Shit, fuck, damn!
I grab the back of my neck, squeezing hard and take in a lungful of air.
“I’m sorry.”
Her head shakes from side to side. “Don’t, Charlie, don’t apologise. I kissed you, too. But I think it’s best if we head home, please,” she says, biting her lower lip between her teeth.
Her request is a plea, the undertone of disappointment clear as crystal. The air grows thick with a fog of unwanted tension. My eyes sting, and I don’t know why.
“Of course, whatever you want, Sophie.”
She strangles the strap of her bag and walks ahead. I unlock my car as we approach, and she gets straight in.
I glance over to her as I click on my seat belt. She’s staring out of her window into the dark parking lot. The enclosed space is stifling, crackling with an unwelcome silence. To block it out, I turn on the radio, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I’m at a loss for words.
Two Years Earlier
I do a double-take when she walks in, laughing at something her friend whispered in her ear. She shakes her head, eyes scanning the bar. She has this unassuming presence about her. Surveying her surroundings, she pauses when she spots me. Her face is lit up with recognition. She makes a beeline toward me, and I set the crate down as she approaches and leans on the edge of the bar.
“Charlie, I thought that was you. Blimey, so this is your bar?” she asks, waving her arm in the air.
“Sophie,” I say, unable to keep the smile from my face, nodding. “It is, the one and only.” I move to greet her with a kiss to the cheek. The same subtle signature scent of flowers and vanilla washes over me like it did the first time. I take a step back.
“Very nice,” she says and turns in a slow, deliberate circle.
“So, what can I get you and your friends?” Wow, that was original… I almost let out an eye roll.
She gapes over her shoulder. “Well, I’d tell you if I knew where they’ve buggered off to. I’ll have vodka and ice please.”
I nod; she pulls out her purse.
“Put that away. It’s on me. Nate would kick my arse if I didn’t take care of his girl’s best mate.”
“Well, hmm… thank you,” she says in her best Australian accent. I laugh. Usually, when others do it, I find it irritating. But not with her. She’s an enigma. I met her at Nate’s the other day, and I couldn’t help myself with a little harmless flirting, but she was immune to my charms.
“My pleasure.” I slide her the drink. It isn’t lost on me how she watched my hands like a hawk the entire time. And that’s when it hits me like a hard jab to the kidney. What happened to her and Felicity. The memories make me queasy and not just from the bottle of whiskey Nate and I cradled the night when he broke down and confided in me.
She doesn’t stray far from the bar or far from me. I’m walking back from collecting glasses when a hand grabs my arse. I shift and nearly drop everything I’m holding. Sophie goes on her tiptoes, her lips travel dangerously close to mine. Fuck me if she hasn’t got my attention.
“Sophie, what are you doing?” I ask, my voice sounding like it’s barely made it out of puberty. I’ve never even considered hooking up here, and I sure as heck don’t plan to start now. But I’m not going to deny there’s a small part of me which wants to take her in the backroom, lay her down on the sofa, and explore every inch of her body. I blanch at my thoughts and move on my feet, the urge to adjust myself down south is very real. I cough and step away, ridding my hands of the glasses. And I turn back to her.
Her expression, which was carefree moments ago, is now replaced with one I can’t make out. My gut clenches uncomfortably.
“Sophie, I think you may be a tad drunk.” I scan around us. “Listen, I’m almost done here, and it looks like your friends left already. How about I get you home. No funny business, I swear,” I say, holding up my palms.
She twists her hands in front of her, eyes scarcely meeting mine. “No, you can’t, you’re at work. I’m good. I’ll just…” She meets my eyes. Hers cloud over, forehead creasing.
I put my hand on her shoulder and give it a soft squeeze. “Listen, you can trust me, I promise. I’d never let anything happen to you. And you know Nate would castrate me if I even thought about taking advantage. I’m kind of attached to my man parts if you know what I mean.” I’m waffling like a damn fool.
She attempts to smile at my remark, and her posture relaxes a fraction as my words sink in.
“You won’t tell Nate or Flick… about me hitting on you?” Her words slur, rolling into each other.
I shake my head. “No, of course not. What happens at my bar, stays at the bar,” I reply with a wink.
“Thank you,” she breathes. Her body sways, leaning into my side. We stand like this for a beat, my thumb rubbing her shoulder. But what causes me to stop in my tracks is how I hardly know her, and yet this feels strangely natural.
I walk her to the back office and usher her to sit.
“You wait here for me. I’m going to make sure the guys are all good for closing. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She nods, eyelids heavy, lashes sweeping the underside of her eyes like feathers. She slumps into the chair. Her head lulls to the side as her eyes fall closed.
I leave Olly to lock up. He wiggles his eyebrows like the tart he is, but I just shake my head and head back to my office. She startles awake when I come into the room, placing her palm over her chest.
“Sorry, you ready?” I ask.
She begins to sway on her feet. I offer her my arm, feeling like a complete douche but Nate’ ain’t here to rib me about it, so who the fuck cares?
I help her into the passenger seat and buckle her in—only because after watching for the third time as she completely missed, and to stop myself laughing at her, I do it.
Running around to the driver’s side, I get in, and as soon as I turn the ignition on, I twist the heating to high. The temperature’s brisk to put it mildly.
No sooner am I pulling out of the rear car park and asking her where to, I glance to my left to find her head resting on the passenger side window, mouth slightly parted—she’s asleep.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath.
I have no idea where she lives. Fuck.
Okay, think. Nate and Flick are out of the question. I could go through her purse for a driver’s licence for an address or search for house keys, but I’m sure that’s breaking some kind of code, nosing through a woman’s bag.
“Sophie,” I say.
Nada.
“Sophie,” I repeated sternly.
She rewards me with some muffled response.
After deliberating with my conscious, I decide the best place for her tonight is at mine. I keep repeating this to myself all the way to my house. I try in vain to wake her; how much did she drink? I manage to help her out of the car, but she’s barely standing. I don’t need my neighbour peeking out of her blinds, thinking I’m up to god only knows what. I lift her into my arms bridal style and kick the passenger door shut. She may be petite, but like this, she’s dead weight. An unwelcome wave of cold air crawls over the back of my neck. Either she’s a lightweight when it comes to her drinking, or she’d been on it long before she got to the bar.