Page 33 of Tinder Embrace
Thinking about Sophie didn't help my groin situation any, and I glanced at my closed bedroom door, debating my options. How shitty of a brother would I be if I sent Jo a text instead of talking to her before dating one of her best friends? She was a good sister. She'd understand. Maybe too well. Like history repeating itself.
Shaking off the memories of another woman, another quicksilver relationship that crashed and burned with casualties, I frowned.
Taking my time had merit. Talking with Jo, trying to clear it with her first, was the responsible, older-brotherly thing to do. Even if my bodybegged to knock on Sophie's door and take what was on offer, I knew better.
Easy didn't last.
Celibacy was character-building.
I snorted.
Right. 'Cause that was what I had an overabundance of: character.
My choice couldn’t be attributed to stubbornness, or fear of being vulnerable to a woman who might up and leave with no notice.
I hadcharacter. That was my story, and I was fucking sticking to it.
It had nothing to do with wanting to take my time and reassure myself that Sophie had plans to stay in Campfire long-term, that she wasn't secretly searching for her ticket out of town. Just because my mother had been unhappy with small-town life, didn't mean every woman was.
***
Sophie smiled brightly when I joined her in the kitchen. I grunted my good morning, irritated that she'd obviously slept better than I had. Not that I truly begrudged her rest, but I'd tossed and turned thinking of her only a few feet away, the temptation nearly unbearable.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, doctoring it to my liking, before turning back to Sophie. She sat at the kitchen table, the dregs of her own coffee cup in front of her.
"Morning, Davis. Hey, I wanted to follow up. Our farming unit is coming up in science next week. I'd really love for you to join me in the classroom and tell my students about the farm. Are you still game?"
"Sure." I forced the word out through clenched teeth, relaxing at the delight on Sophie's face.
"I'll make it painless, Davis, I promise."
I couldn't hold back my snort, but she smiled indulgently.
"Does Tuesday work for you?"
Resigned, I nodded. I'd make it work.
She clapped her hands together and pushed back from the kitchen table. "Great! Now that that's settled, I've got to be off. I appreciate you putting up with me, Davis."
She said it so guilelessly, like I hadn't been trying to get her into my bed just last night. Only the light of mischief in her brown eyes indicated the subtext.
Telling her I was going to miss her around the house was tempting, but I resisted.
"Do you want a ride to work?" I asked gruffly instead.
She shook her head. "Nah. Now that I'm feeling better, I'm going to load my bag up and drive myself. I appreciate everything you've done for me this week, but it’s time for me to go home.”
“I didn’t do much.”
The protest came immediately to my lips, almost as fast as the flash of dismay that she was leaving. No more soft laughter in front of the TV. No more companionable mornings together. I’d grown used to her bubbly chatter, to teasing her about coffee, or fake swears, or whateverstruck me. Something about Sophie brought out my playful side. I’d forgotten that I could be funny. Fun.
"You tried to protect me during the crash. Let me stay here to rest up. Even got me to school and fed me." Her smile was wry as she listed my supposed accomplishments. "I was meant to help you by staying here, but I'm pretty sure I benefitted most. Speaking of injuries, how's the arm?"
Honesty would send her scampering off to school. Ensure she left me. But I couldn't lie to Sophie.
"Fine." I leaned back against the stove, arms crossed over my chest, feet crossed at the ankles.
She rolled her eyes. "Finecovers a lot of territory with you, Davis."
