“Perkins?”
“Open twenty-four hours, Soph. Even in Ophir.”
“I had no idea,” she mused. “It’s open all night?”
“Yeah, and nothing tastes better at two in the morning than chicken-fried steak and hash browns.”
“That sounds horribly unhealthy.” She narrowed her eyes at me in reproach, but there was a teasing smile that touched her lips.
“It is,” I laughed. “And it’s fucking awesome.”
Sophie nibbled at her lip as she looked back out into the darkness again, pondering my suggestion. I knew I had her when she turned back towards me with that naughty little look I’d seen on her face a few times before.
“Well,” she ceded, “I am pretty hungry, since we didn’t eat dinner and all.”
So we sat in a booth at Perkins at two in the morning eating chicken-fried steak and greasy hash browns. Best meal I’d ever had in all my life. Sophie devoured it, exclaiming at how wonderful it was with the breading and the spices.
“And, oh my God, this gravy is awesome.”
“It’s just plain old chicken-fried steak, Soph,” I chuckled. “You’re acting like it’s filet mignon or something.”
“I was born with a silver spoon. I’ve had filet mignon all my life,” she smiled, “but I’ve never had anything quite like this before. My mother would have a heart attack if she knew I was eating something so obviously bad for me.”
“Damn parents, always trying to make us eat healthy shit,” I laughed.
“Mine just doesn’t want me to get fat since that kind of flies in the face of perfection and all.”
“You're hardly fat, Soph.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I'm hardly skinny, Brannon.”
“Are you fucking with me? You’re, well…” I trailed off, trying to think of something to say that didn’t sound totally sexual. And failed. “Well, fuck… I'd do ya.”
Sophie gasped out a laugh. She dropped her gaze to her plate and her face turned a delightful self-conscious pink. “You have,” she shyly whispered.
“And you were really fucking good.” I leaned forward, across the table to lower my voice. “I'd do you again, and I don’t give many girls a second ride.”
“How flattering,” she laughed as she buried her face in her hands, shocked, but seeming to be intrigued all the same. “I should be mortified by that.”
I watched her closely, waiting for her to look back up at me. It took her a minute, but she finally raised her eyes up to meet mine. Fuck me, she was hot. “But you're not,” I murmured in a husky tone, “are you?”
She bit her lip and looked back down, toying with the last bit of her hash browns. A quiet little bubble seemed to surround us. Like it was just her and I existing in the glow of the pendant light over our table, buffered from the world around us.
“No,” she murmured and met my gaze again, “not at all.”
And then the bubble popped.
“Brannon, my boy, what’s the craic?” Denny asked walking up to the table followed by Cody, Justin, Drew, and Drew’s girlfriend Maggie. When he saw Sophie sitting across from me, his jaw hit the floor. “What the bloody hell?” he exclaimed.
All four guys were eyeing Sophie, then looking back at me in obvious question. Maggie was just looking at her in shock, like I was sitting with an alien.
“Hey, guys,” I leaned back against the seat and hoped they wouldn’t make a big deal about me being here with a girl.
“Who’s the bird?” Denny grinned down at Sophie.
Dammit.
“Bird?” Sophie asked with her eyebrows furrowed.
“Speak American, you Irish bastard,” Justin scowled and smacked him on the back of the head.
“He’s talking about you,” I grimaced, looking over at Sophie. “Sorry about this. I should have known these guys would show up.”
“Well, of course we’d show up,” Drew said, scoping the room for a bigger table. “It’s just shy of three in the morning on a Saturday night. We’ve been working hard and need sustenance.”
“Need to feed my boy,” Maggie grinned wickedly, snuggling up to his chest. “I have plans for you yet tonight.”
“So, what’s your name, sweetheart?” Denny asked Sophie directly this time, realizing that I was hesitant to answer.
“I can barely understand a word that you’re saying,” Sophie stared back at him.
“I think I’ve seen you before,” Justin smiled, laying on the charm.
