Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
She narrows her eyes, the green flash of anger as hot as the sun. "You didn't change your mind. What did Austin say to you?"
"Nothing."
"Liar," she says, and it's not even a snap, just a quiet, disappointed sigh. "God, I really thought you were different."
"Sophie—"
She's already walking away, her boots thumping against the stone floor. "Fine. Bet's off. Have a good life, Harlan."
I cross the room in two strides and slam my palm against the wall in front of her. She stops, but barely—like she's considering just ramming straight through me.
"Let me go," she says.
"No."
"You can't control me."
I bend down, so close I see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. "You're goddamn right I can't control you. No one controls you, ballerina. But I'll be damned if I'm the reason you break a leg out there and never dance again. You want to ruin your career over a stupid bet?"
She stares at me for a long second, her expression so stubborn I want to fuck her soft right here, just break her wide open so she has to admit that she's just as desperate as I am. "To hell with that," she finally says.
"What?"
She squares her shoulders and pokes her finger right into my chest. "To hell with that. You don't get to wrap me in bubble wrap or decide what I can and can't do. I'm not made of glass."
"You're right. You're not," I growl. "But you are the only woman I've ever met who makes me want to glue my hands to you just to keep you safe."
She blinks, and for a second, something soft and wounded flashes across her face. She crushes it with a roll of her eyes. "You really don't get it, do you, you overgrown Neanderthal?"
"No, I don't get it, because I actually care if you're in one piece at the end of the day." I take a breath, forcing my voice down. "I'll do whatever you want, Sophie. Just not if it means putting you at risk."
"I'm not going to break, Harlan. I'm not fragile."
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. "You could get yourself killed."
She smirks, and I know I just fed her the line she wanted. "That's rich, coming from the guy who thinks a little pain builds character. You think I can't handle one little race?"
"This is not the same—"
"The hell it's not," she cuts in. "I said I'd be fine. We're doing this."
I can't fucking believe it. "No, we aren't."
She grins, a wild thing that lights up her whole face. "Fine. Looks like I'm racing myself down the mountain, then." She spins on her heel and stalks off, her hips swaying.
I watch her storm away, my blood pressure rising with every stomp. Goddamn it. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, and every single one of them plays out in my head. I hate this. I hate that Austin was right, and I hate that she's right, too. I don't want to be the guy who wraps her in caution tape or makes her feel less than. And I don't want to be the one who puts her at risk over a fucking bet, either.
I tip my head back and let out a hiss, swearing so loud I half-expect the beams overhead to echo it back.
A shadow falls across me a second later. It's Briggs, looking at me like he just watched a man lose a fight to a small, angry raccoon and isn't sure if he should help or laugh.
"She's going whether you're with her or not, man," he says, his voice soft. "If I were you, I'd get my ass on that van and hope like hell that you actually win."
I don't think I stop cursing the entire way to the van.
Chapter Four
Sophie
Thankfully, I don't have to ride in the van with Harlan. By the time we make it to the slopes, I'm mostly calm. I also deeply, deeply regret not agreeing to forget this entire stupid bet. But I refuse to let him think that I'm some delicate little flower who needs to be wrapped in bubble wrap. Hell no.
I've danced entire seasons on broken toes and fractured bones. I've performed in pain that most people wouldn't understand because that's the price I knew I was willing to pay to dance when I was still just a little girl. You don't get to hide from sacrifice and be a professional ballerina at the same time, so I made my sacrifices willingly.
And I've never—not once—regretted a single one of them. Even when the entire damn ballet world was in an uproar about my company signing a "fat ballerina" as a principal, I didn't regret it.
I regret this stupid bet.
But Harlan doesn't get to sweep in now and decide for me what I can and can't do when that's always been my decision to make. I don't need to be protected. I've never needed that.