Page 4 of Sophia, Property of Tracker

He nods. “Yes, I do. But some things take priority if you know what I mean.” I see hunger in his eyes, and I feel his stare all the way between my thighs causing a throbbing to begin. Squeezing my thighs together, I try to dull the ache, but it only intensifies.

What the hell! What have I got to lose?

This kind of man doesn’t come along every day. So what if I have my way with him. This girl needs to get laid.

Reaching into my bag, I grab my notepad and pen and scribble down my address. Sliding the paper across to him, I watch him read it, then I place my laptop back in my bag and stand, pulling it up over my shoulder. He looks up at me with a smile and then places the piece of paper inside his leather jacket pocket where his brother’s photograph is located.

“Be there at seven,” I state before I head out of the café, taking one last glance before I leave.

His smile is still lingering on his face.

SOPHIA

Past

What was I thinking?

What is wrong with you, Sophia?

You don’t do this.

You don’t invite a complete stranger into your home when you’ve only known him for an hour.

After I left Ryan, I went back to the office to finish a couple of things on Mr. Swan’s project, but it was no use. I couldn’t think of anything other than seeing Ryan again tonight and thinking about my closet and what I was going to wear.

After another hour at the office, I’d given up trying to focus and explained to Trevor, my boss, that I had a headache and was leaving early. He bought the lie and told me to rest up. I felt guilty about deceiving Trevor because he’s a great boss, but since I’ve been working for him, I’ve never taken any leave, which is probably why he didn’t ask too many questions. Plus, this is kind of a sick day—I’m sick with excitement and anticipation of what the night will bring.

On the drive home, I stop in at the local grocery store and pick up some ingredients I need for dinner tonight. I’ve decided to cook spaghetti bolognese with garlic bread and a salad. It’s one of those dishes everyone loves and is easy to prepare. At the last minute, I decided on a bottle of wine, but then I also added beer to my cart because I wasn’t sure if Ryan was a glass-of-wine or a bottle-of-beer man, so I decided it was better to have both on hand.

Throwing the bags into the back of my car, I slide into the driver’s seat and start my Volkswagen Golf. I love this car. I bought it this year after my Beetle died. I loved that Beetle, but it was time to trade it in and gift myself with something new. I could afford my new car with a full-time job and an incredibly lengthy client list.

Parking the Volkswagen, I quickly grab my groceries and open my apartment door with my foot and bags in hand. Promptly, I place them on the bench and glance at the clock noticing that it’s already four thirty. That gives me two and a half hours to cook, shower, and ensure the apartment is presentable.

It’s a clean apartment, and I’m usually good at picking up after myself, but I want everything to be perfect.

I can feel butterflies in my stomach, thinking that Ryan will be here soon. I’ve never had a one-night stand. Well, that’s all it can be if he’s looking for his brother. I realize I don’t know much about him other than that he’s an FBI agent looking for his brother.

I try not to dwell on that thought too much because, for the first time, I want to be in the moment, and I don’t want to think about tomorrow.

I want to focus solely on tonight and how Ryan made me feel when I locked eyes with his.

As I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table and realize how much time has flown by, I run my hands through my now dry hair. It’s six forty-five, and I’ve only just finished applying my makeup. After I’d begun to cook the sauce for the pasta, I let it simmer and quickly took a shower, thanking the heavens above that I had gotten waxed yesterday.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I admire my handiwork—my makeup looks flawless. I applied a little lip gloss, blush, and mascara followed by some bronzer. Next, I used my favorite vanilla and coconut body lotion and then misted my skin with the same brand.

It took me four outfit changes before I decided on my tight blue jeans and a black light sweatshirt. As I adjust my top, I hear the doorbell ring and freeze.

Oh Shit. Shit. Shit.

Glancing at myself one last time in the mirror, I turn and take quick steps to the front door, peeking through the peephole before I open it.

Ryan stands there holding flowers in his hand with the other hand running through his hair.Is he nervous?He lifts his hand to ring the bell again but then stops and paces.

I giggle—he is nervous.

There’s something about that thought that causes me to relax a little.

He’s as nervous as I am.

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