SOPHIE BROOKS:
Party, hook-up, hangover, repeat.
I don't do rules, responsibility, or monogamy.
So when the chance to sleep with the hottest Olympian swimmer in the country presents itself, you can be damn sure I take it.
And sneak out before he wa...
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I watch as she saunters away, her hips swinging in a way that, paired with the tight skirt, is causing her ass to do dangerous things to my downstairs area.
I can practically feel Davis's eyes on me. They've been alight with curiosity ever since she appeared at our table. I didn't exactly tell him about meeting the nameless beauty last week.
Although, she's not nameless anymore. Sophie Brooks. I don't know if she noticed her boss letting that information slip, but it has lodged itself into a safe space in my brain.
I know her name and place of employment, and I'm guessing that's two more things than she was planning on telling me. But there's no taking it back now.
When her colleague brings us the bill, I have to keep from chuckling. Her big, dark eyes are completely round as she hands it over to us. She's young, probably around Saltz's age, and she keeps toying with the edges of her pink hijab. When Saltz winks at her, she dissolves into giggles.
Before she can leave, I ask her where I might find Miss Brooks, and her eyes widen even more as she tells me to follow her. She leaves me in a hallway, disappearing around a corner, and not long after, Sophie appears in front of me.
I'm guessing her colleague warned her who was waiting because a smirk is playing at the corner of her lips as she stops a few feet from me.
"What can I help you with?" she asks, coking her head a bit.
"Oh, I don't know, Sophie." I raise a brow at her as her eyes narrow in a playful way.
"You weren't supposed to hear that." There's no bite to her words, though. On the contrary, she seems to enjoy this.
I take a step closer, looking down at her. Even in her heels, I'm still taller than her.
"I want to see you again," I whisper, staring into her dark, onyx eyes, just as secretive as last time. I don't need anyone to tell me this is dumb; I know, I just don't give a shit.
"Seeing how we live in the same city, and you now know where I work, I'm thinking the statistical probability of that happening is pretty high," she answers like she's reading from a dictionary, seemingly unaffected. Still, she moves an inch closer, batting those long eyelashes at me slowly.
I tug one of the few loose curls framing her face behind her ear, my fingers lingering. "Can I take you on a date?"
"No."
I instantly remove my hand, taking a step back. "No?" I must have read this completely wrong. I thought she was flirting with me, but maybe she was just being polite. We are at her place of work. I rub a hand against the back of my neck, feeling the remorse creep in. Shit, I probably made her uncomfortable.
She watches me, calculatingly, her tongue running over her top lip in a really distracting maneuver when I'm trying to stop being a creep.
