All of Me: Liam & Sophie

by Callie Harper

  Why had I tried to duck out on Sophie when I knew, deep down, I couldn’t? My heart was like a freaking barnacle, clinging on, refusing to budge even after the rejection, the years of separation. But if I were honest with myself, I hadn’t stepped away because any part of me didn’t want Sophie. It was because when I was completely honest with myself, I thought she’d be better off without me.

  She needed someone like that Theo, born with millions and multiplying them into more. He’d take her out on yachts and fly her all over the world and give her access to the best things in life. He’d give her what she was accustomed to, what she might not even realize she’d one day miss. From my experience, wealthy people didn’t see all the invisible comforts and privileges that surrounded them. Sophie might enjoy playing at living in a small, empty apartment over her dance studio. But she wouldn’t want to still be living there ten years from now.

  At 35 she’d want to be a wife and mother, content in her nest, fussing over the little things that grew to giant importance as a parent. Teething. Naptimes. Getting kids to eat their vegetables. I’d seen it in the guys I worked with, that seemingly overnight metamorphosis from laid-back single dudes who thought about video games, pizza and pussy usually in the reverse order, to stressed-out dads having long conversations with other dads about whether pacifiers promoted independence and self-soothing or encouraged reliance on an external stimuli for comfort, setting children up on a dangerous path that clearly led to hard drugs and prison time.

  In the abstract, that was everything I wanted. The kids, the family, the wife. Who would be more perfect than Sophie to come home to every day? But in reality, I didn’t know if I was that guy. Look what I’d done to her already? I’d made her touch herself on the phone. Then I’d made her do it again, showing me in person. Then I’d tied her up and finger-fucked her ass, all while making her tell me she loved it.

  I wasn’t a good guy. Deep down, I had darkness flowing through my veins. I didn’t know if I’d inherited it from my father, or just grown that way in a household where you never knew when things would get ugly. Whatever the source, I wasn’t Mr. Sunday Barbeque, no matter what people thought of me. And if I kept after Sophie, I’d drag her down with me.

  I’d rip her apart. I wanted to sink my teeth into her and make her beg for more. She stoked the beast within me, making it rear up and want to strike. From the glimpse I got, she liked pain. She liked me in control. That opened up a whole world and I didn’t know when either of us would come up for air if we went down into it. Or if I’d let her. I’d told her to say stop and I’d stop. Thank God she’d never said it because I’d never felt less able to stop. And we’d barely been doing anything.

  If I really cared about her—and sitting out alone in the dark with the waves crashing below my feet, I knew I did—I’d walk away.

  * * *

  §

  * * *

  The next morning I reported for my shift down at the station. The thing about working as a firefighter was a lot of it was down time. You never knew when the alarm would sound, and when it did you had to be ready for anything. But long hours passed every shift with nothing at all happening. That’s why we all got so tight, we all basically lived together at the station house. We all cooked together, too. It was my night to make chili. My secret ingredient was beer. Not that secret, I know, but I didn’t hear anyone complaining.

  I worked out, watched some TV, made my chili. And I felt like an ass about how I’d handled things with Sophie. It was eating away at me. There had to be some middle ground between tying her up and finger fucking her and no contact at all. I decided to go for the friend zone.

  * * *

  Liam: Hope you had a good time last night.

  * * *

  No response. I cursed myself. I was used to dealing in silly flirtations with girls, exchanging texts and banter we both knew meant nothing. I was used to over-the-top come-ons and sexy selfies. But I’d been a dick and Sophie clearly wasn’t interested in my lame attempt at an olive branch.

  * * *

  Liam: I’m sorry I bailed on you. I’m working tonight. Can I see you tomorrow?

  * * *

  Sophie: Not sure. I have Eloise sleeping over tonight and we’ve got plans tomorrow.

  * * *

  Liam: That’s cool! What are you two going to do?

  * * *

  No text back. Damn it. She was pissed and not going to interact with me on other subjects until I addressed the main one. Being a grown up sucked.

  * * *

  Liam: How about if I come over late afternoon? Or could I take you out to dinner?

  * * *

  Sophie: You can come over around 4.

  * * *

  Liam: Cool, see you then.

  * * *

  Why had I just asked her out to dinner? What was wrong with me? Well, I’d try for more restraint when I saw her in person. Texting was just too easy. There was something unreal about your fingers flying over the keys, the quick and easy click. In person I’d have to remember this couldn’t go anywhere. I’d apologize and try to make a decent exit, setting her free to be with the type of man she belonged with.

  I showed up at her house at four o’clock sharp. If I’d been any more eager I would have been wearing a rented prom tux and holding a corsage in my shaking hand.

  “Hey.” I stepped in when she opened the door, every fiber of my being yearning to wrap her in my arms.

  “Hey.” She closed the door and walked over into the center of the room, her arms folded across her chest. No hug. I was in the dog house.

  “How’s the flooring?” I asked.

  “Fine. Are you here to work on it?”

  “No, I just wondered if Rob did a good job.”

  “I have no idea, really. It looks fine.”

