Happily Never After

“IF ANYONE HERE knows of any reason why these two—”

“I do.” I stood and then felt Sophie stand beside me and add, “We do, actually.”

I glanced down at her and felt it again, that burning in my chest. She was wearing a long yellow sundress with dark sunglasses, and she was fucking stunning. I’d damn near stopped breathing when she’d come out of her room with shiny bare shoulders and clear lip gloss—like a summer nymph who should dance barefoot in fields of sunflowers.

That was the sort of shit I kept thinking every time I got near her.

It was ridiculous, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about it. I knew exactly what Sophie wanted—absolutely nothing. She wanted zero feelings from me, and she had zero feelings for me. So there was nothing for me to do, right?

And hell, I’d sworn off relationships.

But things with her were so easy, so good, that it seemed a little sad to let it slip away without even trying. When Soph had snuggled against me during our nap, nothing had ever felt as natural as wrapping my arms around her and going back to sleep with my face buried in her strawberry-scented hair.

Fuck. What in the fuck was I thinking?

The shocked murmur started, and the groom did exactly what he’d said he was going to do.

“Can we talk in private?” he said calmly, and the bride looked like she was going to puke. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be right back.”

The four of us went out through the foyer and into a church office that was obviously where the bride had changed into her dress. Clothing, makeup, hairspray—it littered nearly every surface, but there were six bridesmaids, so that made sense.

The groom closed the door behind us and locked it.

Sophie crossed her arms like she was cold, and the bride looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t know what came next.

“So . . . holy shit.” The groom, who looked incredibly young, grinned at the bride and said, “We actually did it.”

She gave him a shaky smile. “I’m scared they’re going to talk us out of this, though.”

He shook his head and reached for her hand. “I won’t let them.”

It didn’t make sense to me, but the groom insisted that our quiet objection would be all they’d need. The kid said their families would respect their privacy and allow the reason to be “just between the two of them.”

“So,” Sophie said, a tiny crinkle between her eyebrows as she looked at their hands. “What happens now?”

“You guys can take off.” The groom pulled out his wallet, shrugged, and said, “We’re going to wait back here awhile, so it looks like we’re having a ‘heart-to-heart’ before we make it official.”

He pulled out a stack of cash, which I wished I could refuse because these two had already paid for our accommodations. But I didn’t want to take money away from Soph—

“Keep it,” Sophie said, glancing over at me like she was trying to gauge what my reaction would be to her words. “You already paid for our hotel and flight. Keep the money.”

Without thinking, I reached over and grabbed her hand, linking my fingers through hers. I hadn’t meant to do it, but I just loved what a decent human she was.

She looked surprised by the action, her eyes all over my face, and I hoped I hadn’t screwed myself with the gesture.

But then her fingers squeezed back, and I knew it was okay.

—

“So what do you want to do now?” Sophie had been quiet on the ride back to the hotel, responding to work emails while I’d watched downtown Detroit rush by through the windows, but now we’d arrived at the hotel.

“We could grab some dinner,” I suggested as we headed for the elevator, though I still wasn’t keen on eating.

I hadn’t had a hangover in a long-ass time, and the one I’d been blessed with that morning was a doozie. What Sophie didn’t know was that after our shenanigans in the stairwell, I’d gone back to the bar and proceeded to drink a little more.

Because I couldn’t get her out of my fucking head.

Of course, the joke was on me because that only made it worse and also made me feel like I’d been run over by a garbage truck.

“I’m still not really in the mood for food,” she said as we stopped and waited for the elevator to come down. “But I can keep you company if you’re hungry.”

“God, no,” I said, and she grinned at the face I made. “I feel good but not that good.”

“Same.” She pressed the button again, even though I already had, and said, “Maybe we should turn in early and get a good night’s sleep.”

I watched her face, searching for some clue that she knew what I was feeling for her and was employing distance, but she looked normal, so I said, “Not a bad idea.”

The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside.

“Twelve, right?” I asked, pressing nine for me and twelve for her.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

Neither one of us said anything as the elevator started moving. Because I was losing it in regard to Sophie, my brain started tossing scenarios my way, scenarios that had her and me up against the wall with alarms going off.

