Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Picking my way through the fringe of people standing in front of her platformed section, I move in her direction carefully, hoping to get a better idea of what’s really going on before I jump to conclusions. As I get closer and the music threads lower between songs, I overhear him ask, “C’mon, honey, let me at least buy you a drink.”
Sophie offers a conciliatory smile but also shakes her head at the dude who looks like he just left a fucking frat party. I’m honestly surprised the bouncers even let him in here. I mean, he just oozes douchebag.
On what planet does this guy even think he stands a chance with a woman like Sophie? The situation is the epitome of him trying to play out of his league.
“What about a dance, honey?” he pesters as I climb up the steps in front of them, ready to intervene on her behalf, but Sophie responds before I can open my mouth.
“I would love to, but my parole officer gave me explicit instructions that the judge said I can’t do that.”
The dude’s face scrunches up like he just ate a piece of bad fish. “Parole officer?”
“Yeah. Truthfully, my court order even says that I’m not supposed to be here since it’s within four miles of the guy’s apartment.” Sophie’s smile turns conspiratorial as she leans in a little closer to add, “But you won’t tell on me, right? I just finished up a three-year stint at Bedford Hills, and there is no way I want to go back there. I’m sure you can understand why.”
Bedford Hills is a women’s-only correctional facility that most New Yorkers know about because it’s where Amy Fisher did her time after she shot Joey Buttafuoco’s wife.
Basically, there is no fucking way Sophie Sage spent three years there. But the fact that she’s pretending to be a secret, undercover felon in the name of making this guy leave her alone amuses the hell out of me. I’m going to have to thank Ki-Ki for the smooth, understated vibe of this song she’s playing now, because normally, there’s no way I would’ve been able to make out what they were saying at all.
“Uh…Y-yeah. Of course…” The dude pauses and swallows hard around a mouthful of shock as his eyes dart around the nightclub. In mere seconds, his face has morphed from douchey and flirtatious to a man who fears the woman beside him is going to pull a shiv out of her purse and stab him in the dick.
“Oh shit!” he shouts far too loudly and holds his hand up to his ear like he’s actually hearing something from the other side of the club. “I-I think my buddy is yelling for me. Yep. That’s him. Definitely him. I…uh…better go see if…he’s okay…yeah…I should do that…uh…bye.”
Like a sprinter out of the gate after the gunshot, he’s off the couch, gliding past me with a whoosh, and heading straight for the dance floor. I track his momentum over my shoulder to steal a final glance of his warp-speed departure, and man, it’s worth it. Like a pinball in an active machine, he bumps into several people as he tries to put as much distance between himself and Sophie and her prison stories as quickly as humanly possible.
It’s comedy in its purest form and a situation I could spend a good ten minutes laughing about—if it weren’t for the woman on the couch. When I turn back toward her, she’s staring at me with wide, tumultuous emerald eyes.
I grin down at her and scoot past the low-set table between us to settle a small kiss on the apple of her cheek. Her whole body shivers as I put my warm palm to the opposite side of her throat and whisper softly into her ear. “Hello, Sophie. Fancy seeing you here tonight.”
“Uh…hey, Jude,” she greets quietly, her voice shaking slightly with something I can’t fully discern.
Satisfaction? Surprise? Nervousness?
I don’t know. But I’m undeniably glad to see her and get the chance to find out. Taking a seat next to her, I skim my hand over the top of her bare knee and cross my ankle over my own, stretching an arm across the back of the sofa behind her. Her body turns toward mine subtly, and my grin kicks up a notch or two.
“Parole officer? Court order? And a three-year stint in the slammer?” I repeat her earlier words, and a little laugh jumps from her throat.
“I take it I’ve been caught red-handed in the middle of my web of lies, huh?”
I nod. “Where in the hell did you come up with that shit?”
“Truthfully? I’m not quite sure.” She shrugs one bare shoulder. “Lifetime movie. Dateline. Too many Netflix crime documentaries. Any of those could be to blame for my depravity.”
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not the first time you’ve done something like that to scare off a man’s unwanted advances?”