  I walked over and took a look. Rob hadn’t done much, but what he had done looked solid. “Looks good.”

  She stood there, not giving me anything.

  “Look, I’m sorry I, ah…” I took off my baseball cap and scratched my hair. Maybe that would stimulate my brain to say the right thing. “You want to go sit down upstairs?”

  “Nope.”

  OK, that hadn’t been the right thing to say. She saw right through me anyway. She knew that I knew that the only place to sit upstairs was the bed.

  “I don’t know what to say, Sophie.” I put the cap back on my head. “I don’t really know…” I exhaled, surprising even myself at my inability to articulate thoughts. “I’m not… And you’re...” I gestured at her lamely, as if that might be enough to communicate the wide gulf that existed and should always exist between us. The problem with looking at her and standing so close was that she looked good enough to eat in a white tank top and short shorts. I looked away, shaking my sorry excuse for a head. “This is confusing,” I summed it up.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m confused, too.”

  “Can I take you to dinner?” I tried a half smile. Maybe she’d take pity on me.

  “That depends.” She surveyed me, still cool.

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’re planning on running away again. Or if it’s even a possibility that you might.”

  “I didn’t run away.” My stupid protest hung there, seeming to even make fun of itself.

  “You did,” she stated evenly. “After all that…” She gestured upstairs. “After that went down, I didn’t hear anything from you.”

  “Well, I did text you.” I should just stop talking.

  “Yeah, to tell me you were busy and not coming to help with the flooring. That’s bullshit.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to do the right thing.” I held my hands up in surrender.

  “And what is the right thing, exactly?”

  I tugged at the brim of my baseball cap, looking down at the floorboards. Replacing flooring, that was something I could do well. Assessing the damage, taking out the old, putting in the new plumb and true. That I could handle no problem. Thi
s thing with Sophie? What the fuck.

  I settled on saying the one thing I knew was true. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Fine.” She put her hands up as if to push me away. “Why don’t you get out then. It’s not a problem.”

  “Sophie, that’s not what I mean.”

  “You’re driving me crazy.” Her voice rose, her hands on her hips.

  “You think you’re the only one?” I grabbed her, wrapping her in my arms, crushing her against my chest as I leaned her into a deep kiss. I wanted to devour her, the taste of her so sweet. Her initial resistance melted into hunger, her hands digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer. The sounds she made deep in her throat, the feel of her curves against my muscles, both of us grew breathless. I stood her up again, settling her on her own two feet. I kept my arm around her waist until I could feel her get steady, her eyes opening fully once again.

  She shook her head as if trying to clear it of brain fog. Then she took a step away. Even the smallest distance between us felt like too much. I clenched my hands at my sides to stop myself from reaching out again.

  “See, that?” Her hand trembled as she brought it to her hair, trying to smooth it out from where I’d run my hand through. “That’s confusing.”

  I nodded in complete agreement. I hadn’t even meant to do it.

  “Maybe, could we try to just have a normal conversation?”

  “A normal conversation?” I repeated, still trying to clear my own head. It was hard standing that close to her. She affected me like a drug.

  “Like, how have you been for the last seven years?” She threw up her hands in exasperation, starting to pace the room. “What have you been up to? Remember the last time I saw you seven years ago when I was crying so hard I couldn’t talk?” She stopped and faced me. “Or would you rather pretend none of that ever happened?”

  I exhaled. Women were tough, with all their talking and emotions. Look at Jax, I hadn’t seen him in a couple years and he didn’t give me the third degree when he saw me. Then again, I didn’t lie awake all night thinking about Jax.

  “Let’s have dinner,” I tried again.

  “And we’ll have an actual conversation?”

  “I’ll do my best, Sophie.”

  She popped upstairs, telling me to wait down there for her like she didn’t trust me. She was right. I’d probably follow her into the bedroom and see how far I could push her, what limits we could discover and pass through.

  She came down wearing the same tank and shorts but carrying a sweater for later if it got chilly. I liked that she hadn’t changed. I enjoyed those dresses she wore, of course, but really I liked her any old way I could get her. That was just how it was with Sophie.

  I took her to a casual place with fresh fish and outdoor seating. I knew a guy on the waitstaff and he hooked us up with a good table in the corner, right next to the ocean under little white lights. The sun set behind Sophie and I swear she almost glowed as she talked. Hands-down, no question, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

  “When did you become a firefighter?” she asked, dipping her fried cod into some vinegar.

  “A couple years ago.” Last she’d known, I’d been on the list. I’d gotten my name on there the day I’d turned 19. The summer we’d spent together I’d already passed the written and physical tests. “I got my EMT certification and did that for a while plus construction and carpentry. Then, when my father died.” I shrugged, pushing around my French fries. “I guess some people would call it bending the rules.”

  “But they knew you’d be good at it,” she defended me.

  “And a spot opened up.”

