Inventing Herself (6 page)

‘What?’

‘It can come later.’ His blue eyes were unreadable and she let that go. His smile pierced her heart. ‘If you choose to see me after I come back.’

So he knew. Knew her odd mix of doubt and guilt and insecurity.

She didn’t let herself focus on it. ‘So … OK, fucking. Fucking it is,’ she said, and shot past him to jump on her bed.

He followed suit. ‘You weren’t too hard to convince.’

‘I want to make the most of this day. Does that make sense?’

Tate covered Sophie with his body and kissed her. His lips were seeking and warm. ‘It does. You’re seizing the day.’

She found his cock, stroked it, squeezed it. ‘Something like that.’

He rolled off her, found the condoms, eyed her as he slid one on. Sophie ran a finger down his belly, following the thin brown trail of hair to his cock. She smiled at him, her worry having turned to warmth and affection for how he was handling this whole … thing. This odd but amazing day.

‘Can I just say one thing, Sophie who’s searching for herself?’ He managed to lean in and drop a soft kiss on her temple before crushing down on her again, settling between her thighs, running the sheathed head of his cock to her damp slit.

‘Yes.’ The word was a gasp.

‘I hope you’ll see me when I get back. I wasn’t looking for anything at all … and yet –’ He drove into her. One long thrust. Her body arched up to take him, the breath fleeing her lungs. ‘Here you are,’ Tate finished, scraping his teeth along the thin skin of her throat.

In just a few eager strokes she was coming, her legs curled up around his trim waist, her fingers clutching at his skin. But it wasn’t done. He wasn’t done with her yet. And Sophie wondered briefly, as he drove into her over and over again, what would it be like if he was never done with her? What would it be like if she had found something, after all?

Silly, she knew. But no harm in wondering. Not at all.

Chapter Nine

‘Mashed potatoes!’

Sophie blinked and almost dropped the spoon.

‘Unh!’ she said, then plopped some steaming potatoes on the offered plate. The man moved on and there was a break in the line.

‘Look, Sophie, I know you’re slumming it here with us at the soup kitchen, but I need you to focus. I know we’re part of a magazine article. I know you have other stuff on your mind,’ Reese said. ‘But I don’t. And neither do the rest of the workers here. And neither do the patrons,’ she finished, her pink lips a thin line.

‘Sorry. I’m so sorry.’ And Sophie was sorry. She felt a blush crowd her cheeks and swallowed hard against the urge to give into a sudden need to cry. Service to others had been on Temperance’s magical list and she’d actually been looking forward to try it, but not mess it up. ‘I really am.’

Reese’s face softened and she leant in. ‘Hey, are you OK? I should have asked that first of all. I just get too many people coming through here who want to say they worked a day in the soup kitchen and then –’

Sophie held up a hand, feeling ten times worse now Reese, with her big mouth, caustic attitude, and big heart, was worrying about her. ‘I’m fine. My mind just drifted off.’

Reese smiled as a short woman made her way down the line. She waved off potatoes but asked for extra greens. The woman standing on the other side of Sophie accommodated her.

‘Guy?’ Reese whispered.

A vivid image of a naked Tate between her thighs right before he left for China was stuck forefront in her mind. ‘You could say that.’

Reese’s brick façade seemed to fall away and she stirred the Navy bean bake, grinning all the while.

‘Is he hot?’

Is the pope Catholic …?

‘Yes. He is very warm.’

‘Is he … you know, good in bed?’ Reese elbowed her and Sophie’s mouth dropped open.

‘Oh my God!’ she yelped, then snorted as her face went hot. ‘Yes. Yes, he is.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll pin my hopes on him. My whole I-have-no-one-and-isn’t-that-all-I-should-care-about hopes. But I don’t want to only care about that.’

Reese rolled her big, green eyes and shook her head. ‘Look, Sophie, you’ve only been here for two days but you don’t seem like the kind of woman who’s fixated on being alone. You’re strong, you’re confident, and except for spacing out briefly you have treated our patrons with nothing but kindness and integrity and smiles. I know it’s none of my beeswax –’ she shrugged ‘– but who the hell knows me and assumes I’ll keep my mouth shut, right?’

Sophie chuckled. Served some potatoes. Waited for the end of the sentence.

‘I think you’re maybe fixated on this because you didn’t think you wanted something and found it anyway.’

‘Well –’ Sophie swallowed hard. Until she got that stupid assignment she hadn’t been looking for anything – hadn’t wanted anything. The assignment had forced her hand, so to speak.

Reese elbowed her again and served some beans to Mr Johnson. He came through three times a day and always addressed the female line attendants as “Beautiful Miss”. Sophie followed suit with some potatoes.

‘Thank you, Beautiful Miss.’

‘You’re welcome, Mr Johnson.’

‘Well?’ Reese prompted.

