Why had I tried to duck out on Sophie when I knew, deep down, I couldn’t? My heart was like a freaking barnacle, clinging on, refusing to budge even after the rejection, the years of separation. But if I were honest with myself, I hadn’t stepped away because any part of me didn’t want Sophie. It was because when I was completely honest with myself, I thought she’d be better off without me.
She needed someone like that Theo, born with millions and multiplying them into more. He’d take her out on yachts and fly her all over the world and give her access to the best things in life. He’d give her what she was accustomed to, what she might not even realize she’d one day miss. From my experience, wealthy people didn’t see all the invisible comforts and privileges that surrounded them. Sophie might enjoy playing at living in a small, empty apartment over her dance studio. But she wouldn’t want to still be living there ten years from now.
At 35 she’d want to be a wife and mother, content in her nest, fussing over the little things that grew to giant importance as a parent. Teething. Naptimes. Getting kids to eat their vegetables. I’d seen it in the guys I worked with, that seemingly overnight metamorphosis from laid-back single dudes who thought about video games, pizza and pussy usually in the reverse order, to stressed-out dads having long conversations with other dads about whether pacifiers promoted independence and self-soothing or encouraged reliance on an external stimuli for comfort, setting children up on a dangerous path that clearly led to hard drugs and prison time.
In the abstract, that was everything I wanted. The kids, the family, the wife. Who would be more perfect than Sophie to come home to every day? But in reality, I didn’t know if I was that guy. Look what I’d done to her already? I’d made her touch herself on the phone. Then I’d made her do it again, showing me in person. Then I’d tied her up and finger-fucked her ass, all while making her tell me she loved it.
I wasn’t a good guy. Deep down, I had darkness flowing through my veins. I didn’t know if I’d inherited it from my father, or just grown that way in a household where you never knew when things would get ugly. Whatever the source, I wasn’t Mr. Sunday Barbeque, no matter what people thought of me. And if I kept after Sophie, I’d drag her down with me.
I’d rip her apart. I wanted to sink my teeth into her and make her beg for more. She stoked the beast within me, making it rear up and want to strike. From the glimpse I got, she liked pain. She liked me in control. That opened up a whole world and I didn’t know when either of us would come up for air if we went down into it. Or if I’d let her. I’d told her to say stop and I’d stop. Thank God she’d never said it because I’d never felt less able to stop. And we’d barely been doing anything.
If I really cared about her—and sitting out alone in the dark with the waves crashing below my feet, I knew I did—I’d walk away.
* * *
§
* * *
The next morning I reported for my shift down at the station. The thing about working as a firefighter was a lot of it was down time. You never knew when the alarm would sound, and when it did you had to be ready for anything. But long hours passed every shift with nothing at all happening. That’s why we all got so tight, we all basically lived together at the station house. We all cooked together, too. It was my night to make chili. My secret ingredient was beer. Not that secret, I know, but I didn’t hear anyone complaining.
I worked out, watched some TV, made my chili. And I felt like an ass about how I’d handled things with Sophie. It was eating away at me. There had to be some middle ground between tying her up and finger fucking her and no contact at all. I decided to go for the friend zone.
* * *
Liam: Hope you had a good time last night.
* * *
No response. I cursed myself. I was used to dealing in silly flirtations with girls, exchanging texts and banter we both knew meant nothing. I was used to over-the-top come-ons and sexy selfies. But I’d been a dick and Sophie clearly wasn’t interested in my lame attempt at an olive branch.
* * *
Liam: I’m sorry I bailed on you. I’m working tonight. Can I see you tomorrow?
* * *
Sophie: Not sure. I have Eloise sleeping over tonight and we’ve got plans tomorrow.
* * *
Liam: That’s cool! What are you two going to do?
* * *
No text back. Damn it. She was pissed and not going to interact with me on other subjects until I addressed the main one. Being a grown up sucked.
* * *
Liam: How about if I come over late afternoon? Or could I take you out to dinner?
* * *
Sophie: You can come over around 4.
* * *
Liam: Cool, see you then.
* * *
Why had I just asked her out to dinner? What was wrong with me? Well, I’d try for more restraint when I saw her in person. Texting was just too easy. There was something unreal about your fingers flying over the keys, the quick and easy click. In person I’d have to remember this couldn’t go anywhere. I’d apologize and try to make a decent exit, setting her free to be with the type of man she belonged with.
I showed up at her house at four o’clock sharp. If I’d been any more eager I would have been wearing a rented prom tux and holding a corsage in my shaking hand.
“Hey.” I stepped in when she opened the door, every fiber of my being yearning to wrap her in my arms.
“Hey.” She closed the door and walked over into the center of the room, her arms folded across her chest. No hug. I was in the dog house.
“How’s the flooring?” I asked.
“Fine. Are you here to work on it?”
“No, I just wondered if Rob did a good job.”
“I have no idea, really. It looks fine.”
I walked over and took a look. Rob hadn’t done much, but what he had done looked solid. “Looks good.”
She stood there, not giving me anything.
“Look, I’m sorry I, ah…” I took off my baseball cap and scratched my hair. Maybe that would stimulate my brain to say the right thing. “You want to go sit down upstairs?”
“Nope.”
OK, that hadn’t been the right thing to say. She saw right through me anyway. She knew that I knew that the only place to sit upstairs was the bed.
“I don’t know what to say, Sophie.” I put the cap back on my head. “I don’t really know…” I exhaled, surprising even myself at my inability to articulate thoughts. “I’m not… And you’re...” I gestured at her lamely, as if that might be enough to communicate the wide gulf that existed and should always exist between us. The problem with looking at her and standing so close was that she looked good enough to eat in a white tank top and short shorts. I looked away, shaking my sorry excuse for a head. “This is confusing,” I summed it up.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m confused, too.”
“Can I take you to dinner?” I tried a half smile. Maybe she’d take pity on me.
“That depends.” She surveyed me, still cool.
“On what?”
“On whether you’re planning on running away again. Or if it’s even a possibility that you might.”
“I didn’t run away.” My stupid protest hung there, seeming to even make fun of itself.
“You did,” she stated evenly. “After all that…” She gestured upstairs. “After that went down, I didn’t hear anything from you.”
“Well, I did text you.” I should just stop talking.
“Yeah, to tell me you were busy and not coming to help with the flooring. That’s bullshit.”
“Maybe I’m trying to do the right thing.” I held my hands up in surrender.
“And what is the right thing, exactly?”
I tugged at the brim of my baseball cap, looking down at the floorboards. Replacing flooring, that was something I could do well. Assessing the damage, taking out the old, putting in the new plumb and true. That I could handle no problem. Thi
s thing with Sophie? What the fuck.