Only with You Page 3

  “Dust ruffle,” Will muttered around a crouton, still sounding mystified. “I’ve gotta look that up.” He pulled out his phone and started typing.

  “Sophie, I don’t want to fight,” her mother said with a long sigh. “You know I do my best not to pester…”

  Will snorted.

  “…but sometimes I just don’t understand your choices. For example, what are you wearing? Did you intentionally pull out your oldest clothes for our nice family dinner?”

  “Let me know when the ‘nice’ part starts,” Sophie muttered as she dug her finger into the hole in her jeans.

  “I think Sophie looks great,” Will said loyally. “Some men like the unfussy look.”

  Marnie perked up slightly at the prospect of Will finding Sophie attractive. It was her lifelong mission to see Sophie married off to her oldest friend. And Marnie was impervious to Sophie’s constant assurances that she and Will were so never going to happen. Ever.

  Not that they hadn’t tried way back when.

  On paper, Sophie and Will should have had the typical high school puppy-love story. He’d been the cocky, senior football star. His perfectly messy hair and blue eyes had sent many a teenage girl’s virtue out the window.

  As for Sophie’s part, she’d been the dewy underclassman princess who’d blossomed over the summer, getting boobs and highlights. (To this day, she wasn’t sure which she was more grateful for.)

  Dating had seemed like a logical step, and it had been mutually beneficial. Will had gotten obligatory high fives for “nailing” the newest cheerleading recruit. And for Sophie, everyone knew that getting asked to prom by a senior was the high school equivalent of the Holy Grail.

  The rest should have been yearbook history.

  But the oddest thing had happened. They’d been two attractive, horny high schoolers without a speck of sizzle.

  Sophie and Will had tried to pretend that the boring, clumsy first kiss beneath the bleachers was just a fluke. He’d blamed his distraction on the C he’d gotten in physics, and Sophie had claimed PMS. But after prom night had ended with a platonic game of Go Fish instead of dry humping in his Lexus, they’d been forced to admit it: no physical chemistry. Not even butterflies. They could talk for hours, laugh at the same jokes, and had dozens of mutual friends. But the hand-holding was merely tolerable, and the kissing was downright awkward.

  So they’d done the teenage unthinkable. They’d become friends. Real friends, not like the usual high school friends of the opposite sex that claimed they were “best friends,” but really were just stalling until one of them finally admitted their true feelings.

  And perhaps because Will and Sophie had become friends without any of the usual hormonal complications, their friendship had actually lasted. Despite Will going to college three years before her, he’d kept his promise to stay in touch. And when Sophie had headed off to Stanford, putting even more distance between them, they’d e-mailed regularly and been nearly inseparable over their Christmas breaks.

  Everyone waited for the inevitable moment of romantic realization, but here they were several years later, still completely platonic as ever.

  Will had practically become a part of the family after his own parents had moved out of state without much of a backward glance. As with the fledgling high school romance that had started it all, the dinner arrangement was mutually beneficial. Will got the chance to eat something other than takeout, and Sophie had someone to help distract her parents from their constant meddling.

  The only person who didn’t like the arrangement was Brynn.

  Sophie’s older sister wasn’t exactly the forgive-and-forget type, and when Brynn had been a freshman in high school, Will had been responsible for her 32A bra finding its way up the football field’s flagpole. At the homecoming game.

  It had been the start of a beautiful hatred, and their dislike had only increased over the years. Even Sophie’s knack for easing awkward situations hadn’t been able to resolve their animosity.

  Realizing that her sister still hadn’t arrived, Sophie glanced at the clock. Brynn was late. Something that happened…never. “Where’s Brynn?” Sophie asked her mother.

  Dinner was always served precisely at seven, but Marnie encouraged (or mandated, depending who you asked) that everyone get there around five thirty for her aperitif hour.

  “Oh, she won’t be here until six,” Marnie said cheerfully as she seasoned the chicken.

  Had the tardy daughter been Sophie, a lecture would have been in order. But when perfect Brynn was late, there was always a good reason. Sophie took another sip of wine and tried not to care.