‘Well, damn,’ Sophie finished. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’

‘You are welcome,’ Reese said and served the next customer.

Tate kissing her … Tate’s mouth on her … Tate’s tongue sliding along her skin, moving lower, parting her, licking her, sucking her … Tate saying, ‘I wasn’t looking for anything at all … and yet here you are.’

She opened her eyes, studied the flickering candle, the orange glow, the soft light that was supposed to help calm her mind. Meditation. Clear your mind. It’s on the list and you can totally do this. Right!

She shut her eyes again.

Tate rolling a condom onto that nice, thick cock of his. She missed that cock. It pressed and nudged and stroked all the plump and hidden places in her that needed stimulation. That needed friction and pressure and then grew tighter and warmer and wetter until –

She gasped, her eyes flying open again. Five days. It had only been five days and she was dangerously close to coming just thinking of this man when she wasn’t even supposed to be thinking! She was supposed to clear her mind. Just be. Sweep clean all thoughts.

‘Right!’ she growled. ‘Empty your damn mind, girl. You should be able to do this. This is insane.’

It wasn’t so much her mind she was worried about, though. It was her pussy, thumping and bumping in tempo with her pulse.

Her phone jingled-jangled at her. Should have turned that off.

Sophie shut her eyes, took a deep breath, tried to focus on emptying her mind. She managed for a moment, envisioning a drop of water falling off a leaf as one of the articles she’d read on meditation had suggested. She didn’t know how that worked, seeing as imagining the drop of water was actually a
thought in your head
which seemed to be the arch nemesis of meditation.

Her phone ting-a-linged to inform her that she had a message.

‘Om …,’ she said, though she was pretty sure that was yoga and not meditation. Or maybe it was both. It was all terribly confusing. ‘Days and days into this research and you don’t even know if “Om” is yoga or meditation.’

She shut her eyes again. There he was, sliding a condom on, holding his cock in his hand, moving toward her. Merry blue eyes and nice smile and smart things coming out of his mouth. Hard pecs and big arms and lots of laughter. Abs you wanted to run your fingers over and a magical tongue that could flick and delve and …

‘Jesus Christ!’ she yelled, frustrated beyond belief. Next door, Kevin banged on the wall and Sophie yelled, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah! Sorry!’

She climbed to her feet. ‘No meditation for me. I am done-done-donnety-done.’ She stomped toward her stereo, turned off the meditation music CD, blew out the candles, and grabbed her phone. She hit the button to dial voicemail while heading toward the kitchen where the wine lived. She pressed speakerphone and set the phone on the counter while she hunted for a glass.

‘Hey there – I, um …’

Her heart picked up speed and the glass she’d located nearly fell from her fingers. Tate.

‘I was really hoping to get you. I was supposed to get in today, but something happened with the flight. A flight from China to Baltimore and something went wrong … Whodathunk it, right?’ He laughed and Sophie held her breath. She felt like she was falling.

Maybe she was.

‘Anyway, I was going to pop in and surprise you when I got home. After all those hours on a plane the best thing I can think of seeing would be your face.’ Another laugh. He sounded nervous but sincere. ‘God, Sophie, I know we only spent one day together … just one. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Seeing your face. And I have to say …’ There was airport noise in the background. People on speakers. People rushing past. Noise and din, but even above that she heard how uncertain he was, but also how determined. ‘I have to say a lot of what I’m thinking is quite dirty.’

She poured wine almost to the rim of her glass. She’d just have a little drink to calm her nerves.

‘Me too,’ she whispered, though he couldn’t hear her.

‘Well, like I said, I was hoping to get you. I feel like a stalker talking to your phone this way.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, I’m in the airport hotel until the morning. If you want to call, call. If not, I’ll call when I get back. I decided against the surprise visit. The thought that you might not want to be surprised by me has crossed my mind. Bye, Sophie.’

The click almost broke her heart. She had no idea why. But she was glad she hadn’t answered. This would give her time to think. The thought had plagued her since he left that she was simply feeling this connection to Tate because she was looking for something more.

Then she heard Reese’s words in her head.
I think you’re maybe fixated on this because you didn’t think you wanted something and you found it anyway.

‘And then there’s that.’ Sophie sighed, and sipped her wine.

‘You look guilty,’ Kevin said.

Sophie looked up, juggling the takeout bag and box of wine.

‘I … so? What?’ She dropped her keys on her paisley door mat and sighed.

‘You have that look you get when you’ve done something you shouldn’t. Or haven’t done something you should.’ He stared at her.

‘What colour is your eyeshadow?’ Sophie blurted.

‘Oh, don’t you go changing the subject, missy.’ Kevin laughed. He put his apartment key in his pocket and helped her with her stuff. ‘But it’s goldenrod. Get it.
Golden ro 
–’

‘I get it! I get it!’ she yelped.

