What Lovers Do(49)



Shep dips his chin into a sharp nod, his grin on the verge of cracking his whole face. “They really are. A good concert is unforgettable. So intense and satisfying. It’s like you’re in another world, and you don’t ever want it to end. You want to relive it over and over again.”

When the two men finish their big concert sales pitch to me, I shrug. “Sorry. I’m a one and done girl. I need variety. Life is too short to experience the same thing twice.”

“I agree with Sophie. Try something new.” Hillary comes to my rescue.

Shep rolls his eyes. “Says the person who’s been vacationing in the same three spots for twenty years. Says the woman who married her high school boyfriend. Says the woman who only buys one brand of purses.”

Gordon laughs. “He’s got you there, sweetheart.”

“Fine.” She fakes a pouty face. “Maybe you should see the same performer more than once, Sophie. If you like them, it’s a safer bet than trying another one and them not living up to what you’ve already experienced.”

“That’s likely. Probable. Nearly a one hundred percent guarantee.” Shep’s enjoying this a little too much.

After his parents insist on paying the bill, Hillary stands. When I scoot out of the booth, she hugs me. “It’s been so much fun. I really hope we get to spend more time with you soon.”

“Yes. I’d love that.”

“The four of us should play golf sometime,” Gordon suggests.

“Be careful what you wish for, Dad.” Shep nods for me to follow his parents to the exit.

“Bye, Marcus. Bye, Sophie.” They give us a final wave before heading toward the parking lot.

“Are you parked on the street or in the lot?” Shep asks, turning toward me and standing too close for me to breathe properly.

“Street.”

“What’s your address?”

I shake my head. “Depends on the night. Remember? I’m homeless.”

“Have it your way. I’ll follow you.”

Why does he have to play this way? He can’t follow me. I’m not ready to explain my roommate situation until I no longer have a roommate situation and therefore don’t have to explain it.

“Why don’t you give me your address, Marcus Shepherd? God … I can’t believe I didn’t know your real name. How did it never come up in conversation?”

He winks. “Because you weren’t thinking about my full name. You only needed one to scream when I made you—”

“Just …” I cover his mouth. “Stop. You’re obnoxious.”

He grabs my wrist and kisses my hand and up my arm. I pull it away from him because it tickles and because it’s giving me that fuzzy headed, intoxicated feeling.

“I’ll follow you to your place just to converse for a while before I go home. We’ll do the real friend thing tonight.”

His eyes widen, brows peaked. “The best friend thing?”

“No. The-only-two-people-at-a-party-not-making-out thing so we talk about the weather and count down the minutes until it’s cool to go home.”

“Sophie, did you just give me a glimpse of your college life?”

“Ob-nox-ious …” I squint at him.

“Follow me. I’m the red car over there.” He nods toward the street.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO





“Nice place,” I say with a little apprehension as we meet at the front door to his house. It’s a very small house. I’m sure he’s renting it. But I’ll give him credit for having his own place and keeping a job to pay for it.

“Thanks.” He unlocks it and opens it for me. “Hey, kids.” He greets Julia and George.

I bend down to pet them. Kids. He calls them kids. There he goes again, being completely obnoxious one minute and endearing the next. I’m getting whiplash. He ushers the dogs to the kitchen and the sliding door leading to the backyard.

His place appears to have two bedrooms, a shared bath, and a dinky living room and kitchen. But … he has a place. I’m kinda proud of my progress in men. It’s nothing to brag about since I’m not telling anyone (except Jules) about him, but it’s something.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Oh? What am I thinking?”

He plops down onto his sofa and pats the cushion beside him. “You’re thinking I have a small house. I used to have a bigger house, but Millie has it now.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. You have to live within your means.”

He shrugs. “I don’t need anything bigger. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No. I’m good.” I ignore his invite to sit next to him and opt for keeping a safe distance, finding every painting on the wall and every family photo quite interesting or at least a good distraction from him.

“Millie took the house. You should have at least gotten full custody of the dogs.”

He grunts. “Millie tried to take everything.” He stands and prowls toward me, a lion toying with a lamb.

“Do you want to play a game?” I wring my fingers in front of me, taking refuge behind his sofa next to a fig plant.

“Strip poker?” He smiles.

Jewel E. Ann's Books