Happily Never After

I WAS GOING to do the wedding.

I had no interest in stopping the twenty questions game early because I was having fun, but shopping with Sophie had reminded me of how level-headed she was. We might’ve nearly kissed, but this woman was fully capable of being my partner without things getting weird.

“So I’m sure it sounds like a lie,” she said, nearly glowing with contentment, “but I am genuinely—truly—so damn happy to be single. The freedom to do whatever I want, to go wherever I want, to do things only for what I get out of them—I’m obsessed with it. I’m not sure I’ll ever be willing to lose this kind of independence again.”

“Does that mean moving on from Stuart is getting easier?” I asked, hopeful because I fucking hated how sad she sounded when I’d dropped her off after the wedding.

“Not always, but my melancholy over my foolishness doesn’t negate how spectacular my independence is.”

“Makes sense,” I said, grabbing my cup from the front of the cart and taking a gulp of my brandy Manhattan.

“Now. Question number nineteen.” Sophie took a sip of her wine, grabbed a bag of frozen french fries, and then said, “If you could go on a date with a celebrity tomorrow and have an actual chance because of cosmic magic, who would it be?”

We’d already covered careers, colleges, families, pets, and love, so it made sense we were finishing the game with magical dates. “That’s a tough one.”

“Right?” She tossed in the fries and said, “By the way, that pile is mine.”

“Our groceries are comingling? Gross.”

“Answer the question,” she insisted.

“Um, maybe . . . Zoey Deutch?”

“Ooh, good choice,” she said, nodding. “Why her? You like redheads?”

I shrugged. “It’d have to be someone who didn’t take themselves too seriously. Someone fun. She seems . . . as real as someone can seem when you don’t know them in real life.”

Sophie pursed her lips. “I can see that.”

“Same question,” I said, nudging her with my elbow. “Who’s your famous dream date?”

“Charles Leclerc,” she said, without even pausing.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked, picturing some period piece dramatic actor.

“Formula One driver. French, maybe. Hot.”

“Is he fun?” I asked, for some reason amused by her definitive answer.

“He is in my head,” she said cheekily, giving me a half grin that was becoming familiar. She was a huge smart-ass and I really liked it. I really liked her, honestly.

“Number twenty, you perv.” I tossed a box of cookies into the cart. “If you could only watch one professional sport for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Football.” She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Same.”

“Number twenty for you.” Sophie tucked her hair behind her ears and asked, “Hooters or Twin Peaks?”

She was ridiculous. “Are those places even still in business?”

“No idea,” she said, “but let’s pretend they are for this question.”

“Okay, well, I’m pretty sure this is a trap,” I said, laughing because there was no doubt in my mind what her opinion would be on those establishments. “But I can’t answer because I’ve never been.”

She gave me side-eye like she didn’t believe me. “Really.”

“Seriously,” I said, laughing again because she looked so suspicious. “I like to keep my food and my body-part ogling completely separate experiences.”

That made her laugh. “So classy.”

“Yes, I am, thank you.” I realized we’d hit every aisle, a few more than once, but I still wasn’t in a rush to leave. “Okay, here’s your twenty-one. Will you be my objectress for the wedding?”

Her mouth stretched all the way up, into a wide, happy smile. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners as she said, “Oh, I so will.”

It was settled, and things seemed fine as we loaded the car and rode home, but the electricity flared right back up when she dropped me off. We’d just finished transferring the groceries from her trunk to the back of my truck when she looked up at me and said, “Well this was kind of fun, Parks.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

She nodded, and I saw her eyes wander to my mouth for a brief second.

Which made mine follow suit. God, I love her red lipstick.

“Are you thinking about the almost kiss, too?” she asked, her voice quiet in the darkness.

That shocked the hell out of me, the playful expression on her face and the fact that she was bringing it up at all. The only thing I could say was, “That is exactly what I’m thinking about.”

“What was with that?” she asked, leaning against the side of my truck. “One second we were taking a selfie and the next . . . boom, chemistry.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes from her gaze as I repeated, “Boom, chemistry.”

