Page 11 of Then There Was You
Not her first rodeo. “Like a pro,” I say. “You make it look easy.”
“I’ve opened a few bottles of champagne in my life.” Her tone is so matter-of-fact, like this is an everyday occurrence.
“To drink? It’s Bollinger. It won’t be missed?”
Setting the bottle of expensive champagne in front of me, she says, “Yes, of course, to drink. What do you think, I bathe in the stuff?” She shrugs. “It’s not a bad idea, but not on the agenda for tonight.”
“Next time.” I smirk.
She laughs. “Yes, next time. And no, it won’t be missed. It will be restocked before my dad even notices.”
I’m no champagne expert, but I feel like this bottle would be missed right away. But if she doesn’t care, I’m not going to. Let’s drink the good stuff.
“We should drink from proper glasses.” She hops onto the far counter, propping herself up to grab two crystal flutes by the stem, then lunges to land on her feet again.
“I could have gotten those down.”
Waving the flutes in front of her, she replies, “So could I. See?”
“Maybe I should call you champ?”
The glasses are set before me, and she asks, “Would that beshampor champ?”
I fill one glass and then the other. “I’m thinking champ.”
“I’ll give it a spin, though I don’t know if I feel like a champ.”
“You are in my eyes,Champ.”I set the bottle down, then chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t work at all.”
I lift the glass to hers before she takes a sip, the crystal producing a sharp note when they tap. “To . . .” I search for the words that fit the occasion. I’m pretty sure what I really want to say will only scare her away. What girl wants to hear about a guy catching feelings after only a few hours? I’m sure she prefers the bad-boy type.
I’ve pulled some outrageous stunts for kicks and done plenty of shit to survive, but I’ve also worked hard to leave that behind and make a better life for myself. Getting into university changed all that. My background—deadbeat dad and absent mom—paid off when it came to getting a free ride. A sinking feeling hits my gut. I would have chosen having parents in my life over that, but I had no say in the matter.
“To us,” she fills in where I left off, like it’s a foregone conclusion. Her eyes stay locked on mine as she takes a sip like this is something that happens all the time, like it’s a given that there is an us in the fucked-up equation. I’m not even sure howI ended up in her life. Or did she end up in mine? Whatever the universe had in mind, I’m glad to be a part of the plan.
I take a gulp, then another. I’ve not drunk a ton of bubbles like this, but it doesn’t taste any different from any prosecco I’ve had, which has been left over after parties. But what do I know? I’m most likely the first person in my family to drink champagne.
Dragging her hand along my abs when she passes, Sosie strides into the living room, sits in a chair, and spins to face the window. She props her feet up on the sill and sips her champagne, looking every bit the natural in this setting.
Effortlessly gorgeous with her hair tucked behind one ear. A shine that the champagne left behind on her lips. At ease in her own skin. The deep V of the fuzzy black sweater that covers her gives a peek at the top she’s wearing beneath. It’s the skin of her collarbone that I’m only given a glimpse of that tempts me to undress her.
Not liking the distance between us, I return to the window and sit on the wide ledge of the windowsill, more interested in the view of her than New York City. She’s brighter and more vibrant to look at. Stretching out my legs, I take another sip, watching her over the lip of the glass. When I lower it, her eyes still stare ahead as if she doesn’t mind me admiring her for so long. I say, “Nice place.” I’m not sure if calling a place her dad owns as an escape from his family “nice” is appropriate, but the apartment didn’t choose this life.
The smile she’s been wearing most of the night has settled into a straight line as if unwanted thoughts are getting the better of her. Her eyes slide to mine. “It’s where my dad brings his girlfriends.” His preclusions might have been a battle she once fought, but judging by the resolve in her tone, she gave up on that fight. It’s not her job to fix her dad’s mess anyway. I learned that lesson the hard way.
We hold eye contact long enough for one of us to chicken out and look away, but neither of us does. I do blink first, though. “I’m sorry.”
She takes another sip, not leaving much left in the glass, and asks, “Why would you be sorry?”
“Because at some point, you found out your dad is an asshole. Sucks when a kid has that realization dropped in their lap.” I finish my drink, needing to drown the memories threatening to reach the surface of my present-day life.
Lowering her boots to the floor, she sits forward, bringing her closer to me. Not close enough for my liking. A half-hearted smile crosses her lips. “I can handle him cheating, but someone feeling sorry for me is the worst.” It is the worst, and that’s not how I want her to feel when she’s with me.
“C’mere.”
She stands, setting her glass down before easing between my legs and resting her arm over my shoulder. Her smile returns when she looks at me.
Never thought I’d be given the opportunity to stare at the sun without getting burned. But look at me now, basking in her sunshine. I rest my hand on her hip, sliding it higher under the hem of the sweater, but stop at her waist to give a little squeeze and evoke a softer laugh.
