Oliver
Naturally, Elijah waits until he has me in a headlock to spill the big news.
“Ask me who I was with last night,” he says as I struggle to break his hold.
“Why don’t you just tell me,” I suggest, “before you get hurt, pretty boy.”
He hesitates, and I nearly throw him off then and there.
“Sofie,” he admits, and then I really do throw him.
Eli lands hard on his back, laughing hysterically.
“I thought that might have some effect on you,” he says, grinning as he picks himself back up.
He has every reason to be smiling right now. Sofie Carson is like a dream come to life, walking around New York City completely oblivious to the fact that she shouldn’t technically be real.
Eli and I spar like this every Sunday night from the quiet sanctity of my building’s private gym.
Usually, the other tenants are too hungover from their long weekends popping champagne bottles or too in Europe to frequent the gym at this time, so we generally have the place to ourselves.
Which is handy, because it means we can gently beat the crap out of each other without anyone getting any wild ideas and calling the cops. Which is the real reason we’ve switched Fight Club night from Thursdays to Sundays.
“Sofie Carson. Goddamn, man. Well, dare I ask?”
I throw a slow, easy right hook at Eli that he has plenty of time to duck. Fortunately for him, he needs his pretty-boy face for work on Monday. It’s his charming, effortless handsomeness that makes our male investors trust him and our female investors swoon. It wouldn’t play quite as well if he showed up with a black eye or a split lip though, so I go easy on the guy.
Eli returns the favor by popping me one right in those.
“We fucked, if that’s what you’re asking,” Eli admits. “In the jet—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, holding a boxing glove up like I’m hitting a pause button. “You took Sofie—our Sofie—in your jet?”
“To Vegas,” he confirms. “Gambled a little. Honeymoon suite. The works.”
Briefly, I’m tempted to knock that smug grin off his perfect face, not because I grudge him the date or anything. Not really. Just, damn, Sofie in Vegas.
I wish I’d thought of it first.
“You’re setting the bar pretty high, buddy. That’s a tough act to follow.”
Eli shrugs, and I catch him in the gut with my glove. Unpause.
“You’re telling me.” He laughs. “But I guess that was kind of the point. You have it bad for her too, don’t you?”
I give him the look. The “stop asking me shit you already know the answer to” look.
He bops me in the nose again.
“Okay, let me try again. You jealous?”
We circle each other, our fists raised defensively, waiting to see which one of us will strike first.
But this is just boxing. Not real life. And where it matters, Eli’s already struck first.
The sly bastard.
Now I just have to make sure I don’t strike out.
I swing, left hook, a little harder this time. My glove catches Eli in the ear. Now it’s my turn to put on my best shit-eating grin.
“Not jealous, no.” I laugh as I watch him reel. “But don’t get too comfortable. If there was ever a girl worth raising the bar for, it’s her.”
Eli shakes his head like he’s regaining his senses.
“Couldn’t agree more,” he says, a little dazed. I let him get his bearings before we go back at it. “If I was a betting man, I’d say Lucas is probably after her too.”
“One night in Vegas and you’re already a gambling addict.”
Eli throws a left hook of his own, and I dodge it handily.
“Can you blame me? Sofie won me fifty grand,” he says, recovering his stance before I can retaliate.
“Are we totally sure she’s real?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Fuck if I know, man. But look, I can’t say I’d be surprised if we were all going after her. Historically speaking, we’ve all had pretty good taste.”
“In women, wine, and biotechnology,” I agree.
But nonetheless, it’s something that I have to take a moment to process. Sofie wasn’t the first girl we’ve ever shared, but she’s the first one who I’ve felt this strongly about. Could my friendship with Lucas and Elijah withstand a war over a woman?
If she was anyone else—literally any other girl in the world—I’d back off here and now. But even a shot at Sofie is worth the risk. I just need to square it away in my head right now.
She might not end up mine, but if so, it won’t be from a lack of trying.
“Seriously, though,” Eli says, snapping me out of my sidebar with my conscience. “Are you cool with this?”
I crack my neck and bounce on my heels. The circling recommences.
“I’ve gotta be. We all do,” I say with certainty.
“Right, but those are words, man. Feelings hold a hell of a lot more weight. We’ve never let a girl come between us before, but Sofie…”
I nod in understanding.
“She’s Sofie,” I agree. “But the way I figure it, we’ve shared her once…”
Eli extends his boxing glove for an obligatory fist bump, and I oblige.
“I’m not just looking to fool around with her though,” I tell him, catching him in the shoulder with my glove. “She’s more than just some fuck-and-forget.”
“You’re telling me,” Eli says with a raw kind of laugh. “I can’t get her out of my damn head. Thought I might be able to fuck it out, but…”
“One night in Vegas didn’t cure much,” I finish. “I know what you mean. I’ve been dreaming about this damn girl.”
It’s true. It’s been two nights since our first date with Sofie Carson, and it feels like I’ve barely slept for either of them. I’ve been dreaming of Sofie kisses and Sofie licks, Sofie sucks and Sofie fucks.
I woke up this morning from a dream where she reads to me from her biochem textbook on a beach in Mexico, wearing nothing but a sombrero and some coconut-scented sunscreen.
When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. Nor could I believe the massive tent I was pitching in my sheets.
It took a long, hot shower to take care of that one, let me tell you.
Just when I think I’m safe, Eli suckers me in the nose again. I scowl as he snickers.
“You really are hung up on her,” he says, and even he sounds a little surprised. “You normally only dream in gadgets and gizmos.”
“Untrue,” I correct him, hitting him right back. I shouldn’t be aiming for Eli’s nose. He looks deeply offended that I would even dare, but the man left his center open, and I couldn’t help myself. “There’s that dream where Stan Lee and I are sharing a bubble bath.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means about that whacky subconscious of yours,” Eli says, shaking his head. “You wanna call it a night before you permanently mess up my money maker?”
“Poor thing,” I deadpan. “Careful with the gentle breeze outside on your way home, man. It might blow you right over.”
“Eh, I’ll recover somehow,” Eli says with that sly grin that means he’s about to try starting some shit. “Sofie can blow me after and set everything right again.”
Now it’s my turn to put him in the headlock. If I don’t get Sofie’s sweet, soft mouth around my cock again soon, Eli’s bragging is going to kill me.
“Okay, okay! Uncle!” Eli surrenders.
“That’s what I thought.” I smirk. “You shouldn’t be talking about my girlfriend like that.”
“Oh, your girlfriend, is she? Because she sure didn’t look like your girlfriend while she was doing a sexy little striptease for me on the revolving bed in the honeymoon suite…”
Eli proceeds to pantomime what I’m sure he thinks is an adequate replay of Sofie’s strip show. I put an end to it by tossing him his towel. It hits him in the face with a wet slap.
“Alright.” He laughs. “I’m done. Wanna get Thai food for dinner? You can brief me on your big plans for Sofie this weekend.”
“You’re assuming that I’ll wait until this weekend.”
“You’d better not,” Eli warns me. “I’d hate for Lucas to get to her first.”
“He can have his shot,” I say graciously. “After all, Sofie deserves the best, right?”
“Right,” Eli says, clapping me on the back as we climb out of the boxing ring. “So may the best man win.”