She looked over at me. “What room are you in again?”

I swallowed and knew the electricity crackling in the air was just me. “Nine twelve.”

“Ah,” she said, giving a nod of her head, dragging her teeth over her lower lip. “Floor niner.”

“Did you just say—”

“Niner? Yes.” She nodded again and looked back at the numbers above the door. Muttered, “Nines.”

Her idiotic words made my pulse kick up a notch, because it felt like she was fighting something, too. Maybe it was just me, but it felt suffocating in the elevator, like the air was thick with sexual tension.

When the doors opened on nine, it pained me to exit.

“So this is me,” I said like a moron, stepping out of the elevator and turning to face her.

“Max on the niner,” she said quietly, almost to herself as her eyes stayed on the number buttons that lit up the elevator wall.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice coming out a little gravelly.

She refocused her gaze on me and nodded. “Fine. I’m, um, fine. Good night, Max.”

I swallowed. “Good night, Soph.”

I felt unsettled as I walked to my room, unsettled and somehow disappointed as I unlocked the door and went inside. I didn’t want to leave her, to be in my room without her. It was an asinine thought, since we were only friends, but I felt agitated as hell that she wasn’t there.

I pulled off my dress shirt and tie and was just about to take off the T-shirt, when I heard the knock. My heart was pounding as I walked over and pulled open the door.

“I don’t want to be aggressive,” Sophie said, tucking her hair behind her ears and looking up at me with bright eyes. “But I can’t stop thinking about it. And I thought if you were also thinking about it, about each of us getting ours, maybe we might want to just do it. Try it. Um, together.”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room.

“Do what, exactly?” I asked as the door shut behind her. I gritted my teeth and dropped my hand as want slammed into me, as she stood there in that yellow sundress in front of me.

She bit down on her lower lip, swallowed, and then said, “I’m dying to have sex with myself, Max.”

I knew she was trying to cut the tension by mis-phrasing it, but I couldn’t smile. Smiling was impossible as my entire chest seized up. I admitted, “I’ve fantasized about you doing that.”

“What?” Her eyes moved over my face and she asked quietly, “Doing what, exactly?”

“Sophie Steinbeck,” I confessed, lowering my mouth to get a quick taste of her freckled shoulder. “I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“Oh, I can,” she said, and I loved the sound of her shaky breathing as I ran my tongue over her skin. “Tell me.”

“Let’s just say,” I managed, sliding down the strap of her dress with fingers damn near trembling with need, “that I really, really like the thought of your pretty hands all over your body.”

“Well, then,” she sighed, fisting her hands in the front of my T-shirt as I lowered the other strap at the same time and the dress fell to the floor. “I feel I must tell you that I’ve started thinking about you. Every single time.”

I felt short of breath as I looked at her whiskey eyes, lace lingerie, and sexy heels. “How recently? Tell me.”

She was shy but she wasn’t, my Sophie, and her eyes were like glowing amber when she said, “Last night.”

That was it.

The end of the slow, flirtatious portion of the program.

My mouth found hers, and she rose up to kiss me as if she’d been waiting for me to lose my shit. Expecting my demise. I wrapped my arms around her waist and carried her over to the bed while her legs tightened around me, her shoes sliding off and falling to the floor. Her hands moved up to hold my face in place while she kissed the living shit out of me, and a fucking four-alarm fire couldn’t have stopped us.

I felt light-headed as I stood there with her perfect ass in my hands and her tongue in my mouth, wanting to burn this moment into my memory so I’d never forget. Because no matter what happened for the rest of our lives, in this moment, in this room, we were on fire for each other.

“Soph,” I said against her lips, lowering her to the bed, crawling over her, and bridging myself on my arms above her. “Tell me how to do this.”

She slid her feet up on the bed so her knees were bent, framing my body, and she pulled her mouth away slightly. “You don’t know, Parks?”

“Oh, I fucking know,” I said, wanting to explore every single inch of her as I looked down at lace and soft skin. “But this is yours, remember? How do you want to have sex for yourself?”

She looked surprised for a second, like she hadn’t expected that question, but then those gorgeous lips turned up into a hot, wicked smile and I proceeded to forget my own name.