“He totally is. I know you have history, but don’t let him bother you. He can be overbearing and protective of me. I appreciate it, but it can become a bit much sometimes.”
I leave him on read just to mess with him.
As we walk to the car, she looks over at me like she wants to ask me more about our history.
“He’s not bothering me. And I know you want to ask. Go ahead.”
When we get into the car, she fires off about twenty questions in one breath: “How did you meet? Was it love at first sight? How long were you together? Why did you break up?”
It’s that last one that sticks with me.
“The short version is he was dating my friend Holly and, when they broke up, we sort of started dating. And then he started dating her again but failed to let me know.”
“He didn’t,” she whispers.
“Yeah, I found out when she told me they were going to prom together.”
I spare her the details of him taking my virginity.
I confess to her that we did finally talk about it the other night and that he explained how her dad and Holly’s parents concocted the reunion. She tells me that what they did was bullshit, upset with her parents in my defense, but I tell her I understand what it’s like to want to please your parents.
“I vaguely remember some of this,” she says. “Not the details, but I remember Wyatt was so angry when we were moving him into UCLA. He refused to talk to our dad the entire summer. I’m not even sure when they started talking again. Just one day, he was over it, I guess.”
I want to ask her more questions about Wyatt. Did he mention me or seem sad? I push down my curiosity and tell her it was just young love. I’m glad Wyatt told me what happened, but it was all so long ago. I’m just glad we can be friends.
“You know, this sounds like the start of a Hollywood rom-com. Maybe we pitch this to Grant next year,” she says with a glint of hope in her eye.
I laugh at Sophia’s romantic idealism and try to tell her that the ending would make it a tragedy, but she looks directly at me and says, “The story isn’t over. I just know it.”
I swallow hard and don’t say a word because something deep down wants her to be right.
twenty-one
. . .
WYATT
Blair leftme on read on purpose. She knows what she’s doing. I can’t focus on anything at work right now, so I decide to head over to Sophia’s house. I’m curious if she’s met with Blair again about representing her.
When I pull up to Sophia’s place, there’s a car I don’t recognize in the driveway. I knock instead of using my key so that I don’t walk into something I’m not prepared to see.
When Sophia opens the door, she gives me an enormous hug, and I squeeze her back. There is nothing better in this world than hugs from my sister.
“We were just talking about you!” she tells me as she steps back to welcome me inside.
“Who’s we?” I ask, and then Blair walks around the corner.
My heart beats wildly, and I immediately scan her body. She’s so beautiful that it takes my breath away. She’s wearing cream-colored pants that are cropped at the ankle, showing off another pair of Louboutin heels. They’re not as tall this time, but they are still incredibly sexy on her. I immediately wonder what she looks like in nothing but those heels.
My eyes continue up her body, coming to rest on a silky beige top that crosses and drapes along her breasts in a way that makes them the star of the show. All I want to do is put my mouth on those breasts. They would perfectly fill my hands. They look like they are still real, which is rare around here. As my eyes finish the journey up her body, I catch her glaring at me.
Busted.
She’s smirking with her eyes slightly squinted, like she’s suspicious of why I’m here. I swear I didn’t know she would be here.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her.
“We had lunch with Grant Hall!” my sister says, twirling once. As she heads into the kitchen, she asks us what we want to drink.
