Page 8 of Eight Weeks
Not good at all. Everyone knows that.
Archer might have a pretty face. And yes, he does get some attention for his face and body but the second he opens his mouth… it’s over.
He’s unapproachable, hard to crack. At least that is what he told his football friends who spread said rumor. But he isn’t. Not in the slightest.
“Working out just fine.”
Sofia laughs right into his face, brushing her hair back behind her shoulders. “So that’s why you’re sitting all alone at this table, huh?”
I stand corrected, Sofiahaschanged. A whole lot. But I’m not sure I like that very much. She’s no longer the innocent girl that backs away from loud noises. She’s no longer the Sofia I knew. But I bet she thinks the very same about me.
I’ve changed too. That’s what happens when you grow up.
On second thought, maybe the mouthy Sofia could be an adventure.
“Where do you know her from anyway?” Miles’s voice makes it through to me. I turn my head only to find him take a sip from his beer.
“Why would you think I know her?”
“Alright, I think you’ve had enough alcohol, Marsh,” he says, pushing my glass filled with some kind of mix over to Grey. Honestly, I barely even remember what I’ve ordered. “I asked if she was new in the city, you gave me an answer. Oh, and she’s on her way over here.”
Just as the words leave my best friend’s mouth, Sofia approaches us. “Aaron?”
Looking away from Miles, I turn to look at Sofia, meeting her eyes dark eyes. “Be my guest, Sofia. Take a seat.” I gesture toward the only other free seat at out booth.
Thanks to Lily and Colin leaving early, we have some extra space here. Naturally, a booth doesn’t sit up to twenty-five people, so the team kind of spread all around the bar, but it doesn’t matter. I’m with my closest friends, and their companies.
Sofia looks at Grey, smiles widely then takes a seat next to him, right across from me. “I know it’s after midnight already, but… happy birthday, Aaron.”
“Thanks, Icicle.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Sofia lays her hands down on the table, interlocking them. I reach over, placing my hand right over hers. The cold instantly travels over on to my skin. “You’re still as cold as one.” Withdrawing my hand from hers again, I now lean back in my seat, holding my hands by my nape.
She glares at me. Clearly, she doesn’t like hearing her nickname again, but that’s just why I call her that, why I’ve always called her that. Sofia has hated the nickname from the second I came up with it, and the scowl on her face has always been a great reason for me to keep on calling her “Icicle”.
“Whatever,Nix.” Sofia grabs the glass Miles pushed away from me two minutes ago and takes a sip. “What kind of girly drink is this?”
If I had to guess, about everyone at this table is currently looking at Sofia with more than three question marks above their heads. I know for sure I didn’t order some “girly drink”, whatever that may be. “It’s Vodka Cran.”
Sofia shakes her head. “It’s Cranberry, that’s what it is. Maybe one percent vodka, or half a percent.”
“Yeah? How are you the alcohol expert here?” Grey asks, offering Sofia a smug smile. That’s so not like Grey. Grey is quiet and sweet. He’s not challenging or smug. Guess alcohol doesn’t do him any good.
“I haven’t introduced myself properly yet,” Sofia says then turns to look at Grey. She holds out her hand, waiting for him to take it. “I’m Sofia. I spent my entire teenage years in Germany. Our legal drinking age is eighteen. Beer and wine, however, that’s legal at the age of sixteen. But if you live in a small town or even better, a village, chances are, you start drinking at the age of twelve.”
Grey shakes her hand, bobbing his head with a down-ward smile like he’s impressed.
“Germany?” Miles blurts out like he wasn’t expecting that at all. “You don’t even have an accent.”
“That’s because I was born here. My parents are both from New York City, though I lived right here until I was seven years old. That’s where I know this dwarf here from.” She points her finger at me, then instantly gets up. “Let me show you whatrealdrinks are.”
“If you down this, I’ll pay for all of your drinks,” I say, pushing thePrairie Firetoward Sofia.
My head is spinning from all the shit I’ve downed thanks to Sofia. There is no way in hell that I wouldeverdrink a shot made of vodka, whiskey, andtabasco, and let’s not forget the pepper taste. Nope. Not going to happen.
What started off as a bet who dares to drink the weirdest shot mixtures is now a wish to die. Clearly. And I do not have one of those. However, I will if I have to drinkthatthing.
