I settled on saying the one thing I knew was true. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Fine.” She put her hands up as if to push me away. “Why don’t you get out then. It’s not a problem.”
“Sophie, that’s not what I mean.”
“You’re driving me crazy.” Her voice rose, her hands on her hips.
“You think you’re the only one?” I grabbed her, wrapping her in my arms, crushing her against my chest as I leaned her into a deep kiss. I wanted to devour her, the taste of her so sweet. Her initial resistance melted into hunger, her hands digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer. The sounds she made deep in her throat, the feel of her curves against my muscles, both of us grew breathless. I stood her up again, settling her on her own two feet. I kept my arm around her waist until I could feel her get steady, her eyes opening fully once again.
She shook her head as if trying to clear it of brain fog. Then she took a step away. Even the smallest distance between us felt like too much. I clenched my hands at my sides to stop myself from reaching out again.
“See, that?” Her hand trembled as she brought it to her hair, trying to smooth it out from where I’d run my hand through. “That’s confusing.”
I nodded in complete agreement. I hadn’t even meant to do it.
“Maybe, could we try to just have a normal conversation?”
“A normal conversation?” I repeated, still trying to clear my own head. It was hard standing that close to her. She affected me like a drug.
“Like, how have you been for the last seven years?” She threw up her hands in exasperation, starting to pace the room. “What have you been up to? Remember the last time I saw you seven years ago when I was crying so hard I couldn’t talk?” She stopped and faced me. “Or would you rather pretend none of that ever happened?”
I exhaled. Women were tough, with all their talking and emotions. Look at Jax, I hadn’t seen him in a couple years and he didn’t give me the third degree when he saw me. Then again, I didn’t lie awake all night thinking about Jax.
“Let’s have dinner,” I tried again.
“And we’ll have an actual conversation?”
“I’ll do my best, Sophie.”
She popped upstairs, telling me to wait down there for her like she didn’t trust me. She was right. I’d probably follow her into the bedroom and see how far I could push her, what limits we could discover and pass through.
She came down wearing the same tank and shorts but carrying a sweater for later if it got chilly. I liked that she hadn’t changed. I enjoyed those dresses she wore, of course, but really I liked her any old way I could get her. That was just how it was with Sophie.
I took her to a casual place with fresh fish and outdoor seating. I knew a guy on the waitstaff and he hooked us up with a good table in the corner, right next to the ocean under little white lights. The sun set behind Sophie and I swear she almost glowed as she talked. Hands-down, no question, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
“When did you become a firefighter?” she asked, dipping her fried cod into some vinegar.
“A couple years ago.” Last she’d known, I’d been on the list. I’d gotten my name on there the day I’d turned 19. The summer we’d spent together I’d already passed the written and physical tests. “I got my EMT certification and did that for a while plus construction and carpentry. Then, when my father died.” I shrugged, pushing around my French fries. “I guess some people would call it bending the rules.”
“But they knew you’d be good at it,” she defended me.
“And a spot opened up.”
“How did he die?” she asked in a more hesitant voice. She was one of a small handful of people who knew he’d had a violent streak. Everyone knew him as a big man and a big drinker, but he’d saved the best for his wife and sons. In my limited experience with women before Sophie, it had been easy to explain away any bruises, cuts or scars. But Sophie hadn’t bought any of it. She knew me too well, right from the start. I wasn’t clumsy and I wasn’t the type of hotheaded guy who went out to bars and got into fights.
I’d told her, one of those nights we’d stayed out together until the sun rose. She’d had the perfect reaction. She’d held and kissed me, not even saying a word for some time, just letting her physical presence comfort my physical wounds. And then she’d told me she loved me.
I took a sip of my beer and cleared my throat, trying to also clear the memories swirling around thick and fast in my head.
“He had a massive heart attack,” I explained, remembering the call I’d gotten in the middle of the night. “He stood up out of bed, clutched his chest, fell to the ground and that was that. They couldn’t revive him.”
I’d been the first responder, a trained EMT. I swear I’d tried with all my might, my mother crying by my side. By the time the ambulance arrived I’d known he was gone for good.