  Sophie’s dad wandered into the kitchen, having finished up his phone call. A recently retired doctor, Chris Dalton was struggling with what he interpreted as the “utter uselessness” of retirement, and was loving the fact that some of his former staff still called to ask for his opinion.

  “Hey, Dad!” Sophie said brightly. She and her father weren’t close, but he didn’t pester her as much as her mother. In fact, he didn’t pester her much at all. Or even really talk to her.

  “Soph,” her dad said, planting a distracted kiss near the side of her head as he plucked a wineglass from the shelf.

  She turned to face him. “How’s that golf handicap these days? Mom mentioned you’d—”

  “Will!” Chris said, interrupting Sophie and shaking the hand of the closest thing he had to a son. “Just heard that the Ms signed two new pitchers. I think this will finally be their year, no?”

  Ugh. Baseball. Not her thing.

  “Can I help, Mom?” Sophie asked, watching her mom dredge the chicken breasts in flour.

  “Oh, no thanks, dear. I’ve got it under control. Just some simple lemon chicken paillards, some truffled mushrooms, and a sherry-vinaigrette shrimp and caprese salad tonight.”

  Sophie raised an eyebrow at the complexity of the meal. Her mom must have gotten a new cookbook.

  “What’s Brynn up to?” Sophie asked, toying with the stem of the wineglass. “I haven’t talked to her all week.”

  Marnie looked up, her eyes glowing with the opportunity to share Big News. “Oh, then you haven’t heard? Brynn’s got herself a boyfriend! She’s bringing him to dinner.”

  Oh, yippee. The evening ahead was sure to be rife with yawns. Brynn had a knack for finding men that most closely resembled doorknobs and attempting to date them.

  At least the unexpected company explained why they were having chicken “paillards” when they normally got overdone pork chops.

  “Wow, that’s great,” Sophie said half-enthusiastically.

  “A boyfriend?” Will asked. “What kind of loser is she bringing around this time?”

  Sophie’s dad snickered, which was a testament to how desperately he wanted Will’s approval, because normally anything remotely close to insulting Brynn was off-limits.

  Marnie shot Will a censorious look. “Now, William, you know that guy she brought last time was a nice fellow, he was just a little…”

  “He was a dentist,” Will said in disdain. “She’s an orthodontist. What the hell do they talk about, plaque?”

  “I don’t actually think orthodontists deal much in plaque,” Sophie mused while topping off her Chardonnay. “I think it’s more about devising new ways to attach metal to teeth while destroying the confidence of middle schoolers everywhere.”

  “Just be nice, kids,” Marnie said to Will and Sophie. “And you too,” she added with a sidelong glance at her husband.

  “Jeez, you’d think we were going to tar and feather the poor fellow,” Chris muttered to Will.

  The doorbell rang, and Will and Sophie exchanged puzzled looks.

  “Please tell me my sister isn’t ringing the doorbell to the house she grew up in,” Sophie said. In the years since they started the Sunday dinner tradition, nobody had ever done anything more than wipe their feet on the mat as they hollered, I’m here.

  Marnie was so excited she was practically levitat
ing. “This must mean that he’s an important one! That’s her warning that we’re all to be on our best behavior.

  “Come on, Chris,” Marnie hissed. “We should meet them at the door and make a good impression.”

  “I’m sure the five minutes of waiting on the front porch has already done that,” Sophie called after them.

  “Why does she have to ruin a family dinner by bringing another boyfriend?” Will said as he finished the last of his wine.

  “What’s the big deal?” Sophie asked, helping herself to more cheese and crackers. “You haven’t even met the guy, and you already hate him?”

  Will ignored the question. “I’ll bet he’ll be pasty-skinned, pale-eyed, and blond like the rest of you. It’s like she only dates men who will fit in perfectly with the Dalton family portraits. All the Nordic features and pale coloring is a bit overwhelming.”

  Sophie didn’t disagree. Their annual family portraits were a little bit…bland. Nobody ever bothered to ask where she and Brynn had gotten their matching blonde, blue-eyed looks. It was immediately obvious that it came from both parents.

