“Maybe.”
“Too drunk to be sure?”
“Probably.” I dropped my head against the wall and took a deep breath. It was nowhere near enough to clear my head.
“You can’t drive home,” Daniel said gently.
He was still so close to me, right there in the doorway, Sophie still on the bed.
“I can call a car. Come back tomorrow for mine.”
“Or you could spend the night,” he said.
I leveled an unimpressed look at him before he quickly clarified, “In the guest room.”
“We can talk in the morning,” Sophie suggested. “Or we can have some nachos and see if the cheese soaks up enough of the wine for you to feel better about talking tonight.”
I wouldn’t have gone so far as to say there was a hint of hope in Sophie’s voice, but her eagerness was certainly not lost on me.
“Even if it doesn’t work, I’m happy to see what miracles are possible from melted cheese,” I said.
Sophie unfolded herself from the bed and closed the lid of her laptop. She was gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous, with pale skin and golden hair, curious eyes, and the most perfectly manicured fingers and toes I’d ever seen. I tried to not stare, even though it was clear she welcomed the attention, at least from me, especially from Daniel. She reached him first and pressed her hand against the center of his chest, lifting onto her toes to brush a delicate kiss across his mouth.
“Whiskey,” she murmured.
Daniel angled his head toward me, and with her mouth still soft against his, her stare flickered to me. I could have died.
I should have.
Sophie took my hand in hers and raised it to her lips, dusting a kiss across the tops of my knuckles. It was much like the kiss I’d given her earlier, and terribly far from the kind of kiss I wanted it to be. But, as usual, I found myself in a hell of my own making.
“Daniel makes the best nachos,” Sophie said, gently lowering my hand back down to my side.
“I’m sure.”
“Would you make us all some nachos?”
“Of course,” Daniel agreed, leaving Sophie and me in the doorway of their bedroom and apparently taking all of the air with him.
Sophie waited until cabinets opened and closed in the kitchen, the recognizable suction sound of a fridge door opening.
“Did you hurt him?” she asked. “Before.”
“Probably.”
“He never told me.”
“Maybe that’s for the better,” I said with a frown. “All things considered.”
What I truly hoped was Daniel’s omission of our history and our experience meant that I hadn’t caused as much damage as I’d feared.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked next.
“Very much.”
Sophie made a thoughtful sound and tilted her head toward the hallway. “Nachos?”
It felt unfair in a way for things to be that simple. Forgiveness offered as a blow job, accepted with a late-night meal and a kiss against the top of my hand. It was too easy, too hard to trust.