“What’s kind of great is since we’re both nonbelievers who aren’t looking for love,” she said, her words soft, “the chemistry is just that. Chemistry. It’s not a precursor to a relationship or some sort of expectation to be met. It’s just . . . chemistry, pure and simple.”

“Chemistry,” I repeated, lowering my head.

“Boring science,” she whispered, and took over, rising onto her tiptoes, putting her hands on my shoulders, and raising her red mouth to mine.

She tilted her head, parted her lips, and went fucking wild.

She dragged her teeth along my bottom lip, ran her tongue over mine, and then dug her nails into my shoulders when I deepened the kiss. Just like that, she was pressed between my body and the side of the truck, which I knew she liked because her hands slid to my neck and she pulled me harder against her.

It was as if Sophie were a hundred percent in it for herself, and that scorched me like a wildfire, flames licking over every nerve ending in my body.

Dear God, had I ever been kissed like that before?

Her tongue was everywhere—tracing, teasing, stroking—while the smell of her perfume engulfed my senses, like smoke dancing around the end of a cigar. I was hypnotized, drugged, absolutely under the influence of the sexual promise of her wet, hot mouth.

My hands came out of my pockets and my fingers speared through her hair, entirely lacking in finesse and absolutely in it for grip as I held her head still so I could take us even deeper.

What in the fuck is this kiss?

Kissing Sophie was a headlock that rendered me utterly immobilized.

She made a growling sound in the back of her throat, then unclenched the fingers that had been clawing at the back of my neck. She dropped from her tiptoes and her eyes blinked open.

“So, um,” she said in a throaty voice that I felt everywhere. She pushed at her hair, touched her upper lip with a fingertip, and then gave me a small smirk. “Boom, chemistry, right? Have a good night, Max.”

“You, too,” I said, but I didn’t know if she heard it because she’d already turned away and was walking to her car. I stood there staring as she climbed inside and drove away.

What the hell had just happened?

“Who was that, Maxxie?”

My parents were standing on their front porch. When the hell did they come out?

“My friend Sophie,” I said, intentionally keeping my eyes on my keys as I climbed into my truck because I didn’t want to watch my parents exchange meaningful glances.

“Oh, yeah?” my mom asked, sounding absurdly excited. Which wasn’t shocking, since she’d obviously seen me kissing someone in her front yard. “Are you two going out again soon?”

“We’re going to a wedding tomorrow, so yes,” I said, closing my door, and when I looked at my father, he looked happy. So happy. He looked like a child who’d just been promised a free trip to Disneyland with VIP passes to everything. Even though they’d witnessed one hell of a kiss, I still felt the need to add, “But we’re just friends, Ma.”

Obviously my statement fell on deaf ears, because my dad looked at my mom and actually winked when she said, “You know, friendship is the best foundation for a relationship.”

Shit.

“Leave him alone, Lorna—he’s not going to listen to us,” my father said.

She sighed. “I know.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this Sophie, though,” he mused, as if I wasn’t there. It felt like he was trying to sell my mom a car when he said, “She seems like just the kind of girl to take good care of our Maxxie. Pretty, smart, sweet—she definitely has potential.”

What the hell is going on? He didn’t know a single thing about her, other than what she looked like and that I’d been kissing the hell out of her against the side of my truck. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—when he narrowed his eyes and gave me the tiniest headshake before looking down.

My phone buzzed, and when I took it out, I was confused for a half second.

Because I had a text from my dad.

I glanced at him, and he was looking in the other direction, as if he hadn’t just texted me.

Dad: I found a boat I want to buy, so for the love of God, milk this thing with Sophie, okay?

I shook my head and muttered, “What are you talking about?”

He got out his phone and started texting.

For fuck’s sake, he was a child.

Thirty seconds later, his message came through.

Dad: If your wishful-thinking mother thinks you’re settling down and we might be moving this year, she’s more apt to let me buy it. Just dangle Sophie a little.

Dangle Sophie a little.

Brilliant plan.