Kevin insinuated himself into her apartment and opened the box of wine. ‘I see you walked down to David’s Corner Store.’

‘Yeeeees.’ She chewed her lips and sighed. ‘Was there something you wanted, Kev? Because tonight, I just want to be al –’

‘Alone. I figured. Because when you’re wrong you don’t like anyone around who can tell you you’re wrong. It’s easier to wrap yourself in a cocoon of vino and rightness.’ He laughed at his own joke and filled two glasses of wine from the spigot. ‘The finest wine they can put in cardboard!’ he declared, and handed her a glass.

‘I’m not doing that.’ She blurted it, and as soon as she said it, Sophie knew it was a lie.

He leant against her faux antique barstool. ‘Sure you are. You’ve been mooning over that man since he left. You’re either refusing to see it or you just plain don’t know it.’

‘I haven’t.’ But her cheeks were flooding with heat and she wanted to gulp her drink down. At the same time, the thought of drinking it made her stomach turn.

‘Stop mooning over him, stop convincing yourself that you’re not feeling what you’re feeling. Just … stop.’ His eyes were kind but they were also dissecting her. It was hard for her to look right at him.

‘But what if –?’

‘What if, what if.’ Kevin sighed. ‘What if he’s a Martian? What if he’s got a wooden leg? What if he laughs when you say “specifically”, which you can’t say, for the record. What the fuck, what if?’

‘What if I only feel this way because I
think
I need something I don’t actually need.’

Kevin levelled his gaze at her. ‘What if you feel this way because you feel this way, chick?’

‘But I – I mean …’ She put her glass down and sighed. ‘I don’t know what I feel, Kevin. It was
one day
.’

‘It sounded like a hell of a day,’ he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

‘How –?’

‘These apartments are fierce, but the walls are like fucking tissue paper, sweetie.’

She put her head in her hands. ‘It was just one day.’

‘One day that stuck with you,’ he said, patting her head like she was a child. ‘And let me tell you, sister, as a man who entertains his fair share. One day that sticks with you can beat a thousand days you can barely remember any day. Sometimes you remember days because they’re meant to be memorable.’

‘What are you, Buddha?’

‘Yes. I’m your local, fantastically glamorous Buddha. And I say, listen to your heart. Or if not your heart, that little nervous thing in the pit of your stomach that’s telling you to go see him.’ He sashayed to the door. ‘Om, motherfuckers,’ he said and winked. Then he was gone.

Sophie didn’t want her wine. She wanted a clear head. So she did the only thing she could think to do. She turned off her phone, took a long, hot bath, and crawled into bed. She’d figure it out tomorrow.

Morning came much too fast. She’d tossed and turned all night with what Kevin had said to her stuck in her head. In her damn thick head. But she was too afraid to call. To react. Because what if she was wrong? What if she was just grasping at straws like so many women she’d seen? Women who had attained all the things they’d wanted and then just reached out to some man – any man – because they thought that was what they were supposed to do?

‘I don’t want to do things just because I’m supposed to.’

Simon, who’d been behaving like a saint dog lately, even letting her meditate when she tried without washing her whole face with his big, pink tongue, hopped up onto the bed.

‘What if you’re supposed to be the only man in my life, Simon?

He cocked his head and thumped his tail on the bed.

‘Want to walk?’

At the magical word “walk”, he was off like a shot, practically vaulting through the air to scamper to the front door. Sophie sighed and climbed out of bed. She’d make a quick coffee and go walk. Maybe it would help her mind.

She found herself, though it was really no surprise, following her route to the trail. Only this time the sun was already up, the day had started, people bustled about, and Simon basked in the glow of multiple compliments. She picked her way along the trail, careful to not slip and fall on her ass in the frozen snow. Simon seemed to tug her along to the place she’d first met Tate and she let him. Shamelessly.

Part of Sophie hoped, with held breath, that he’d be there when she turned the corner. That he’d be sitting out there on the rocks, looking at where the moon had been, face tilted up to the sun. Cheeks ruddy from the wind, that half smile on his face.

But the rocks were empty apart for one brave seagull that regarded her coolly before flapping off.

‘No sign from the Universe.’ She sighed. Simon sat, thumped his tail. His tongue lolled out and he seemed to smile at her.

Simon suddenly went on red alert and his big body went rigid.

‘Simon, no –’ she started, but it was too late. He took off toward the sound like a shot. Most likely a squirrel or a rabbit. But it didn’t matter what it was. What mattered was him running from her.

Sophie started out after him, grateful the rocks weren’t slick the way they were in spring and summer. She jumped to the far bank and rushed through the woods shouting, ‘Come! Bad dog! Simon come!’ and every other variation of commands that might make him return.

None worked.

Then he stopped cold and she damn near tripped over him. He’d treed whatever he’d been chasing and now sat at the base of the tree, staring up, chuffing and wagging his tail.