Crazy Sexy Love

by Alison G. Bailey

  “Did you remember Moo Shu Pork?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to find something to prevent me from having dinner with him. I was starving and Chinese was my favorite.

  “I guess one meal would be okay. Jury is still out on the movie, though.”

  “Deal.” He winked.

  “I’ll go change my clothes and be right down.”

  “Yeah, get comfortable. And if that means naked, that’s perfectly okay with me.”

  Glaring, I stepped toward him and snatched a spring roll before heading up stairs.

  “THE NEW PHONE book’s here! The new phone book’s here! Things are going to start happening now,” I said in unison with Steve Martin’s character.

  I managed to convince Sophie to watch the movie while we ate. To my surprise, she didn’t put up much of a fight. After filling our plates, I took a spot on the floor leaning against the sofa. Sophie was stretched out above me in a pair of black yoga pants with a gray and light green striped racerback tank over a light green sports bra. Barefoot. Between her morning attire and this getup, I was positive the woman was trying to give me a heart attack. I almost choked on a steamed dumpling when she first appeared.

  “He hates these cans! Stay away from the cans!” I fell to one side giggling like a little girl with tears in my eyes.

  “Enjoying the movie?” Sophie said deadpan.

  I attempted to pull myself together as I reached for more Kung Pao chicken. “No matter how many times I’ve seen it… kills me every time. All-time favorite movie. ”

  “It’s pretty ironic that your favorite movie is The Jerk.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you know what irony means?”

  “Of course, I know what ironing means.”

  The beautiful sound of her laugh exploded behind me. “Irony not ironing.”

  My chest puffed out with pride. “Made you laugh.”

  “Yes you did,” she said, as I felt the tap of a balled up napkin bounce off the top of my head.

  I turned and looked up. “Soph, why are you always so hard on me?”

  “Because you’re always so hard for me.”

  I lifted my head and grabbed my beer. “Most women would find being lusted after by a hot guy awesome.”

  As I took a swig of beer, Sophie’s legs appeared out the corner of my eye. She set her plate down and poured herself another glass of wine, then scooted back on the sofa, one leg bent while the other was tucked under her.

  “I’m not most women.”

  I set the beer down. Placing both hands on the cushion, I did a reverse triceps dip onto the sofa. “True dat.”

  We looked at each other.

  “What are you staring at?” she said.

  “You’ve got something on your face.”

  “Moo Shoo Pork, fried rice, or spring roll crumbs?”

  Any other female would have freaked out at the prospect of having food or any foreign object on her face. But not Sophie. She was so comfortable with herself that Moo Shu or not had no affect.

  “I believe it is a smile,” I said, continuing to stare.

  She turned her gaze toward the TV then back to me. “What do you want… an award?”

  “Would it kill you to be nice to me?”

  “I think I’m very nice to you. Look at your new home.” She waved one hand around dramatically.

  We watched a few more minutes of the movie in silence. Suddenly, Sophie bolted straight up and grabbed her left calf. “Leg cramp! Ow… ow… ow!”

  Taking her glass, I sat it down, and moved closer to her. “Put your leg in my lap.”

  “Now is not the time to make a pass, Doug.” She moaned and continued to rub her lower leg with both hands.

  “I’m not making a… Give me your leg.” I patted my thigh.

  She hesitated for a moment before lying back and giving in. I slid the material up her leg. Starting behind the knee, I worked my way down, slowly massaging the back of her leg. As I looked down, I sucked in a sharp breath.

  Sophie’s head popped up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just noticed the diamond ankle bracelet.”

  “Jesus, Doug, does everything turn you on?”

  “Not everything. Only things where you’re concerned,” I said, pressing my fingers into her smooth, soft skin.

  A slight chuckle escaped her as she let her head fall back on the pillow.

  “That feels so good.” Her eyes were closed and soft moans drifted from her lips as she snuggled further into the sofa.

