“Later? We both know there’s no reason to wait anymore.”
“I said later.” I held her gaze. This wasn’t up for debate. “Was that all?”
“That was all.”
“Good.” I stood and pocketed my phone. “I’m meeting the foreman down at the job site in twenty minutes. I’ll be back this afternoon.”
Without another word, I swept past her and left.
It had been a busy week at work, and normally a charity fashion show featuring rescue dogs wouldn’t have been high on my list of ways to spend a Friday night. But my definition of normal was rapidly changing.
My sweet little sugar bug was volunteering tonight. She’d be walking in the fashion show, so obviously I was going to be front and center.
I made my way toward the long T-shaped stage that had been set up like a runway. Chairs had been set in rows on both sides. I found my seat and nodded to Calloway and Nash before sitting down. “Gentlemen.”
Calloway eyed me with cold skepticism. “Cox.”
“Nice to see you, too. How’s your lovely wife?”
For the first time ever, I saw his expression soften. The corner of his mouth twitched in what could almost be called a smile. “She’s perfect.”
Nash leaned over. “Shep, are you sure you won’t come down to the lab for an interview?”
“No,” Calloway said.
“But you’re like the ultimate case study in avoidant attachment. It would really help me refine my theory.”
“Still no.”
Nash’s eyes moved to me. “What about you? Would you say you have a favorable view of yourself but a generally negative view of other people?”
Calloway glanced at me and shook his head as if to say, Don’t answer that.
That seemed like good advice, so I just shook my head.
The emcee, a woman dressed in an elegant black dress, walked out onto the stage and the crowd quieted. She thanked us all for being here and introduced the animal rescue organization, as well as Lulu Shay, the clothing designer. I was happy to support a good cause, but I was really here to see Sophie. A few faces peeked out from behind a curtain at the end of the stage and I craned my neck to see if one of them was her.
“Let’s start the show,” the emcee said, and the crowd applauded.
Music with a rhythmic beat started up and the first model walked out, accompanied by a little Yorkshire terrier on a leash. They were met with oohs and ahs from the audience as they made their way down the runway.
I clapped politely with everyone else as each model came out with her canine companion. Fashion wasn’t really my thing, unless you counted picking out hot lingerie for Sophie. But the outfits were nice—more realistic than high fashion, and some of the dogs wore matching scarves or sweaters. I had to admit, it was pretty damn cute.
“It’s true that dogs can smell fear,” Nash said out of the blue. “Their sense of smell is about one hundred thousand times stronger than a human’s and they can smell changes in body chemistry elicited by alterations in emotional state.”
Before either of us could reply to that, a woman with dark-rimmed glasses wearing a lavender pantsuit came out with a yellow lab. I recognized her as Sophie’s friend Hazel. Corban stood and clapped loudly for his wife. She gave him a quick smile as she walked by.
Next came one of Sophie’s other friends—the dark-haired one, Nora. She strutted in a pair of high stilettos, leading a brown and white dog.
Nora turned at the end of the runway and made her way back to the front. And waiting for her turn at the top of the T-shaped stage was my Sophie.
All those golden curls were pinned up, revealing the slope of her neck, and the red dress she was wearing fit her like a dream. One look and I knew I was buying it for her. It highlighted her delicious curves and made her skin look like it glowed.
She took a deep breath and glanced down at the fluffy white dog on her leash. It had a red scarf around its neck to match her dress. Looking up, she scanned the crowd until her eyes met mine.
I smiled at her. Knock ‘em dead, sugar.
With another breath, she started walking down the runway.
Her steps were straight, but hesitant at first. The dog stayed obediently on her left. I watched her pass, smiling up at her like an idiot. But goddamn, she looked beautiful tonight.
She’d been nervous about this—about being up there in front of all these people. I held my breath as she got to the end of the runway and paused, striking a pose with one hand on her hip.
Hell yes. That’s my girl.
She turned, seeming to grow more confident with every step, and the dog followed. Her energy was infectious, her bright smile and cute little hip sway making the crowd clap and cheer. I whistled as she passed on her way back to the front of the stage where the next woman waited, holding the leash of a droopy-eared black dog.
With a glance over her shoulder, Sophie flashed me another wide smile. I clapped louder.
The black dog barked, the low sound carrying over the music, and lunged forward. Sophie’s little dog didn’t seem to realize it would be nothing more than a snack. It barked back and charged. The leash went taut, jerking Sophie’s arm.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I watched her try to gain control of her dog. It was small but determined, and she hadn’t been expecting the yank on the leash. She pitched forward, arms flailing. One foot kicked back and her shoe went flying into the crowd. The bigger dog lunged again, barking at the little white dog, while another volunteer rushed out to help.
Sophie hit the stage, arms stretched out to grasp her dog, and pulled it out of the bigger dog’s reach just in time. The crowd let out a collective gasp, then fell silent. I was already on my feet to rush to her when she rolled over, sat up, and pulled the white dog to her chest.
After kicking off her remaining shoe, she tucked the little dog under one arm and stood. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair had come loose, and I had no doubt there’d be a few bruises I’d need to kiss better. But she didn’t hide her face or run away, too embarrassed to face the crowd. She held that little dog close while the volunteers got the bigger dog under control behind her. And she curtsied.
The audience went wild.
I stared at her, clapping my ass off, while she waved at the crowd with a sheepish smile, then scratched the little dog’s head.
Oh my god. I fucking loved that woman.
The truth hit me like a freight train. I loved her. I loved her so much. Every sweet, smiling, clumsy, hot mess, golden-curled bit of her.
I’d always thought I was immune. Self-sufficient. An island.
Boy, had I been wrong.
Sophie Abbott had stolen my heart when I was a dick-headed eleven-year-old kid. She’d had it ever since. And looking at her now, ruffled but plucky as ever, I realized that I never wanted it back.
30
Cox
I got off the elevator and nodded to Ty, our receptionist, as I walked by. I’d hit the gym at lunch and my hair was still damp from my shower. It felt good, my muscles warm and tired.
My phone blinked with messages, but none of them were Sophie, so I’d deal with them later. Fortunately, her little mishap at the fashion show the other night hadn’t done any damage. No bruises, but I’d spent the night kissing her better anyway.