Page 73 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

“I thought it might impress you.” Warmth floods my cheeks and I realize with embarrassment that I’m blushing. That only strengthens the blush. I have to turn away, leading her toward the kitchen.

“It did,” Sophie confirms. I hear her footsteps behind me, soft on the hardwood floor. “Renting out a whole event space will have that effect.”

I round the kitchen island, but instead of approaching the pans on the stove, I turn back toward her. The island is between us. I lean forward, hands on the cold, white granite, hoping it will ground me.

“I have something to-” she starts, but I speak at the same time.

“About the other night-” I stop, unable to wipe a look of surprise from my face.

“Go ahead,” she urges.

There’s something in her delicate features that worries me. I want her to go first, to help me delay the inevitable, but maybe it’s better to get this over with. I swallow before taking a ragged, stunted breath. She expects an excuse to make up for the fact that I left her alone in a cafe. I’m one hundred percent sure she’s not expecting the excuse I’m going to give her, but I hope it’s enough.

“I just- I want you to know that the other night.” I pause to lick my lips. “I didn’t run because of your job.”

Sophie cocks her head to one side, studying me. My eyes plead with her, willing her to just read my mind so I don’t have to say it, but the only person on the planet capable of that isn't here. I’m not sure I’d want him around for this anyway.

“So why did you leave me there alone?”

I flinch at the harsh tone, but Sophie doesn’t back down. Good. Good for her. She’s got fire and that’s one of the reasons I feel pulled to her.

“There’s- I, er-” The struggle is fuckingrealhere.

“Breathe.” She takes a step around the island, just a little closer, but not close enough to touch just yet.

My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip and I take another deep breath, this one a little steadier than the last.

“I’ve always-” I stutter, “I’ve always been kind of an introvert.”That’s an understatement.I know my words are tumbling out, spilling from my lips almost too fast to understand. But I can’t stop now or I’ll lose my nerve and then what? Kick her out? “Since high school, middle school,” I continue. “Hell, even at recess, I liked to be on my own.”

A chuckle escapes me and I hang my head, eyes focusing on my hands where they rest on the counter. I have to work hard to drag my gaze back to Sophie’s, those caramel depths pulling me in.

“I didn’t date in high school,” I continue slowly, never taking my focus from her face. “Or college, for that matter. And when my roommate and I go out, it’s…” I swallow, “it’s not usually me getting the attention.”

“Oh my god.” Her whispered words barely register.

“I didn’t- I just-”

“You’re a v-” she starts and my stomach drops. Part of me is disappointed she pieced it together, but a larger part is relieved. “A vir- God, I hate that word. You’re untainted. Ew, no.” When she sees my lips parting, my face falling, she waves her hands as if that’s enough to dissipate this sinking feeling. “I’m just trying to process. I’m not judging. Please believe me when I say I’m not judging.”

“It’s ok if you are.” My voice is weak, barely audible. I have to give her an out.

“But I’mnot,” she presses, taking another step forward. “Brody, I don’t care, trust me. I’m just realizing how muchmyadmission last week probably scared you.”

I hang my head again, shaking it. With doubt? With relief? I’m not sure.

“This was stupid,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have-” I force my head to raise, my eyes to meet hers again. “It’s ok if you want to leave. I'll grab your painting.”

I hate that my voice cracks with that last word. Two dates. We’ve been on two dates, not counting this one–and I’m not counting this one.

“What?” She blinks at me, startled.

“I mean I’d understand if-”

Sophie holds up a hand to silence me, circling the rest of the island. I follow her with my eyes, but my body remains stationary. I drop my focus when she gently takes my hand in hers, the heat from her touch radiating down my spine.

“Why in the world would I care about that?” she asks softly, raising my knuckles to brush her cheek.

I turn, reaching out with my free hand to grab her waist and gently pull her to me, our bodies pressed together while I lean to rest my forehead on hers. I just want to stand here like this, holding her close, breathing her in. That scent of citrus and some kind of flower–I’ll never be able to identify it in a million years–invading my senses. When she speaks, her breath flutters across my lips and chin.

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