Happily Never After

by Lynn Painter

“First of all, you have to stop calling me that.” “Why?” Sophie asked, putting her hands on her hips and screwing her eyebrows together. “What’s your real name again?” “Max,” I said. “Parks.” “Max,” she repeated, raising her eyes to the ceiling as if it held an opinion on my name. “I mean, that’s a fine name and all, but The Objector is next level.” “It makes me sound like an off-brand superhero.” She snorted a little laugh, and I noticed her freckles when she crinkled her nose.

How could I not smile at that? I realized as I looked down at her that I had no idea who she was. Wild bride, serious professional, hopeless car romantic; which one was the real her? “You’re very weird, Sophie.” “I know,” she said, lifting her chin just a little, daring me to pass judgment. “I like it,” I added, meaning that. There was something about her that…shit, that I liked.

“There are donuts in accounting, by the way,” she said as she logged in to her computer. “But no chocolate.” “If there’s no chocolate, there’s no donut.” “Preach.”

She’d been a beautiful bride and a hot businesswoman, but the plaid shirt, jeans, and boots? Yeah, that shit worked for her.

She finally looked up at me, giving in to a full grin that had the power to knock a guy on his ass.

I glanced over at Max, who was staring at me like he was trying to figure me out, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. So I flipped him off.

“Are you laughing at me?” I asked, not caring if he was. “I’m enjoying you,”

“I guess I just want to remember the night I reconnected with happy for a few hours.”

“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.”

“Tonight. Now. As soon as we finish grocery shopping, let’s go over to the wine bar on the other side of the store and we can twenty-question the shit out of each other.” His smirk returned. “Why wait? Let’s wine and twenty while we shop.”

She was a huge smart-ass and I really liked it. I really liked her, honestly.

“I don’t want to sound like an asshole misogynist, Soph,” he said, his eyes still everywhere on me, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman look this gorgeous in real life.”

I glared at Stu as she pulled me toward the door, and as someone who’d now punched a total of one person in my life, it was absurd that I wanted to beat the shit out of him with every fiber of my being.

“Good morning, Sophie,” Stuart said. “Good morning,” I said loudly, still smiling, then added in a voice so low only he could hear, “you piece of shit.”

Sophie was FaceTiming me. It was only 7:20 a.m. and no one was around yet on my side of the building, so I answered on my Mac instead of my phone. “Good morning, sunshine.” And…there she was in full color. Wavy blond hair, red lips, black glasses, and a pin-striped button-down that was incredibly businesslike.

“No,” I said. “Because I know this building better than I know my own face.” “As someone who reads workplace safety data on a daily basis,” she said, looking at me over her glasses, “your behavior terrifies me.” “Such a buzzkill,” I teased. “A buzzkill who is starving. Are you going to feed me or what?”

“If you still want this when you’re sober, Soph, I am yours—night or day,” I said, meaning every word. Because as she stared up at me, I realized that I was very into her. Not into this, this chemistry-gone-wild thing that existed between us, but into her. I was falling for her.

“I would like to introduce you,” he said, shoving his phone in front of my face, “to my new favorite son.” I glanced down, and no, he hadn’t adopted a baby. My father was showing me a boat.

“Pervert,” I teased. “Best friend,” he corrected. “Interchangeable titles.” I pulled out my phone and held it up, capturing Max grinning behind me on the bicycle. “Well, damn, this is adorable. I hate us for being so cute.”

It felt like my interest in her was getting out of hand, but I had no plans to dial it back. I just liked her too much.

“Y’know, I really do FUCKRAH you,” she said, wearing a grin that was almost shy. “Kind of a lot, actually.” “Steinbeck,” I replied, feeling sublimely happy, “I think I fell in FUCKRAH with you the minute you put Callie in a headlock.”