"What movie?"
"I knew you were going to ask that."
"Of course! You set me up for it."
I laugh at her exaggerated irritation. She's trying to look annoyed, but that smile on her face gives her away.
"You can't judge me."
"I'd never."
"The Breakfast Club."
She stops, whipping her head toward me, her jaw dropping.
"I said you can't judge me," I remind her.
"I'm not! I mean—were you even born when that came out?"
"You flatter me," I say with a smirk. “But no, it came out a few years before my life began. Caught it during a sleepover at a buddy's house. His older sister was having a slumber party movie night, and we crashed it.”
"Cute."
"Something like that."
"I have to know, why was that movie the one?"
"I understood it. I felt that it was written for me. Even though I was younger than the characters, the storytelling was so authentic. It was real life. I wanted to tell stories about real life so other kids like me felt seen, understood."
I don't tell her the rest of the story—how that night changed everything for me, why I went to NYU, why I ended up in LA.
I don't want to bring the mood down, so I keep the detailsabout my dad dying that same night to myself. I spent the evening watching teenage girls swoon over the story on the screen, believing love was the answer to all their problems. It reminded me of my parents—how in love they were, how unstoppable they seemed together. They were an unlikely duo from different parts of society, but with a connection like no other—and undeniably meant to be.
The next morning, I went home, and my world shattered. Love didn't save anyone. Love destroyed my family. It stole the strongest woman I knew and left her a shadow of herself. Love is not a risk worth taking. I'll pass.
"Where'd you go?" Sophia's voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
"Nowhere," I lie. "Just thinking how long ago that was."
"How old were you?"
"Eleven."
Her lips press into a frown, and her eyes soften.
"What?"
"I don't think I was even born yet."
"Jesus. Way to make me feel ancient," I joke, shaking off the heaviness.
"Will you be able to make it up this hill, old man?"
"Ha, ha. Just go."
I gesture for her to lead the way again, but it's a mistake. Watching her climb the incline in those shorts is like torture. Her thighs flex, smooth and endless, and I have to force myself to focus on anything else. With every step, they taunt and tease the possibility of seeing more.
I take a deep breath and send a message along with the blood that seems to rush to my dick to chill the fuck out. Thisis a professional work trip, for Christ's sake. I must have grunted out loud because Sophia turns to look over her shoulder and ask if I'm alright. No, Sophia, I'm popping a boner at the thought I might catch a glimpse of that perfect peach with every step up you take.
