripped apart. I get trash talk, but when an entire team has been killed, it’s not cool.
“Who said that?” I yell at the top of my lungs, looking around at the people nearest to us. It was a male voice, and it was close by.
No one cops to it, but someone says, “Holy shit… that’s Baden Oulett.”
I’m furious that no one steps forward and accepts responsibility. A simple apology would resolve this.
“Who just yelled that about the Titans?” I call out, searching the crowd for a guilty face. Sophie squeezes my hand and leans into me, possibly to calm me down, but it’s not working. “Who’s man enough to come say that to my face? Since when did Vengeance fans become assholes? I fucking bled for this team, and I’m trying to help another team out, and you want to come at us with that shit?”