Sophie has been in my life long enough to know exactly where my weak spots are and exactly how to step on them.
She also looks like she could ruin a man’s life with a smile and a sentence.
“Hi, Soph,” I say dryly.
Sophie lifts her brows. “Hi, Limp Bizkit.”
“Babe.” Beck groans. “I told you to be nice.”
I glare. “Don’t call me that.”
“You’re limping,” she points out. “And you’re being dramatic. It fits.”
Beck mutters, “I hate both of you,” and takes a sip like he’s trying to survive us.
“Liar. You love us.” Sophie’s gaze cuts back toward the yard. “Is that her?”
“Yes,” Beck and I say at the same time.
Sophie hums. “Okay. So you’re doing the thing.”
I narrow my eyes. “What thing?”
“The ‘I’m going to stand here and suffer in silence like it makes me noble’ thing,” she replies. “It’s a favorite of your species.”
“It’s not noble,” I bite. “It’s?—”
“Fear,” she finishes for me instantly. “Yeah. I know.”
My chest tightens.
Sophie’s eyes flick to my face. Softer, just for a second. “What did you say to her back then?”
Beck answers before I can, “He told her that no one wants a desperate girl.”
Sophie’s expression changes.
Not shocked, Sophie doesn’t shock easily, but something sharp slides into place, like she’s suddenly furious on Sloane’s behalf.
“Ouch,” she says quietly.
I swallow hard. “I know.”
Sophie studies me for a beat. “And you’ve just…let her carry that?”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not proud of it.”
“No kidding,” she says. Then she points toward the yard. “Go.”
My stomach drops. “Sophie?—”
“Go,” she repeats, firmer. “Not to start a fight. Not to pull some possessive caveman shit either. Go apologize.”
Beck nods beside her. “She’s right, man.”
I glare at both of them. “You two are ganging up on me.”
Sophie smiles, all teeth. “Correct.”