  Granted, her father’s hair was more gray than blond, but it only added to his distinguished authority. Not that he needed help in that department. The man never wore jeans and didn’t even own a shirt that didn’t have a collar.

  Marnie also was a fastidious dresser, believing that jeans were strictly for gardening and that unpolished nails were for “street people.”

  Sophie’s mother’s voice trilled from the hallway, “William and Sophie Claire, won’t you please come join us in the drawing room?”

  “You have a drawing room?” Will asked.

  “She’s probably been rereading Jane Austen and decided to rename the living room.”

  They grabbed their wineglasses and headed toward the sound of Brynn’s smooth alto voice and the sharper squawk that generally meant Marnie was in full-out “impress” mode.

  Sophie hoped her sister’s new man-friend was adept at flattery and pleasant niceties, because he was going to need a hefty dose of social skills to maneuver his new girlfriend’s overprotective father and eager-for-grandbabies mother.

  She shuffled after Will into the “drawing room,” mentally preparing herself for mind-numbing conversation with one of Brynn’s adoring drones.

  Sophie halted to a stop so suddenly that some of her wine sloshed over the edge of her glass and onto Marnie’s pristine white carpet.

  Her mother made an exasperated sound, but a little spilled Chardonnay was the least of Sophie’s worries.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  It was him.

  The man from the Las Vegas elevator standing in front of her like some sort of icy-eyed ghost. And he had an arm around her sister’s waist.

  Oh, holy crap.

  The aged gouda she’d just swallowed began churning in the wine tsunami of her stomach.

  Will pinched her upper arm none too gently, and Sophie belatedly realized that her sister had finished introductions.

  Everybody was staring at her, including Mr. I’m Not Looking for an Escort Service. She had so not missed that deadly sexy gaze. Emphasis on the “deadly” part. Still, it was reassuring that he too looked a bit shell-shocked. He didn’t say a word, but based on what she knew of him, she didn’t really expect him to.

  The ball was clearly in her court.

  “Soph?” Her sister’s perfectly symmetrical smile was looking a little strained around the edges. “Everything okay?”

  “Sorry,” Sophie said lamely. “Totally zoned out there for a minute.”

  “Awwwwkward…” Will muttered under his breath.

  “Okay?” Brynn said, giving her a puzzled look. “Um, again, this is Grayson Wyatt. Gray, my sister, Sophie.”

  Sophie pushed a smile onto her face even as she felt the telltale tingle at the corners of her eyes.

  Do not cry. Do. Not. Cry.

  But the tears threatened to fall anyway. Her family was about to learn that Sophie’s disdain for convention had reached new heights. Good Lord, her father was about to find out that his baby girl had been mistaken for a freaking prostitute.

  Unless…

  It was a long shot, but Sophie slowly lifted her gaze to Gray’s impenetrable gray one.

  Please.

  If he heard her silent request, he didn’t respond. There wasn’t so much as a twitch of his hard features or a hint of understanding in his eyes. And then…

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dalton,” Gray said, stepping forward and extending a hand. “I can certainly see the sibling resemblance.”

  It took Sophie a moment to register what had just happened. Not only had he correctly interpreted her silent plea to keep their first meeting a secret, but he had actually granted her request.

  Granted, the man was still wretched. What was with the “Ms. Dalton” crap? And he hadn’t smiled once. Stiff.

  But he’d passed on the chance to humiliate her. And for that, she could have kissed him.

  Except, not. Of course. Bad idea. Not only because he was still on her list of Horrible Human Beings, but also because he was dating her sister.

  Oh God, my sister is dating this jerk. How had that not fully registered until now? She’d been so busy reeling from seeing him again that she hadn’t even comprehended the implications. This wasn’t just a chance meeting. The enemy was in her childhood home.

  “What is with you?” Will whispered as Marnie captured Gray and Brynn’s attention with a description of her closet remodel. “How much wine have you had?”