I scowled up at him. “She was at a party at your place once, you dick.”
“At our place?” Justin asked.
“I think I remember you, now,” Denny murmured at Sophie, and her eyes went huge. “About a month or so back.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open. Shit. I needed to get her the fuck out of there. Plus, I was kind of pissed at them for interfering on what had been kind of… well… a moment.
“This is Sophie,” I said, probably sounding a bit petulant. “Soph, these are the Bangin’ Mofos.” I pointed to each band member as I said their names. “There’s Denny, that’s Cody, Justin’s the tall one in the back, and that’s Drew and his girlfriend Maggie.” Turning back to Denny, I scowled. “And we’re just finishing up, so let me out of the booth, you fucker.”
“Fine, ya tosser,” he laughed. “Go home and get some sleep.” He slanted his gaze over to Sophie. “Or whatever else ya had in mind.”
Denny stepped back as I stood and looked down at Sophie who clearly understood what he’d said that time. “Ready to go, Soph?”
Blushing profusely, Sophie nodded and slid out of the seat. “Yes,” she murmured. “Good God, yes.” She stood beside me, and waved a mortified little flip as she headed out of the restaurant. I dropped a few bills on the table to cover our food, shot the guys one last dirty look, which only made them laugh, and followed her.
“Soph?” I began as I pulled up to her apartment building.
“Hmm?” she asked with a slightly exhausted smile. In the pale gleam of the streetlight, her skin glowed.
“This may sound lame as hell,” I began, “but I don’t want you to disappear on me again. I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”
Her sleepy grin faded into tender, sweet astonishment. “Really? I was… fun?”
“Well, yeah,” I answered, puzzled by her response. “Why does that surprise you?”
Sophie opened her mouth to respond, then thought better of it and shook her head. She softly gave a low, breathy laugh. “Thank you,” she finally said in a whisper.
“For what?”
“For this. Tonight. Letting me experience your world.” She gave me a shy, sidelong smile. “It was a blast.”
“Yeah, it was,” I agreed and grinned back like a loon. “They play almost every Friday and Saturday night at the Copperline, so you’re welcome to tag along anytime you want.”
“I’d like that.”
Kiss her! I thought to myself. But before I could make a move, she stuck out her hand.
Fuck, a handshake. Not a good sign.
But I thought about my gramps, and the lessons he’d taught me about women when we used to sit around and watch old movies. Black and white with glamorous women and the men who seduced with their subtle, smooth gestures. Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, Gary Cooper… those guys would have made something of a handshake. Something unexpected and romantic.
I gave her a bit of an indirect glance as I enveloped her palm in mine, then drew it up and turned her hand slightly to expose the fine, porcelain underside of her wrist and brushed it with a feathery kiss.
“Oh,” Sophie whispered, blushing faintly, almost as though all thought had simply escaped through her lips.
“What are you doing next Friday?” I asked.
“I think I’d like to come with you to the Copperline.”
“Okay,” I chuckled. “I’ll pick you up at about seven o’clock.”
“I'll be waiting.”
So would I. All fucking week.
“So, your little rich girl showed up at the salon again today.”
I eyed Lily warily as she leaned over the engine compartment of the late model Buick I was working on. I vividly remembered everything she’d said the other night at the Copperline. All the mortifying shit about me taking chicks home from the bar, but never showing up with one. The thought of her and Sophie in the same room without me sent a little shiver of pure terror through my spine. I could only imagine all the horrid immorality of my past that could have been front and center in their conversation.
“And?” I coolly asked as I tried my best to remain aloof and focused on the engine in front of me. “Another makeover? What color is her hair this time?”
“Actually, she wanted to get her nose pierced.”
The ratchet slipped right out of my hand and clanged its way around the engine to the floor. “She what?”
“Yeah, but we don’t do that, so I took her down to Drew’s tat shop. He’s got a new girl that does piercing.” Lily gave me a crooked grin. “Seems like your good little girl wants to be bad.”
