Games of Fire (46 page)

Spencer came instantly awake. He jerked upright, hands balled, prepared to take on whatever threat was near. His sharp actions had Sophie bolting upright, reaching for him even as her mind raced to put logic to what was happening.

“Mom?” Her voice croaked, scratchy from sleep.

Her mother stood next to Jackie, both looming over the pair on the bed, neither looking happy.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” her mother demanded in a low hiss.

Confused, Sophie glanced down at the blankets cocooning her. “I was.”

“
Your
bed!” her mother exclaimed. “Get up.”

Not wanting to, not wanting to leave Spencer’s protective shield, but seeing no choice, Sophie untangled herself from him. He exhaled, ruffling a hand roughly through his hair. The single sound echoed with frustration, with annoyance and disappointment. Sophie gave him and the warm bed a last longing look before she was marched into her room and sent to bed with a stern warning for a long talk in the morning.

Sophie opened her eyes the next morning feeling like she wanted to rip the head off the next person who spoke to her. All night, she’d tossed and turned on a bed that never seemed to get warm enough, on a mattress that was like lying on hard concrete and waking up reaching for something that wasn’t there. She was sure it was all in her head, but that only further aggravated her already grumpy state. What was worse, her father was giving her death glares over breakfast that could make a lion bolt for cover.

“We have to talk about last night,” her mother began, making Sophie glare at her for bringing up the elephant in the room.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” she said evenly, trying to put as much finality into the words as possible.

Her parents weren’t buying it.

“You don’t think so?” her father said in an almost mocking tone. “From where I’m sitting, I think there is a lot to talk about.” Sophie said nothing as he turned his body to focus on her completely from across the round table. “For starters, I’d like to know why you were out of your bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answered
, poking at her soggy bowl of cereal with a plastic spoon.

“So you decided to sneak into
his
bed?” He slammed a hand down on the table when Sophie kept her mouth clamped shut, rattling dishes and nearly upending his cup of coffee. “That isn’t acceptable, Sophie! What you did wasn’t acceptable. You betrayed our trust. You betrayed Jackie’s trust. You … ” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t even want to know what you two were doing!”

“It wasn’t that!” she snapped, feeling humiliation color her words with anger. “I care about Spencer.”

“Do you love him?” her mother asked, standing with her arms folded by the window behind her father.

Sophie
pressed her lips together.

“If you can’t answer that—”

“I can!” she said hotly. “But if I’m going to say it, it’s going to be him first.”

Her mother sighed. “You can’t because you haven’t been together long enough for you to answer it honestly, which means, if you’re not ready to love him, you’re not ready to be in his bed!”

“This isn’t something that’s going to go away,” she said, trying not to let her frustrations take the wheel. “He cares about me, too.”

“Boys lie!” her father barked. “They’ll say anything to get into your pants.”

“Not Spencer!” she snapped back. “He’s different. He wouldn’t do that.”

“You know I care about Spencer,” her mother said soothingly. “He’s a wonderful boy, but he’s
… you’re both way too young to even be considering this kind of relationship.”

“I’ll be eighteen in six months
.” She swung her gaze towards her mother. “I thought you were cool with us!”

“
I am!” her mother insisted. “And when you’re eighteen and you decide that Spencer is still the one you want, then we support your decision.”

“We do?”

Her mother glared at her father. “Yes, we do.” She raised her eyes to Sophie. “You’ve only known him for a few weeks. It’s not nearly enough time to decide if you love him or if you’re ready to take such a huge step! I understand this is a time for exploration and new feelings, but you need to be careful.”

Sophie threw her arms up in the air. “We haven’t even done that! I already told him I wasn’t ready. He respected that. He stopped.”

“He better have stopped!” her father snarled.

Sophie ignored him. “He’s not like other boys. He wants to be with me, all of me!”

“He’s still just one boy!” her mother stressed.

Fury had her springing to her feet, trembling as she fought to repress the tears. “I can’t believe you guys don’t trust me or my judgment! You raised me! You would think you would know me better.
Spencer is the only sane thing in my life right now! He’s the only thing keeping me together. Having him there, having him around me, I feel safe. I feel normal. This nightmare doesn’t exist and I can actually sleep, really sleep when I know he’s there.”

“I still don’t trust him!”

Fury lashed through her, tearing at her with its barbs. “I trust him! You should trust me!”

Giving in to her feet, Sophie turned on her heels and bolted from the room, ignoring her parents
’ shouts. She bypassed the elevators and sprinted down the fire escape instead. Her feet roared like thunder up the winding stairway. She hit each metal step with every scrap of frustration burning up inside her. On the ground level, she ducked into the foyer and stopped. Hurriedly, she smoothed down her hair, wiped her eyes and walked with purpose across the lavish floor. She kept her head down, but could feel eyes—imaginary or not—burning holes into her as she crossed to the other side and the door marked
Banquet Hall and Rec
.

