“COME HERE,” I said, unsure why my voice sounded so serious. “Are you good at selfies?”
“Am I good at selfies,” she muttered, stepping close and holding out her phone. “You insult me with your doubt.”
She looked gorgeous in the camera display, her lips still red and her blond hair tousled as we leaned against my truck. The pink in her cheeks was cute as hell, and I wasn’t sure if it was the pout of her mouth or the smell of her perfume that had me feeling so unbalanced.
“Smile, Max,” she said, and I leaned a little closer for the picture. I felt her soft cheek rest against mine as she grinned for the selfie, and then she pulled back and looked at the display. “Aww, look at us.”
She held it up to me, but I couldn’t look away from her face.
How was it possible that Stuart made her cry every night? That the girl who’d put a hick in a headlock felt so broken and alone?
Her smile simmered down into a curve more subtle. “Max?”
“I’m sorry he made you cry,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets so I didn’t do something stupid like touch her. “I don’t know you well, but I know that Sophie Steinbeck should only ever be laughing.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice breathy as her long lashes moved on a blink. “I really am almost over it.”
“Good,” I said, feeling like there was an invisible string pulling me toward her. My eyes wouldn’t stay away from her lips, and her eyes wouldn’t stay away from my eyes.
Was it hot out here? Fuck, I was burning up all of a sudden as I looked at those red lips.
“Yeah. Good,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, her breath mingling with mine between our very close faces.
Did she just sway toward me?
Shit.
“I better go,” I said, curling my hands into fists in my pockets. “Before . . .”
“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding slowly. “Definitely better go . . . before.”
I swallowed and nodded, too.
“I actually should go inside. Now.” She blinked fast and tucked her hair behind her ears, looking nervous. “Yeah. Um, good night, Max.”
I swallowed, but my throat was dry and scratchy. “Good night, Soph.”