I narrowed my eyes at Lily, then glanced over at Cody, who had taken a sudden interest in the discussion. I rolled my eyes and dropped to the floor to grab the tool.
“She’s not mine, Lily.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Brannon,” Lily laughed. “You never bring a girl to the bar with you. Never.”
I clenched my jaw and ignored the jibe. Unfortunately, Cody seemed to find it rather humorous. “Damn,” he grinned, “that’s right. Brannon, what’s up with this chick?”
“We’re friends,” I grumbled. “Now, shut the fuck up before I fire your ass.”
“Friends who met fucking,” Lily countered, and Cody bellowed with laughter. “I’m serious, Cody. She showed up at my salon one day, pissed at the world and wanted to unload. So I helped bring out her inner smut muffin, brought her to the party that night, and pointed her towards the best of the best.”
“Thanks for thinking of me,” I glowered and dripped sarcasm, “but you can shut the fuck up now, Lily.”
“Wait a minute,” Cody said with a touch of awe in his voice, “you tapped that? Are you shittin’ me?”
I gave Cody a murderous stare. “It’s none of your fucking business, asswipe.”
“Holy fuck, you did,” he gaped and turned to Lily. “What the hell? Why didn’t you point me out? Brannon gets enough pussy as it is. I could use a little high class thing like her.”
The blood began to pound in my veins. Fucker was talking about my girl. Granted, she wasn’t officially my girl. I wasn’t about to get tied down, but I still wanted him to lay the fuck off.
“I pointed you out, too, Cody,” Lily explained. “I pointed out a few guys. But…” she gave me a knowing smile, “she picked Brannon.”
“Fucker,” Cody mumbled.
“That’s it. You’re fired,” I replied.
“Again?” he chuckled. “Didn’t you already fire me once this week?”
“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” I grumbled back.
“Awe,” Cody grinned, “I know you don’t really mean it.”
“Anyway,” Lily interrupted loudly, “just thought you might like to know. It’s a pretty little sparkly stud. An aquamarine or something, if I remember right.” She shrugged and headed for the door, tossing the words casually over her shoulder. “It’s kinda cute. Tasteful, of course, because it’s Sophie. But kind of an… edgy version of Sophie.”
I straightened as she glanced back at me before leaving. Folding my arms across my chest, I knew I looked halfway pissed, even though just the mention of Sophie’s name did all kinds of shit to me. And the knowledge that Sophie was doing something ‘edgy’ had me rather intrigued. Wondering what other edgy things she might be thinking about.
With a little wave, Lily disappeared out the door. I grabbed a rag and wiped my hands on it, rubbing away the grease and grime from the Buick. I could feel Cody watching me closely. Lily had definitely stirred something inside me with that little bit of information, and I suddenly felt restless and cagey.
Awe, fuck it.
“Think you can get this back together on your own?” I asked Cody as I tossed the rag down on the tool cart. “I need to run an errand.”
He grinned. Widely. I swear I saw every fucking tooth he had.
“Sure, B-dog,” he nodded, failing miserably to hide his amusement. “No problem.”
B-dog. The nickname he tended to pin on me when I was on the prowl. That bastard knew exactly where I was going.
“You’re fired,” I muttered, ignoring his chuckle as I headed for the door.
At first I wasn’t sure if she was home. I had no clue what kind of car she drove, but I was pretty sure I was knocking on the right door and nobody was answering. An older lady from the place next to hers poked her head out at my continued thumping.
“Can I help you, son?” she asked with a sweet, little old lady smile.
“I’m looking for Sophie Buchanan,” I replied, and noticed a curious light spark up in the woman’s eyes. “This is her place, right?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “It sure is.”
Suddenly, the door before me flew open, and there was Sophie, breathless and flushed with a little sparkling gem on the side of her nose that almost matched the bright blueish-green of her eyes.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, “you really did it.”
“Brannon?” she asked. “What are you doing here?” Noticing the older lady watching this exchange closely, Sophie gave a quick wave. “Hey, Ethel.”