The hotel rec
. room was an enormously lavish space made entirely of glass, with gleaming floors of hardwood and lights bright enough to blind. And it was as noisy as a Mardi Gras parade. Most of the space was claimed by various activities ranging from billiards, bowling, darts and even a small playground for children. There was a full bar up against one side and the entrance to the outdoor pool on the other. It was only eight in the morning, but already the place was in full swing, or, judging from the carpet of litter surrounding the billiards area, hadn’t stopped all night.

The bartender, a handsome twenty-something year old, glanced up when Sophie took a seat at the bar.
“What can I get you?” he shouted over the shouts and cheers as some elaborate game of pool took place not ten feet away.

“Can I just
… sit here?” she asked.

His gaze flickered to the sign just on the left that said very distinctly, one drink per customer, per hour.

Sophie sighed. “Orange juice, please.”

He smiled at her apologetically as he ducked out of sight to get her drink. He returned a second later with a bowl of oranges, a sleek juicer and a glass. He set everything down on the counter and went to work cutting the oranges into halves. He filled the glass with ice and looked at her.

“Want a shot of something in there?”

Sophie blinked, stunned. “What?”

He chuckled. “I’m teasing. You look like you have a lot on your mind. Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head, feeling the weight of everything settling on her back, pushing her deeper into her seat. “Not really.”

In seconds, her drink was set in front of her with a small, pink umbrella. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

She passed him a crumpled bill from her pocket and was grateful when he
shifted further along the bar to dry glasses, leaving her alone with her troubles.

Behind her, shouts rang out. Someone called foul and another demanded a do over that had the crowd cursing a storm. Sophie sighed, taking a small sip of her drink.

“I hope there’s something stronger in there than just OJ.”

Sophie turned to the man standing behind her, looking very out of place in his cowboy get up. The only thing miss
ing were his chaps and road dust. She eyed his worn boots, his faded jeans and jean shirt and the cowboy hat in his hands and raised an eyebrow. Was the rodeo in town?

“I’ve been watching you,” he said with such a serious tone, Sophie’s heart plummeted into a v
at of ice.

“
Excuse me?”

He licked his lips. “
You’re very hard to miss.” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth while his gaze roamed over her. “Name’s Franklin.”

Good for you,
Sophie thought, but kept it to herself, hoping her silence deterred any further conversation.

No such luck.

“My friends call me Frank.
You
can call me later,” he added with a lopsided grin.

“Well,
Frank,
I’m seventeen and not interested.” She went back to her drink, certain that was that and he would go away.

Instead, the seat next to her was drawn out and Frank settled in. He signaled the bartender who walked over and eyed the two of them with interest. Frank ordered something on a rock and Sophie glanced at the clock above the bar.

“It’s five o ‘clock somewhere,” Frank said, following her gaze. He nudged her with his shoulder, and at that proximity, she nearly toppled off her stool. “So what brings a pretty thing like you to a bar this early in the morning? Man troubles?”

The bartender arrived and set a glass down in front of Frank. The
ice inside clinked. The lights overhead caught the liquid inside, turning it a pretty shade of amber.

“Thanks, bud
.” Frank said to the bartender before returning his attention to Sophie. “Whatever he did, I’m more than happy to help take your mind off it.”

“I’m seventeen,”
she repeated, disgusted.

“So lights off?”

“Look, I have a boyfriend,” she snarled through her teeth.

Frank waved away her statement. “We’re just chatting. No harm in that. Your old man won’t mind.” He gave her what was probably meant to be a very sexy wink. It only prickled her already sore patience and she barely managed to restrain herself from tossing her OJ into his face.

“No, but I mind!” Sophie snatched up her drink and moved four seats in the opposite direction.

Frank had the decency not to follow. He remained at the bar and sipped his drink. The bartender kept him occupied, much to Sophie’s gratitude.

At the other end of the room, the game of pool had become almost a blood bath. She’d never been one for the game, didn’t even know how it was done. But from the looks of it, it was a dangerous game, one that came equipped with its own weapon, a very long, sharp stick. She wondered if it was a spin on medieval jousting. The way the two men playing were wielding them, she decided to take it as confirmation.

One of the men shoved the other. The second man staggered back into the wall of men behind him, barely catching himself on the lip of the table. The crowd jeered, a sound similar to a war cry and brandished their sticks in a very caveman style gesture. Sophie propped her chin in her hands, her elbows on the table and watched, silently placing bets in her head.

It was unclear how long she sat before Jackie found her, but her head was clearer and most of her anger subdued. Sophie glanced at the blonde as she gingerly took the seat across from Sophie.

“Hello!” Jackie said, offering what was probably supposed to be a comforting smile. “How are you?”

Sophie sighed. She shrugged. “Fine.”

Someone yelled. Something broke across the room, distracting Jackie’s intense scrutiny. Those unfathomable, yet seemingly weary eyes turned to the commotion with only a mild interest.

“I used to play,” she said. “Back when I was your age. My father taught me.” She turned to Sophie. “Do you play?”

Sophie shook her head. “I don’t think I’m coordinated enough to properly do the game justice.”

Jackie chuckled.

Crinkles of tension penetrated the frivolous conversation. Sophie knew the woman wasn’t there to talk billiards. “Are my parents pissed?”