“How do you like living in Pittsburgh?” Dax inquires.
“I haven’t had a chance to do much exploring, but I will when it warms up. Sophie’s house is convenient, so I don’t have a harsh commute.”
The guys exchange looks, but it’s Dax who asks, “So, what’s the deal with you two?”
I cut a quick glance at Riggs, who appears to be listening with mild interest, but he actually asked me this earlier when I ran into him at the arena. He observed something about the way Sophie and I talk to each other that led him to believe I might have feelings.
And I couldn’t say he was wrong, so I admitted there might be something there.
But that’s Riggs, and I didn’t mind sharing that with him. While I fucking love these other guys to death, I don’t think I’m ready to share my feelings about Sophie with them yet. I don’t want to jinx anything, and I want to make sure there’s something really between us. I get vibes from her, but I also know she might just have a case of hero worship. I don’t want to get sucked down the wrong path if that’s all there is.
I can truthfully tell Dax, though, “She’s amazing. It’s become a blessing to reconnect with her. But right now, we’re just friends.”
“But there could be something—” Dax starts to press, but his eyes lift over my shoulder and he snaps his mouth shut.
I’m guessing Sophie is approaching.
She plops down beside me, beer in hand that almost sloshes over the top. Giggling, she curses her near mishap. “Shit. Better be careful.”
“Are you drunk?” I ask with a laugh.
Her grin is impish as she carefully sets her beer on the table. “Not drunk, but totally buzzed. And it’s all your friends’ fault. They keep buying me beer.”
“She’s had three,” someone says from behind us, and then Veronica bends forward to loop her arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “But I cut her off.”
“It’s true,” Sophie says, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. “This is my last one.”
The straight, silky hair makes her look so different from her usual golden curls. I almost didn’t recognize her when I first laid eyes on the new hairdo, and her makeup conceals the real Sophie.
Not that it’s bad at all.
She’s stunning tonight, and I’ve noticed the single guys on the team watching her.
Still, I reach out and playfully tug on a lock hanging over her shoulder. “I like your curls better.”
Sophie’s eyes light up, round with happiness. “Really? Because I love my curly hair better too. It’s a pain to straighten it out, so I rarely do it, and when I do, it just makes me look so… so…”
“Un-Sophie-like?” I guess.
“Boom,” she exclaims, holding out her fist. I tap mine against it, and she says, “Fist bump, blow it up.”
Everyone at the table laughs because Sophie is indeed quite tipsy, and it’s a fucking joy to see. She’s having fun, mingling, and putting herself out there. I’m no therapist, but this is important for her.
Just the ability to have fun again.
We stay for another hour while Sophie nurses her last beer and chases it with water. She’s not a hard partyer and knows her limits.
Still, when I insist it’s time to go since I have to be at the DA’s office early tomorrow, some of the alcohol she’s had manifests into sweet, dramatic claims of undying affection for her new girlfriends. And it’s not just Sophie. Veronica, Emory, and Jenna all hung out together most of the night, so there’re hugs, more hugs, promises to text all the time, looser promises to visit, and declarations that they’re all now best friends forever. There are extra hugs between Jenna and Sophie. They’ve apparently made all kinds of plans together once Jenna moves to Pittsburgh.
Sophie blows kisses to everyone as we make our way down to the first floor.
The stairs are easy enough, but I keep a light glide of my hand on the rail as we descend side by side.
At the bottom, I take Sophie’s hand and weave through the throng of Vengeance fans. We’re at the doors when a man yells, “Fucking Titans… a losing team.”
No doubt Sophie’s jersey spurred the slur, and ordinarily, I would blow it off because trash talk is part of any professional sports.
But these aren’t normal circumstances.
First and foremost, it’s Sophie that slur was directed toward, and rage burns hot with a need to protect and defend her.
I’d also be defending myself. Because I’m now a member of the Titans.
Most of all, circumstances are different because the Titans lost tonight not because they suck but because they’ve had their entire world ripped apart. I get trash talk, but when an entire team has been killed, it’s not cool.
“Who said that?” I yell at the top of my lungs, looking around at the people nearest to us. It was a male voice, and it was close by.
No one cops to it, but someone says, “Holy shit… that’s Baden Oulett.”
I’m furious that no one steps forward and accepts responsibility. A simple apology would resolve this.
“Who just yelled that about the Titans?” I call out, searching the crowd for a guilty face. Sophie squeezes my hand and leans into me, possibly to calm me down, but it’s not working. “Who’s man enough to come say that to my face? Since when did Vengeance fans become assholes? I fucking bled for this team, and I’m trying to help another team out, and you want to come at us with that shit?”
The silence is almost deafening as all talk among the patrons stops. I didn’t expect the douchebag to admit what he said, and he’s probably drunk. Knowing that I won’t get any satisfaction, I tug Sophie, and we push through the crowd and out the door.
“Sorry about that,” I apologize for my outburst. “I was an asshole.”
Sophie tucks her hand into the crook of my elbow and giggles. “You are most certainly not the asshole. But whoever said that… you sure put them in their place.”
I snicker, because it was kind of fun seeing all the stricken looks when they were reminded that civility goes a long way in the face of tragedy.
Sophie and I walk through the parking lot. When I got here, it was almost full, and I had to park my Escalade on the outskirts. It’s a beautiful evening, and I don’t hate that Sophie is still tucked in close to my side.
When we’re almost to where I parked, two men step out from between two cars, startling Sophie. They’re just patrons, heading into The Sneaky Saguaro, but she doesn’t recognize that. She recognizes potential danger in a parking lot and lets out a frightened yelp.
I hold her around the waist. “It’s okay. Those guys are just going inside the restaurant.”
My words settle Sophie and she curses under her breath, “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
I take her by the shoulders to turn her toward me. Her head is bowed and I demand that she give me her attention. “Look at me, Sophie.”
With obvious reluctance, she slowly lifts her eyes to mine.
Touching my knuckles under her chin so she can’t look away, I say, “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re working through trauma and how to deal with it. Rather than get down on yourself for that startling you, let’s celebrate the fucking amazing fact that you flew on a plane to Arizona and essentially returned to the place of your trauma. You’re doing great, Sophie. Give yourself a break.”