  Between touching her, the moans, the delicate bracelet draped around her sexy leg, and her pale pink painted toenails pressing into my thigh, I was finding it difficult to keep myself in check.

  Focus on the movie, Doug.

  Fail. I’d seen the damn thing so many times it had lost its powers of distraction.

  Focus on your day at work, Doug. I finally finished the research for the big report on…

  Right when I was having some success at redirecting my thoughts, Sophie said, “O-o-oh God, Doug. That’s the spot… Push in harder.”

  The air became hot and stifling, making it almost impossible for oxygen to flow in and out of my lungs.

  “Mmmm…You can be rougher.”

  Beads of sweat popped up along my forehead.

  “Your hands are magic,” she purred.

  I cleared my throat. “Why thank you. I’m known for my appendages. Is it still hurting?”

  “Not like it was, but keep rubbing.” She paused for a few seconds, pure pleasure written across her face. “How did you meet Hart?”

  “Segue much?”

  “You wanted to bond, so start bonding.”

  “You’re trying to be nice to me, aren’t you?”

  “Trying being the operative word.” Her lips curled into a satisfied smile.

  “Day one of first grade, we were picked to be milk boys.”

  “God, I hope that doesn’t have anything to do with your female classmates.”

  “No! We went to a small Catholic school that didn’t have a cafeteria, so we ate lunch in our classroom. Every morning the teacher collected money for milk. Before lunchtime, Hart and I would go to the milk truck that delivered to our school. We’d load up the small individual cartons in this big wicker basket, each of us grabbed a handle, and carried it back to class.”

  “Were Colin and Ronnie in the class too?”

  “Yeah. The entire class had known one another since preschool. My family had moved to town over the summer, so I was the new kid on the block. For some reason, Hart liked me and took me under his wing. That was my ticket to the in-crowd.”

  “Hart was a good guy from the very beginning.”

  “Hart, Colin, and Ronnie are more like my brothers than my actual brother, especially Hart. The worst day of my life was when Colin called telling me that Hart had been in an accident with his motorcycle.”

  My throat strangled with emotion. It didn’t matter how many years had passed since that horrific day, every time I talked about it, which was rare, it was as if it had just happened. All the pain I felt flooded back, remembering my best friend struggling for his life soon after his mom lost her battle with cancer.

  “I can’t imagine. Do you think the accident had anything to do with his mother’s passing?” There was nothing but genuine sincerity in her voice.

  “Hart has never admitted it, but who knows. He was so out of his mind with grief… We all were. Hope Mitchell was an incredible mom. An incredible person. She always made you feel worth her time. She was like a second mom to me… to all of us guys. After she was diagnosed, Colin, Ronnie and I helped whenever Hart let us. Mainly, cooking, cleaning, and yard work. I can’t tell you how many bowls of mac ‘n cheese Momma Hope ate. It had to have been hundreds, but she never complained. Always acting as if each bowl was the best she’d ever eaten. When she died it was a punch in the gut. I didn’t think I was capable
of feeling more intense pain. But I was proven wrong when I got the call about Hart. The first time seeing him hooked up to all the machines that were keeping him alive…” I stopped, trying to keep myself composed.

  “What about Hart’s father?”

  “He wasn’t around much after the divorce. He’d moved on to a new wife and family. The guy was a dick, to put it mildly. Being Hart’s legal next of kin he had to show up to sign consent forms. He’d make an appearance for about ten minutes once a week, if that. But Colin, Ronnie and I never left Hart’s side. The nurses felt for us. They brought us food and never told us to leave. We were all exhausted but determined that Hart wasn’t going to be alone. Three weeks later he opened his eyes and I was able to exhale. Hart worked his ass off to overcome everything. He’s the bravest and best man I’ve ever known.”

  At some point during my story, I had stopped massaging Sophie’s leg. My gaze shifted to find her sitting up staring at me. Her expression soft with watery eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered. “You have something on your face.”