  “How did he die?” she asked in a more hesitant voice. She was one of a small handful of people who knew he’d had a violent streak. Everyone knew him as a big man and a big drinker, but he’d saved the best for his wife and sons. In my limited experience with women before Sophie, it had been easy to explain away any bruises, cuts or scars. But Sophie hadn’t bought any of it. She knew me too well, right from the start. I wasn’t clumsy and I wasn’t the type of hotheaded guy who went out to bars and got into fights.

  I’d told her, one of those nights we’d stayed out together until the sun rose. She’d had the perfect reaction. She’d held and kissed me, not even saying a word for some time, just letting her physical presence comfort my physical wounds. And then she’d told me she loved me.

  I took a sip of my beer and cleared my throat, trying to also clear the memories swirling around thick and fast in my head.

  “He had a massive heart attack,” I explained, remembering the call I’d gotten in the middle of the night. “He stood up out of bed, clutched his chest, fell to the ground and that was that. They couldn’t revive him.”

  I’d been the first responder, a trained EMT. I swear I’d tried with all my might, my mother crying by my side. By the time the ambulance arrived I’d known he was gone for good.

  “I’m so sorry.” Sophie reached out and touched my hand. My attention riveted to our point of contact. She withdrew as if she’d felt an electric shock.

  “Thanks. It’s strange with him gone. I still think about how he’s going to react to things, and then remember.” I ate a French fry, sipped my beer. “I hate to say it, but I do think Mom’s better with him gone.”

  “She’s lucky to have you looking after her.” Affection shone from her eyes. “I’m sure it makes a huge difference to her.”

  “OK, so I’ve been telling you all about how I became a firefighter. Now you tell me about why you left professional ballet.”

  With eloquence I could never hope to achieve myself, she told me about the exhausting competition and back-stabbing, the relentless pressure to achieve perfection, the constant sense that even her gut-wrenching best wasn’t quite good enough.

  “And French fries!” she added with gusto, picking up two, dipping them generously in ketchup. “I couldn’t eat French fries, or ice cream, or pizza. I was hungry all the time.”

  “How did you dance for hours each day when you were hungry?” I couldn’t stand feeling hungry, never mind working out like that.

  “You get used to it.” She shook her head. “But I’m done with that. I’m not saying there weren’t some amazing moments, some performances I’ll always remember. My dance partner Geoffrey was amazing. But leaving it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

  The statement made me think of another decision she’d made, when she’d told me she didn’t think it was a good idea for me to come to New York with her after all. Actually, she thought we should break up. She’d raised the subject earlier that day. Maybe it was time to ask her what she thought now, seven years later.

  “Wazzup, brother!” A hard-partying friend of mine came over with a zealous back slap and high five. “Where you been? No party on the Fourth this year?” He gave me a look like he was deeply disappointed in me. But then he saw Sophie. “And who do we have here?” He reached over, picked up her hand and gave it a kiss.

  “I have Sophie here with me.” I took her hand out of his and held it in mine, giving him all the universal signs of “back the fuck off.”

  “I get it. I get it.” He took a step away, hands up like a cop had told him to freeze. “You two have a good night.” He stumbled off to whatever friends he’d come with.

  The moment lost, we finished our meals and got ourselves ice creams, chatting about Naugatuck, our families, friends, her studio. It all flowed naturally and easily, as it had once before with Sophie.

  As I drove her home, I had to ask, “So, how’d I do? Did we have a normal conversation?”

  She laughed. “I’d say we both did pretty well, considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “You know.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking shy. She was such a nice girl, so sweet and thoughtful. What the hell was I doing messing around with her? I should be with some girl I couldn’t hurt doing stuff we’d both forget about soon after. />
  “Thank you for a lovely night,” she said as I pulled up in front of her place. Then she added shyly, “Do you want to come up?”

  Hell, yeah, I did. But instead I said, “I don’t think I should.”

  She physically recoiled, hurt by my response. “Why not?”

  “I’m trying to do what’s right here, Sophie.” The car in park, I turned to her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You don’t want to hurt me.” She repeated it woodenly, as if I already had.

  “Sophie, I’m not the kind of guy you should be with.”

  “And what kind of guy is that?” It sounded like she was getting pissed.

  I had to make her understand. I wasn’t trying to blow her off. I was trying to do the right thing. “You know, a nice guy who’s going to treat you right. Be good to you.

  “Are you planning on being a dick?”

  I exhaled, rubbing my eyes. This wasn’t going well. “You should be with someone different. More steady and normal. I’m all extremes.”

  “Why does everyone always insist on telling me what I need?” Now she sounded even more angry. “You don’t know what I want. Who I really am. I’m only finding out myself.”

  With that, she leaped over onto my lap, straddling me in the darkness of the truck. She pressed up into my body, grinding against me, grasping my shoulders and biceps. I couldn’t resist when she reached up, ran her fingers through my hair, tugging on it and kissing me with wild abandon. Kissing her back, tongues searching, intertwining, we moved together as she rocked against me, moaning. My hands on her hips, I guided her exactly where I wanted her, where my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans could press directly into her molten core. Her eyes rolled back in her head as I brought her down right onto me, the friction so good, again and again.