Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(5)
I unlock the door and step back just before all five-foot-nothing of her plows her way inside, heading straight for the kitchen. The grocery bag she brought is planted on the countertop as she pulls open the cupboard above the sink and turns around with two huge ceramic bowls in her hands.
"Three or four scoops?" she asks, her face hard with concentration as she digs through my utensil drawer for an ice cream scoop. Her perfectly waxed and tattooed eyebrows draw together as she focuses.
"Just two."
Her head turns to me so quickly that my eyes bulge. She cuts a hand through the air. "Three it is."
I move towards the counter and lean a hip against it. "So, are you going to tell me what's wrong or should I start guessing?"
"Nothing," she groans, shoving the scoop in the open tub of ice cream with a surprisingly terrifying amount of force.
"Right," I chuckle and move around her to grab two spoons. "Then do you wanna tell me what the poor ice cream did to you before you got here?"
"You know Ethan Langton, right?" she asks with a weighted sigh, spinning on the heel of her still booted feet to face me. Her plump bottom lip is clamped between her teeth as she seems to contemplate what to say next.
"The guy that used to host all of the frat parties in college?"
The guy was a total tool. The only thing he had going for him was his washboard abs. But even then, the appeal faded fast as soon as he opened that sexist mouth of his. Guys who think that a woman belongs in the kitchen in the 21st century have no right being so good looking.
"Unfortunately," she grumbles while grabbing her nearly overflowing bowl of ice cream and stomping across the apartment to my thrifted navy couch. The four seater, velvet couch is for better words, extremely out of style and butt ugly. But when you’re twenty-six with absolutely nothing to your name but an outdated shirtless firefighter calendar and a pair of scuffed Louboutins that you got as a present from your ex but are too stubborn to retire, you take what you can get.
"What about him has you so pissed off? We haven't even seen him in years." I grab my bowl and join her. It isn’t until after I sink into the couch cushion that I notice the regretful look on her face. I swallow heavily as the realization dawns on me. "Oh. Oh. So you slept together then? I mean, it isn’t the end of the world. Right?”
"Isn’t the end of the world? I slept with a man child.” Her head falls back and she grumbles a few sentences under her breath in Spanish. I hide my amused grin behind my hand. Sophie only rambles in Spanish when she’s flustered, angry, or both. But both is never good. And from the flush that’s found its way on her cheeks and the way her back teeth are grinding together, I can only assume that she’s definitely both.
Scooping a hefty amount of ice cream onto my spoon, I shove it in my mouth and sit quietly. I wish I could say this is out of character for Sophie, but the girl loves sex. No beating around the bush there. Guy, girl, she wouldn’t turn down a tussle in bed with almost anyone. But Ethan Langton? That does surprise me. Overcompensating dickbags aren’t usually her go-to, regardless of how deep the itch might be.
"When?" I ask after a few silent seconds.
"Two nights ago," she mumbles. "It was a rare moment of weakness. There was a pool. And you've seen Ethan without his shirt."
"I have." I laugh quietly. "He's hot for sure."
"And boy, is he ever packing a rocket.” She licks her lips before shaking her head aggressively.
Crinkling my nose, I brush off her comment. "If it was so good then why are you upset? Was he too quick on the trigger or something?"
"No! God no," she rushes, dropping her spoon in the melting glob of ice cream. "He wants to, like, go out. On a date."
My brows jump up and questions fill my mouth like I’m playing a game of chubby bunny. But I sit in silence, waiting for her to elaborate. Only she doesn’t say anything else. She puts the bowl of melted ice cream beside her and folds her hands together in her lap instead, looking anxiously around the apartment. With a nervous knot rooting in my belly, I try to fill the silence. "So are you just not into him then? I mean, a free dinner is a free dinner. Even if it is with a guy like Ethan, and especially if the sex was good."
"Maybe if it were dinner I would go. But he invited me to watch some band play at SP tomorrow night and you know how much I hate it there."
He invited her to a club? As a date? Yikes. What’s the saying? Disappointed but not surprised?
"I didn't even know they let bands play there.” I stretch my legs out in front of me and set my bowl beside Sophie’s.
"That's beside the point, Sierra!" She slides a quick hand down her hair and squeezes her eyes shut. "I want to go, but I don't want to go alone. Who knows what would happen to me if I went into the bathroom without a partner."
"I think you're being a little paranoid, babe.”
I, for one, haven’t been to a club in years. But the memories I do have of the drunken nights spent with my arm laced through Sophie’s and a piece of paper over our drinks still burn in the back of my mind. Her parent’s might have let her watch a few too many episodes of Dateline when she was an early teen. We did stay safe though, so I really shouldn’t complain. Sophie was always one hell of a safety buddy.