“I don’t know that I would be particularly embarrassed about that,” I say carefully.
A salacious, sexy grin splits her cheeks. “We should make them think we are. Embarrass them.”
I scoff. “Sophie, Liv knows this isn’t real. Dottie probably does, too, by now. They might be shit-stirrers, but they aren’t voyeurs. They’re probably just cleaning up the mess they made.”
It’s like my words fall on deaf ears.
She wiggles her plump little ass over to the bed and grabs a pillow. It dangles in her hand as she watches me with a sparkle in her eye.
“Watch this,” she says before taking the pillow and hitting it twice against the wall.
The sound is nothing more than a gentle thud. It doesn’t even shake the picture of daisies she has on the wall next to the bed.
“What in the hell are you doing?” I don’t even bother to quell my laugh. “What was that supposed to be?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. My head on a pillow getting rammed into a wall.”
My entire body clenches at the thought. My fists ball at my sides as I grit my teeth to keep myself in check.
“I hate to tell you, but that’s not what it would sound like.”
“What would it sound like then?”
I’m not sure if she’s baiting me or if she’s serious. Either option is dangerous . . . for both of us.
My brain flashes caution words on repeat as I take in her pouty lips. Words like “temporary” and “Orlando” and “friends.” But all the flashing in the world doesn’t stop the testosterone from rolling, urging me to get it over with.
To indulge.
“Silence? That’s what it sounds like?” she goads.
I should let it go. I need to lie down and let her win this battle of the wits.
But I can’t. Because that’s not me.
Our gazes locked together, I walk over to the wall across from the kitchen. I twist my knuckles into a ball and pound on the drywall. Hard.
Again.
And again.
The dresser next to my fist shakes, rattling around the perfume bottles sitting on top.
I hit it a fourth time.
With every impact, her eyes grow wider. She bites her lip. Her fingers dig into the comforter on the bed.
The sounds from the kitchen halt. It’s like the entire Honey House is waiting with bated breath for a reaction—me included.
Finally, Sophie releases the comforter and exhales. Reality washes across her face as she forces a swallow. “I’m going to have to answer for that tomorrow.”
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t play this game with her.
Closing my eyes, I try to take myself out of this situation mentally for a moment. Envisioning Montgomery Farms and weekends at the beach and talking to people who don’t know my business, nor care, helps.
I don’t look at her as I tap my pillow into place with my foot.
“What am I supposed to tell Liv?” she asks.
“I don’t know. You wanted it.”
“You’re right. I did.” She looks me right in the eyes as if to confirm the innuendo I hear is there.
My chest rumbles as a growl gathers at the base of my throat.
“Get in bed,” I tell her as I walk to the door.
I hear the box springs squeak as she does as instructed. And fuck if that doesn’t make it so much worse.
The need to strip her bare and climb beneath the covers and over her delectable little body is so damn strong that I think I groan.
It’s been too long since I was with a woman. And now here I am, married to a little siren, and I can’t have her.
I take in a long, deep breath.
The light switch is an easy flip, and I march to the foot of her bed.
I could climb in bed and sink into her sweet little body. She’d be all for it.
But as I grab the bedpost and start to do just that, my brain reminds me that . . . I can’t.
She’s been drinking. And this is my friend—my friend who is making decisions based on a day full of excitement and emotion and all-around craziness. She deserves my respect, and if I crawl in beside her tonight—whether or not she wants it too—I’m an asshole.
The floor is hard as I get situated in the blankets. She doesn’t make a sound.
It isn’t until the sound of a car pulls out of the driveway that I finally speak.
“Good night, sugar,” I say softly, unsure if she’s asleep.
“Night, Doc.”
I close my eyes and dream of purple roses.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SOPHIE
The sweet chirp from a family of birds mixed with Elvis’s faint voice lures me awake.
I reach over my head and stretch until my hands hit the headboard. The thump, reminiscent of fists and pillows hitting the wall, drowns out the chirps and melodic love songs. I jolt upright.
My brain tries to filter through a thick, heavy fog. There are pictures and memories sitting at the edge of my consciousness, but I can’t quite make them out. My palm presses against my temple as I try to discern what I dreamed and what is reality.
Did I drink too much at Liv’s last night?
I glance around my room. Everything looks untouched. Nothing is out of place.
I must have. But how funny that I dreamed I married Holden McKenzie.
Dropping back against the pillows, I reach for my phone. And that’s when I see it.
Gramma’s diamond ring.
On my finger.
As if the stone has magical powers of clarity, the fog rolls away in one swift motion. Yesterday comes barreling back to me.
A PayDay in the car. A judge standing in front of an archway of beautiful flowers. Holden saying, “I do.”
To me.
I force a swallow.
Holy shit. I did it. I went through with it.
My chest rises and falls as I reconcile the next wave of memories.
The warmth of his breath against my neck.
The taste of his kiss.
Him sleeping on the floor . . .
I rip off the blankets and crawl down the center of my bed. I don’t breathe until I grab the footboard and peer over the top like a child looking over a banister to see if Santa has arrived.
And see nothing.
A mixture of confusion and relief floods my veins as I leap off the bed. The wooden floor is cool against my feet. My heart races as I swipe my robe off the bedpost, thankful I’m at least dressed in a decently modest set of pajamas, and locate my worn slippers. The toe of my right foot snags on the rug as I race toward the door.
I let out a squeal as I fly forward and catch myself against the chair. Whiffs of Holden’s cologne filter through the air as his bag rattles on top of the cushion, and I come face-to-face with a piece of paper propped against the black leather.
My eyes roam over his handwriting. It stays within the lines of the white notebook paper but slants terribly to the right. Something about that makes me smile.
Sophie,
Didn’t want to wake you but felt like I should say good morning. I hope you feel all right. I’m heading to work. Not sure what the protocol is for something like this. Should be interesting. Call if you need me.
Holden
And I’m locking the door on my way out.
I begin to reach for the letter but stop short. The last line tickles something in my chest, and I laugh out loud.
“Of course you did,” I say.