  It was then that I became aware of the tear rolling down my cheek. Turning my head away, I wiped my cheek as inconspicuously as possible. “Fucking Kung Pao. It was pretty spicy.” In an attempt to take the focus off of me, I asked, “So what about you and Bryson? How did y’all meet?”

  Sophie swung her legs from my lap and sat on the edge of the sofa. Not looking at me, she said in one breath, “Not much to tell, really. When I was five, my dad got a job offer here. We, along with my grandparents, moved in next door to Bryson’s family, and the rest is history. I better clean up this mess.” She started gathering the takeout boxes.

  “Oh… yeah. I’ll help you,” I said reaching for the plates.

  Sophie sprang from the sofa. “No! I mean, you got dinner. It’s only fair that I clean up. You finish watching the movie.”

  Before I’d had a chance to protest, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  What the hell had just happened? I’m not a bare-my-soul kind of guy. And where the fuck did that tear come from? I felt exposed and I don’t like feeling exposed. Especially in front of Sophie. Hopefully she bought my Kung Pao excuse. I didn’t need her throwing this back in my face.

  But as I thought more about what transpired it occurred to me that Sophie had been sitting patiently waiting for me to finish my story. When I turned toward her, I didn’t see a sly smirk or a mocking look. I saw watery eyes and a soft expression. Her words weren’t covered in a hard shell of sarcasm. They were gentle. Suddenly, I knew Sophie would never use my moment of weakness to her advantage. I felt safe and that scared the shit out of me.

  I WAS UP and dressed early. I wasn’t meeting Bryson at class for another hour. With my phone in one hand and my yoga mat under my arm, I slowly eased open my bedroom door. Looking through the tiny crack, I scanned the hallway for any signs of life. There was no way I could face Doug after last night and before coffee this morning.

  For five years Doug Truman had been flirty, sophomorically funny, and often inappropriate. Last night he not only told me about his friendship with Hart, he showed me. The more Doug talked, the more I felt how much he loved and admired Hart. It radiated off of him. And when he spoke about Hope, Hart’s mother, it was as if he were telling me about the loss of his own mother.

  The pain in his voice broke my heart. Every part of my being wanted to climb into his lap and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to replace his sadness with comfort. My reaction scared the hell out of me. So, needless to say, I had to get away from him. I hid out in the kitchen for longer than necessary. Thank God he had gone to bed by the time I went back into the living room to finish cleaning up.

  That moment when our eyes locked something passed between us. I tossed and turned half the night trying to attach a name to it without success. The other half of the night I spent wondering what Doug was thinking. Would he bring it up? Would he want to talk about it? Would he ignore it? God, I hoped he ignored it. Maybe I was making too big of a deal out of this. But better to be safe than sorry. At some point during the wee hours of the morning, I decided avoidance was the best game plan.

  I tiptoed quietly passed Doug’s room, making it to the stairs without incident. Once downstairs I relaxed a little. All I needed was to grab my purse, then I’d be out the door and on my way to Starbucks. As I reached for the doorknob, I heard a bump coming from upstairs. Doug was up. I quickly opened the front door and ran right into Bryson.

  “Argh!” I yelled. I listened for any noise from upstairs indicating that Doug had heard me, but there was none. I breathed a sigh of relief then glared at Bryson. Lowering my voice, I said, “What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet at class.”

  She held a bag of what smelled like her famous fresh baked cinnamon rolls and two large coffees perched on top of a plastic container. “I brought breakfast and the Swiss chicken that we had for dinner last night,” she said, grinning and holding up the goodies.

  “Why?”

  “Because both our lives are so busy we don’t get to spend as much quality girl time together. My mom is watching Hope this morning and Hart is meeting the guys to play basketball. So I thought this was the perfect opportunity.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She pushed past me and walked inside. “Please, you never turn down one of my homemade cinnamon rolls.”

