Happily Never After

by Lynn Painter

But when I saw the bride pull her arm back and launch that snack cake off the balcony like a professional quarterback, I decided to stick around for another minute.

“I mean, that’s a fine name and all, but The Objector is next level.”

“It makes me sound like an off-brand superhero.”

“He is a man, and it’s their job to disappoint us. Eternally. Please pour me a shot, Ash.”

“I can’t ruin the reputations of men everywhere by disappointing you, can I?”

“I’d say, ‘Who hurt you,’

“But seeing as I was recently bitch-slapped by your ex-fiancé, I actually have the answer.”

“But go get the rest of the pizza first, Maxxie.”

“Trust me, Objector,” she said, her voice a sleepy drawl. “We’d have fun.”

It’s Max, your “objector.”

“With bald spots from his feline anxiety, which I totally think they should call fanxiety because it makes him sound like a badass vampire cat—”

“Was it a random choice, like you were selecting the first two names when you searched ‘mom haircuts’?”

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 a...

“Good morning, pathetic tosspot,”

I shrugged and kind of liked telling someone. “I do my best, yes.” “Mad respect,” he said. “And I also pity your ex just a little because I have a feeling you’re very good at your job.”

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

“Is this a catfishing situation, where you thought you were online connecting with your dream man and instead landed two elderly besties?”

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

“Listen, Skipper—”

The back of her hair was sticking up, and without thinking, I reached over and patted it down.

“That’s called Saturday night, sunshine.”

“Should I be alarmed?” he asked, looking anything but. He looked, actually, like he was amused that I’d checked him out. He also looked really freaking hot.

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.

“Well,” he said, glancing over at me for a second before his eyes returned to the road, “I live a couple blocks away from you, my office is modern minimalist, barber, a cat, spaghetti, and ‘Exile.’

Green flags all around

“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.”

I channeled my inner Sophie

there was more to it than that, but I rather enjoyed figuring her out. She was like a stubborn puzzle who didn’t want to be solved, which made me want to toss all the pieces into the air. And then solve it anyway, just to piss her off.

“Just drop me the address. I’ll pick you up, drive you around the block until you agree to do what I say, then I’ll push you out of the vehicle so you can return to your familial shenanigans.” “That sounds a lot like kidnapping.”

“Now I’m going to have to tell the checkout clerk that I owe them for one additional grape.”

Lmaooo

Dad: I found a boat I want to buy, so for the love of God, milk this thing with Sophie, okay?

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.”

“You obviously can’t think of a lie,” Max said, looking amused as we broke apart and I took back the phone from Rose. “So I’m going to assume you’re obsessed with me and wish to start a scrapbook.”

“You’re like the damn language police tonight. Maybe talk to me when you haven’t been out playing ‘taste the tonsil’ with Julian the Hot.”

“Sophie Dickhead Assbag Steinbeck, you give me that phone this instant.”

She turned around and looked up at me, and suddenly I thought, What a good fucking morning. Because there I was, on a warm summery morning, surrounded by the slowly awakening city, and her pretty face was smiling up at me. Good fucking morning to me.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“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.

“Hey there, sunshine.” He gave me a look. “Fuck right off, assbag.”

“Pervert,” I teased. “Best friend,” he corrected.

“But, Soph, I know that I like you more than anyone else in the world. And that’s it, isn’t it—the thing that matters? Fuck love and relationships, I just want to be with you because you’re my goddamn favorite person. And I feel like it’s going to be impossible for you not to trust my feelings because you’re going to see them in my eyes every time I look at you.”

Fuck me, I’d fallen so hard that I wasn’t even trying to get up.