Page 47 of Trying Sophie

“Not a stalker, just lucky I guess,” he replied, his lips hitching up a few sexy degrees.

We reached our cars—my Volkswagen and his Range Rover—and put our groceries away. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

“Yup, that’s it.”

Another charged, awkward pause ensued and for a few moments I wondered what the protocol was for saying goodbye to a guy you’d run into—repeatedly, serendipitously—and kind of, definitely, wanted to see more of in the future.

“So,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

“So,” I responded in kind, my breath coming out in a cloud of moist air in the cold November night.

“I don’t suppose you want to go get a coffee or something?” he asked, almost tentatively.

“I’d like that, but I’ve got milk in there that needs to be refrigerated.” I gestured over my shoulder, into my car.

He blew a gust of air into his hands to warm them up. “Are you kidding me? It’s bloody freezing out here. It’s probably colder in your boot than it was in the store’s icebox.”

The man had a point. It was freezing out here.

This would be the second time he’d randomly asked me out for coffee and while I didn’t mind, I also didn’t know if this was a friendly invitation or something more. It wasn’t as if he’d texted me or called and asked me out. And right now I wanted something a bit more definitive, so I hesitated.

“I don’t know; I should probably get back.”

He stared down at me for a few heartbeats. “Yeah, okay, I’ll let you get to it then.” Brushing past me, he made his way to his own car. “I’ll see you around Sophie. Have a good night.”

“You too Declan,” I responded, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Drive safe,” I added as an afterthought since he still had to get back to Dublin.

Pulling out of his parking space, he stopped next to me. Rolling down the window, he asked, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Working,” I answered quickly, hoping he hadn’t heard the anticipation in my voice. “You?”

“Same, I guess. What time are you done?”

“Late. Sometime around midnight probably.”

“Shit.” His hand beat a rhythm on the steering wheel. “I need to be back in Dublin by eight.”

Feeling brave, I shot out, “What about the next day?”

He bit his lip. “Nah, I can’t. Traveling for our match.”

“Oh,” I remarked, a wave of disappointment washing over me.

But then I realized if the match was being televised, I could watch it and stare at him all I wanted to without him ever knowing. I could see what he looked like under all his winter clothes and confirm if his body was as spectacular as I imagined it was

“It’s on TV?” I hoped I hadn’t sounded too excited.

He licked his lips and smiled. Yeah, he’d heard the anticipation in my voice. “Yeah, it’s on TV. You should definitely watch.”

“Why’s that?” I asked, trying to play it cool.

Declan leaned out and brushed a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. “Because you want to see me in action and I’m really fucking good,” he answered, trailing his finger down my cheek.

It burned a path along my skin.

His confidence bordered on arrogance, but for some reason it was also a huge turn on. And his touch? I’d wanted to lean into it. But damn it, all this talk of watching him play rugby pulled me out of the fantasy and back to one very important fact of reality: Declan was a professional athlete, and they weren’t high on the list of guys I wanted to get involved with. Because of my dad, I had a lot of rules about this sort of thing.

Think of the sex though, the horny part of my brain implored. That’s all it has to be.

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