“I’m so sorry.” Sophie reached out and touched my hand. My attention riveted to our point of contact. She withdrew as if she’d felt an electric shock.
“Thanks. It’s strange with him gone. I still think about how he’s going to react to things, and then remember.” I ate a French fry, sipped my beer. “I hate to say it, but I do think Mom’s better with him gone.”
“She’s lucky to have you looking after her.” Affection shone from her eyes. “I’m sure it makes a huge difference to her.”
“OK, so I’ve been telling you all about how I became a firefighter. Now you tell me about why you left professional ballet.”
With eloquence I could never hope to achieve myself, she told me about the exhausting competition and back-stabbing, the relentless pressure to achieve perfection, the constant sense that even her gut-wrenching best wasn’t quite good enough.
“And French fries!” she added with gusto, picking up two, dipping them generously in ketchup. “I couldn’t eat French fries, or ice cream, or pizza. I was hungry all the time.”
“How did you dance for hours each day when you were hungry?” I couldn’t stand feeling hungry, never mind working out like that.
“You get used to it.” She shook her head. “But I’m done with that. I’m not saying there weren’t some amazing moments, some performances I’ll always remember. My dance partner Geoffrey was amazing. But leaving it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
The statement made me think of another decision she’d made, when she’d told me she didn’t think it was a good idea for me to come to New York with her after all. Actually, she thought we should break up. She’d raised the subject earlier that day. Maybe it was time to ask her what she thought now, seven years later.
“Wazzup, brother!” A hard-partying friend of mine came over with a zealous back slap and high five. “Where you been? No party on the Fourth this year?” He gave me a look like he was deeply disappointed in me. But then he saw Sophie. “And who do we have here?” He reached over, picked up her hand and gave it a kiss.
“I have Sophie here with me.” I took her hand out of his and held it in mine, giving him all the universal signs of “back the fuck off.”
“I get it. I get it.” He took a step away, hands up like a cop had told him to freeze. “You two have a good night.” He stumbled off to whatever friends he’d come with.
The moment lost, we finished our meals and got ourselves ice creams, chatting about Naugatuck, our families, friends, her studio. It all flowed naturally and easily, as it had once before with Sophie.
As I drove her home, I had to ask, “So, how’d I do? Did we have a normal conversation?”
She laughed. “I’d say we both did pretty well, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“You know.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking shy. She was such a nice girl, so sweet and thoughtful. What the hell was I doing messing around with her? I should be with some girl I couldn’t hurt doing stuff we’d both forget about soon after.
/>
“Thank you for a lovely night,” she said as I pulled up in front of her place. Then she added shyly, “Do you want to come up?”
Hell, yeah, I did. But instead I said, “I don’t think I should.”
She physically recoiled, hurt by my response. “Why not?”
“I’m trying to do what’s right here, Sophie.” The car in park, I turned to her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t want to hurt me.” She repeated it woodenly, as if I already had.
“Sophie, I’m not the kind of guy you should be with.”
“And what kind of guy is that?” It sounded like she was getting pissed.
I had to make her understand. I wasn’t trying to blow her off. I was trying to do the right thing. “You know, a nice guy who’s going to treat you right. Be good to you.
“Are you planning on being a dick?”
I exhaled, rubbing my eyes. This wasn’t going well. “You should be with someone different. More steady and normal. I’m all extremes.”
“Why does everyone always insist on telling me what I need?” Now she sounded even more angry. “You don’t know what I want. Who I really am. I’m only finding out myself.”
With that, she leaped over onto my lap, straddling me in the darkness of the truck. She pressed up into my body, grinding against me, grasping my shoulders and biceps. I couldn’t resist when she reached up, ran her fingers through my hair, tugging on it and kissing me with wild abandon. Kissing her back, tongues searching, intertwining, we moved together as she rocked against me, moaning. My hands on her hips, I guided her exactly where I wanted her, where my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans could press directly into her molten core. Her eyes rolled back in her head as I brought her down right onto me, the friction so good, again and again.