“You’re engaged?” Sophie asks, grabbing her hand and inspecting the ring.
“We kind of did things a little backward,” Owen says sheepishly, holding out his hand to shake mine. “Good to see you again, Liam.”
“Perfect for us,” Liv corrects. “Pretending to be engaged was exactly what we needed to figure out we wanted it to be real.”
“Yeah, I have to listen to howrealit is every night,” Andy says, making a gesture with her hands I haven’t seen since middle school, but everyone else seems to be used to her antics and ignores her.
Before I can suggest we find our own table, Sophie settles in by Liv. Leaving me to take the seat next to Andy, who greets me with a wink.
“I met Sophie,” Liv explains to Owen, “when Cal invited Andy and me to her gallery exhibition here in the City, what? Almost three years ago?”
Sophie nods, tight-lipped.
“Three years ago?” Owen asks. “That’s impressive for someone so young.”
“That wasn’t even her first one,” Andy supplies. “Sophie is an art prodigy.”
“Cal likes to blow things out of proportion.” Sophie takes a casual sip of her beer, but I’m confused. Sophieisan art prodigy. She was taking college-level art classes in middle school, and her parents had a framed ink drawing of hers that looked like a photograph—one she’d done when she was six. Even if she hasn’t painted in a while, that doesn’t change her skill.
“What kind of art?” Owen asks, taking a sip of his own drink.
“Large-scale abstracts as a visual interpretation of emotional memory,” Sophie answers, but her voice has lost all its warmth. She sounds like a robot repeating a well-rehearsed speech.
“Huh,” Owen muses, “Sounds interesting.”
No, it sounds like bullshit. Sophie is so much more than a cliché academic stereotype.
Liv swipes through her phone before handing it over to Owen. “This is her work.”
Sophie’s eyes flick towards the door like she wants to escape. I try to catch her eye to let her know I’m ready to bolt with her if she gives the word.
“Wow, these are really striking,” Owen says, scrolling through the photos. He looks up at Sophie. “I might know someone who’d be interested in commissioning somethinglike this—my client, Senator Langford, is furnishing her DC apartment.”
Sophie shifts in her seat. “I mean, I’m not really…I haven’t been taking on new work lately.” She takes a sip of her beer.
“Just thought I’d mention it,” Owen says. “She’s got great taste and a good budget for the right piece.”
Sophie nods noncommittally. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.”
Her posture shifts, slumping forward a little, as she picks at the label of her beer. The light in her eyes has dimmed. Owen scrolls through the photos on Liv’s phone, tossing out comments about his client’s taste for high-end abstract art. I don’t know why his praise rattles her, but I want to reach across the table and reassure her. Instead, I fist my hands in my lap.
“How is your brother?” Liv asks, seemingly not noticing Sophie’s shift in demeanor. “Have either of you heard from him since he left?”
Cal still doesn’t know Sophie is living in his apartment, much less with me, and I’m not sure how he’ll react when he finds out. Or maybe I do.
“Oh, you know Cal,” Sophie says with a shrug. “Radio silence for weeks, then suddenly he’ll FaceTime, and you better be available. Everything’s on his terms.”
“Older siblings,” Liv laughs. “We’ve got them too,” she gestures between her and Owen. “Same controlling energy, just without the humanitarian mission. What about you, Liam?”
“Just me,” I say, tipping my beer. “My mom said I was all she could handle. That’s why I practically lived at Cal and Sophie’s growing up.”
“Cal mentioned you’re a big-time ballplayer?” Owen says.
Sophie’s eyes snap to mine. “Liam was a high school All-American, and no one’s beaten his home run record at our high school to this day,” she starts, not looking away. “He played varsity all four years, got recruited by a bunch of topD1 programs, he hit over .300 in college, and got drafted after his junior year—third round. And he can still gun a runner out at home from the outfield.”
I can hardly swallow. I won’t lie, listening to Sophie list off my stats makes my dick hard, but it also makes my insides flip a little, and that’s a feeling I’m less accustomed to.
Sophie finally breaks our gaze, turning to Owen. “So, yeah, he’s a ballplayer, not an exaggeration.”