  “I must have had too much too fast,” Sophie said quietly. It felt wrong to lie to Will. She never lied to Will. Never had to. But there were some things she wasn’t ready to share, even with her best friend. He’d just laugh and tell her it was no big deal.

  And that was the real kicker.

  She was scared to tell Will that it was a big deal. After years of acting like her flighty reputation didn’t matter, a gray-eyed stiff had picked at a scab she didn’t even know she had.

  He’d made her bleed.

  Sophie took a sip of wine and tried to still her too-fast pounding in her chest. She tried to keep her eyes focused on her mom, but they kept straying to Gray.

  She sucked in a quick breath when she saw he’d been watching her. His eyes quickly moved back to Marnie, but she saw the tension in his jaw.

  He didn’t like this any more than she did.

  “…And I think you should know, my Brynny doesn’t bring just any boyfriend home to meet her parents,” Marnie was saying.

  “Oh, he’s not quite my boyfriend,” Brynn said quickly. “We’ve only been on a few dates. I know it’s a bit soon to bring him to meet the family, but he just moved to the area, and I knew he’d appreciate a home-cooked meal and a chance to get the scoop on Seattle sports!”

  Brynn flashed a winning smile at her parents, who puffed up at the praise, but Sophie winced. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she instinctively understood that a man like Gray would hate feeling like a friendless charity case. She cast another glance in his direction, and sure enough, his clenched jaw looked like it could shatter his molars. Good thing he was dating an orthodontist.

  Looking to distract the conversation before her mother and Brynn started stuffing baked goods in Gray’s pockets while discussing baby names, Sophie jerked Will forward as buffer. She couldn’t remember if Brynn had already introduced Will while she’d been having a mental and emotional breakdown, but it couldn’t hurt to put her own spin on things.

  “Mr. Wyatt, this is Will Thatcher. My date.”

  Will let out a derisive snort, but took pity on her, because he didn’t bother to correct the implication that they were more than friends. The two men shook hands.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Gray said politely.

  Will said nothing. Sophie tossed back the rest of her wine.

  “Mom!” she said sharply, pulling her mother out of a hushed
conversation with Brynn. “I think we’ve all adequately enjoyed the drawing room.”

  “Of course!” Marnie said, realizing that standing in their rarely used living room was hardly the way to make her potential future son-in-law feel more at home. “Come into the kitchen; it’s far more cozy!”

  Will and Sophie exchanged a look. Her mom had recently hired an interior designer to make over their house in “industrial mod.” “Cozy” it was not.

  Marnie linked arms with Brynn and they left the room in a flurry of whispers. Will followed them, making soft mimicking noises behind Brynn’s back.

  “So what do you know about the Mariners?” Sophie’s father said to Gray, as he led him toward the kitchen. Sophie trailed after them, trying to keep her eyes pinned on the back of her father’s head so her gaze didn’t drift to Gray’s back. She hadn’t seen him from this angle before, and it was every bit as yummy as the front.

  Stop. It.

  “Um, I’m not as familiar with Seattle pro sports teams as I’d like,” Gray was saying stiffly. Sophie rolled her eyes. At least his horrible conversation skills weren’t limited to her.

  Gray stopped abruptly in the hallway and turned back toward Sophie. “Miss Dalton, I was wondering if you might show me to the restroom?”

  She jolted slightly as she realized he was addressing her, and she swallowed dryly. “Um, sure, it’s just down the hall on the right—”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her in that direction, while an oblivious Chris continued to the kitchen, still rambling about ERAs and RBIs.

  Gray shoved Sophie roughly into the tiny powder room and shut the door behind them.

  “Well this is familiar,” Sophie said. “You, me, small dark spaces. Animosity. The sister element is new, though. Quite the twist—”

  The light flickered on, and she found Gray glaring down at her.

  “I think I liked the dark better,” she muttered. “I certainly haven’t missed your scowl.”

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. His lips were pressed together so tightly it was a wonder any sound came out.

  “What do you mean what am I doing here? You’re in my parents’ house. Sunday dinners have been a weekly occurrence for a couple decades now. You’re the newcomer.”