“But, Sophie,” Kirsten gently continued, “sometimes you’re a little too kind. I think that’s why that Barberi guy manipulated you so well, and I’m just scared you’re going to get involved with the wrong person again by reaching out and trying to save them.”
Sophie raised her head. “Thank you, Kir. But so far Grant is the one who’s saving me. He helped me get a job when I desperately needed one, and he’s been nothing but a gentleman.” She paused for a moment, fondly recalling the warm kisses he’d planted on her face and neck in the cab. Perhaps that behavior wasn’t so gentlemanly after only their first day of working together, but Sophie didn’t mind. “If I don’t trust him simply because he was in prison, then how can I expect anyone to give me a chance? I’m a felon too.”
“Please don’t use that word,” Kirsten said.
“It’s what I am, Kirsten. A felon. I’d better get accustomed to it.” Sophie rested the back of her head on the futon and yawned.
“Looks like you had a long first day of work.”
“You could say that.” Sophie smiled weakly.
“Did you have any dinner?”
Sophie thought a moment. “Actually, no.”
Popping up, Kirsten ordered, “You stay here and rest then, and I’m going to heat up some stir-fry leftovers.”
“No,” Sophie protested, trying to get up from the low futon, but Kirsten pressed firmly on her shoulder.
“Let me get you some food. Somebody needs to watch over drunken McSailor anyway,” she smirked.
“Oh, I guess I’ll make the sacrifice then.” Sophie returned the smirk and added a wink.
Kirsten busied herself in the kitchen, and as she nuked the stir fry, she caught Sophie staring intently at the man on the couch. Grant was his name? Sophie gently rearranged his arm, trying to shift him to a more comfortable position. Then she sat back on the futon and sighed happily.
Kirsten froze. She knew that look. Sophie had exhibited that same blissful, contented stare every day in their Theories of Personality class. There she’d aimed that look at their dashing professor. Kirsten had attempted to discourage Sophie’s pursuit of a man twenty years their senior to no avail. Sophie had been forced to learn the hard way—a mortifying, ego-shattering rejection of her earnest confession of love. Despite his flirtations, their professor had been happily married.
Kirsten did not want her friend to endure that kind of pain again. She brought in the steaming plate, but did not capture Sophie’s attention until she was standing right over her. Sophie jumped a bit and smiled gratefully, reaching up to take the food.
Kirsten slowly shook her head, her mouth tightening with disapproval. Sophie warily inquired, “What’s wrong?”
She pointed at Sophie. “That look on your face. I know that look. You like him. You like McSailor!”
“Kir—”
“This is not good at all. You are positively smitten with him.”
“Kir—”
“I can’t believe it. You are falling for another criminal!”
“Can I talk now, please?” Sophie interjected more aggressively than she intended. She took a deep breath, intending to protest, but found she couldn’t refute Kirsten’s suspicions. Sophie sheepishly admitted, “Yeah, I do like him.”
“As if you could deny it!” Kirsten gave a satisfied nod and pulled a chair from the kitchen table into the small living room, plopping down across from Sophie and waiting expectantly for her to continue.
Her face glowing, Sophie bashfully confided, “He kissed me in the cab.”
“Really? How was it?”
“Nice,” she responded dreamily. She stole a glance at Grant and hoped he really was passed out. “We haven’t kissed on the lips ? yet—but it was still lovely.” Frowning slightly, she added, “I hope it wasn’t just beer goggles, or should I say, tequila goggles.”
Snorting, Kirsten retorted, “I highly doubt that. You’re a great catch, Sophie. You’re gorgeous, but more importantly, you have a fantastic personality. Grant should be so lucky.”
Sophie could not stop tears from springing to her eyes. After a lifetime of her father’s criticism and a year of the judicial system throttling her self-confidence, she could scarcely believe such kind words. “Oh, I’m a real catch,” she said, blushing. “A woman who went to prison, a woman on parole for being incredibly na?ve and stupid. I can see my profile getting all kinds of hits.”
Kirsten’s eyes narrowed wickedly. “Ooh, I know what your screen name could be: Prisoner of Love!” She giggled.
Sophie simply shook her head and brought a forkful of rice and vegetables to her mouth.
“Ex-Con in Search of McSailor?” Kirsten asked hopefully.
Finishing her bite, Sophie countered, “I thought you were against me falling for a criminal.”
“I am,” Kirsten replied definitively, reminding herself of her prior position. “Although this is one of the first times I’ve seen you smile since you got out.” Gazing at the long form of the sleeping man on her couch, she added, “And he is hopelessly cute.”
“Hunter wasn’t so thrilled about me fraternizing with a con either,” Sophie admitted. “But if he met Grant, maybe he would change his mind. I can’t wait for you to see what Grant is like. You’re going to love him, Kir.”
I could say the same for you, Kirsten thought. Sophie seemed like she was well on her way to loving Grant already.
*
She awoke to a strange sound. Sophie blinked several times in the darkness, and pressing silence greeted her ears as she lay completely still on the futon. Then the sound occurred again—from the direction of the sofa. Listening intently, Sophie determined it was a whimpering noise, a soft, helpless cry. And the cry was coming from Grant.
Sophie sat up on the hard mattress, barely making out the contours of his lean body in the blackness. Once her pupils dilated further, she could see his eyes were closed. He must be dreaming.
His breaths came in quickened rasps, and he began talking in his sleep. At first his words were unintelligible, but then she heard “I promise.” She waited, frozen, consumed by an uncomfortable feeling that she was invading his privacy.
“No, no,” he pleaded urgently. “No. I promise I’ll be good.”
His voice cracked, and Sophie’s heart almost broke. Who was he pleading with? Was he having a nightmare? Should she wake him?
His body trembled, and his breathing intensified. “Please. No. I promise.” He gave a shuddering cry. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good.”
Sophie’s throat tightened as she listened to a grown man speak a child’s words. But then he lapsed into stillness and his breathing gradually slowed. Tiredness overtook her as his steady breaths lulled her toward sleep, and she returned her head to her pillow. A short time later, she was startled awake again. This time his words were clear, sharp, angry. “Leave!” he snarled. “Get away from him!”
She held her breath.
“Leave Ben alone,” he demanded. Who was Ben? “Leave him alone.”