“Sophie,” the woman nodded with a knowing smile, then stepped back into her own apartment and shut the door.
“Lily stopped by the garage,” I explained, studying her closely, “told me about your… outing.”
“Do you like it?” she asked nervously.
Did I like it? Fuck, yeah, I liked it.
“I do. It’s kind of sexy, but I’m kind of guessing that your folks are gonna freak.”
“Yeah, they are.” She shuffled her feet. “I don’t know, I just…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head. She stepped back into her apartment, leaving the door open so I could follow her.
Sophie’s small living room was not what I expected. I figured it would reek of money, which it did, but that was about the only thing I anticipated.
The design was modern. Looked like something out of an interior design magazine. Sharp lines, lots of mirrors, and along the wall above the couch were three enormous sketches on canvas. I’d seen pictures that were similar. I recognized them as being modeled after photos of glamorous silver screen actresses. Ingrid Bergman with her long, white gown from the nightclub in Casablanca. Audrey Hepburn in her little black dress, daintily tipping a long cigarette holder to her lips. And my gramdpa’s favorite, Grace Kelly, sitting with her skirts fanned around her, looking almost angelic in the shadowy light.
But they were all Sophie.
Very well done, and beautiful, yes. But this narcissism was not what I expected from the vibrant girl I had come to know. The girl I had fucked until she screamed on the Mofos’ couch. The girl who had danced the night away with me at the Copperline.
I just sort of stood frozen, wondering what twilight zone I had stepped into.
Sophie zeroed in on my shock at the decor.
“Don’t ask,” she murmured as she walked over to the couch and perched on the edge.
I shook my head and pointed to the sketches with my thumb. “Those are you,” I said in a wry daze, then motioned around the entire room. “But this… this is really not.”
Sophie followed my gaze, looking around the room with a sad twist to her lovely little mouth. “No, this most definitely is not.” She drew her knees up to her chest, stocking feet on the couch, and wrapped her arms around her folded legs. “I’m not sure what is me, but it’s not this. My mother picked out the apartment, and a friend of hers decorated it for me right before I came back from France.”
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I looked at the muted grays, the black and white. The only color in the room was the bright turquoise color of Sophie’s eyes in the pictures. Everything was placed just… so. The shelves held an assortment of classic literature, all bound in black leather with silver lettering. A few fashion magazines sat on the low coffee table next to a wide vase filled with some sort of white floofy flowers.
It looked… perfect. Staged.
Completely lifeless.
“Just a hunch, but I’m thinking that all this,” I waved my hand around the sterile decor, then pointed at her new piercing, “has something to do with this. And the deal a while back at the party.”
She flushed a little at the mention of that first night we had spent together, and her teeth caught her lip with a nervous pull.
“It’s all so hard to explain,” she shrugged. “It’s like there’s something trapped in me. Like I’ve been good for so long.” She sat on the couch with her feet tucked up under her. I was absolutely terrified of sitting on the white couch with my greasy shop clothes, so I crossed to her coffee table, sitting in front of her, and watched her closely. “I know it will just sound so crazy.”
“Try me,” I said.
Her aqua blue eyes caught mine and she studied me closely. The apprehension she felt was written all over her face.
“I grew up in a museum, Brannon,” she said after a minute. “I was raised by servants and dressed up to more or less perform for my parents and their friends every now and then. I was a doll. A puppet. A showpiece. Something they could present so everyone would know how great their genetics were, how awesome their breeding was. How high they were up on the food chain. I’m expected to act a certain way, to talk like they want and walk like they want. And certainly never to make waves.”
She looked down, dusting an imaginary piece of lint from her yoga pants, then turned her eyes back to me. “But I can’t do that anymore. I was going to. My whole life was going to be like that. And then I saw Richard and Alyssa together.”
“Alyssa?”
“She was my best friend, I guess. Ran in the same circles. Pretty much just like me.”
Post Breakup Sex Page 5