  I followed her into the kitchen, tossing my yoga mat and phone on the sofa. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

  Bryson walked to the counter and placed the goodies down. “That’s ridiculous. Grab a couple of plates while I put the chicken in the fridge.”

  Reluctantly, I did what I was told. As I opened the cabinet and reached for the plates, I heard a loud gasp. Turning around I found Bryson staring at the inside of my fridge.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You have food.” Her voice was full of shock and awe.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  She closed the fridge door. “Nothing for most people.”

  I was getting more annoyed by the second. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t know how to cook.”

  “I may not be a chef like you, but I can cook.”

  Bryson walked toward me, grabbed the plates and placed them on the table. “Do you remember the first time Hart and I had you over for dinner? I made pizza from scratch. You said and I quote, “I didn’t know you could make pizza at home.”

  Moving closer to the table, I said, “And your point?”

  She unpacked the bag of warm cinnamon rolls and placed them on the plates. “Sophie, you’re Italian. I find it hard to believe at no time in your life did your grandmother not make homemade pizza.”

  “That’s quite a racist statement.”

  “My apologies. Now sit down and tell me what’s new in your life.”

  Bryson pulled out a chair and sat down. She wasn’t going anywhere. I shut the swinging kitchen door and the breakfast bar shutters, closing off the kitchen. I sat on the edge of my seat as I kept an ear out for any rumblings from Doug. I needed to get this girl time over and be out the door before he came downstairs. I wasn’t ready to deal with him and I sure wasn’t ready for my best friend to know he was here.

  “Sophie, is everything okay?” Bryson said, taking the top off of her coffee cup.

  I tore off a big piece of roll and shoved it in my mouth. “Of course.” I swallowed hard. “I’m starving and you know how much I love everything you make.”

  I heard the faint sound of Doug’s bathroom door shut. I looked over at Bryson for any indication that she heard it too.

  “How’s work?”

  Nope. She didn’t hear a thing.

  “Good.”

  “Is the new executive chick still giving you trouble?”

  “Here and there. It’s no big deal. I think we better get going.”

  Bryson glanced at her phone. “We have plenty of time.�
��

  “What about traffic?”

  She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and concern. “What is up with you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer when my secret came bounding down the stairs calling out my name.

  “Soph!”

  Bryson’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline. “Yikes! You have company. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even notice there was another car parked outside.”

  “Soph!” Doug yelled again.

  Leaning in, Bryson whispered, “That voice sounds familiar. Is it someone I know?”

  Bryson may have heard a familiar voice, but all I could hear was the theme from Jaws as the great white shark got closer.

  Closing my eyes, I prayed.

  Please don’t come in here. Please don’t come in here. Please don’t come in here.

  The door swung open and Doug came into the kitchen. He was wearing a pair of dark basketball shorts with a gray T-shirt slung over his bare shoulder, and a pair of dark high top basketball shoes. His hair was haphazard and the scruff outlining his jaw was heavier than it had been last night.

  Bryson and I stared at each other with wide eyes and pursed lips.

  “Good morning, roomie.” Doug passed behind me and playfully tugged my ponytail. “And Bry, Bry,” he said, heading toward the coffee maker.

  Bryson finally blinked twice, no doubt not believing what she was seeing. “Doug?”

  After starting the coffee, he turned to face us and leaned back against the counter. “In the flesh.”

  By the nonchalant way Doug was acting, it was obvious last night’s event had been forgotten or never experienced on his part. Which was great news. Fantastic. I mean, there he was really opening up to me and felt nothing. How could he have not felt anything? Was it so outside of his wheelhouse to connect with a female on a level that didn’t involve his dick? There was no way in hell last night was a one-sided alcohol-induced delusion on my part.

  “Soph, have you seen my balls?” Doug said, pouring milk into his coffee.

  A loud choking cough flew out of Bryson’s mouth.

  “No! I’ve never seen your balls, Doug!” I protested.