Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,43
to let anyone in, but Sophie’s got clearance.”
I blinked. This was Janet, his chef/housekeeper/nanny/therapist, not his mom. She let out a little squeak, her entire expression transforming. “You’re Sophia! Come inside, please. Oh, gosh, I’ve been keeping you on the doormat this whole time. Can I get you something to drink, sweetheart?”
She ushered me into the entryway, which was much prettier without the red cups and dancing bodies littering around. Smaller too. It seemed homier now, warmer.
I slipped my tennis shoes off, not wanting to dirty the carpet. “Maybe some water?”
“Why don’t you two sit down in the family room and I’ll bring out a tray?” She looked between Walsh and me for a quick moment before going off in the direction of the kitchen.
Walsh watched us from the bottom stair, leaning against the railing, expression unreadable. Inexplicably, my tongue decided that words were overrated, and I just stared at him. Mute. Awkward.
Without a word, I shoved the can at him, totally aware that I’d been clutching it like a lifeline.
He looked at it guardedly. “What is it?”
“Chicken soup.” I cleared my throat. “It was either that or tomato. Chicken soup actually has less sodium than tomato, so I thought this would be better. You said you weren’t feeling good.”
Walsh stared at the can for several more moments before plucking it from my fingertips, setting it on the flat part of the staircase newel. “My favorite. Thanks, Sophie.”
“It’s Sophia,” I corrected him, but my lighthearted tone fell flat. I was too unsettled by his worn-out appearance to be properly sarcastic with him.
He hopped down from the last step, leading the way into the family room. “Come sit down.”
I trailed after him, but at a distance. “I smell.”
“What? You do not.”
“You haven’t gotten close enough. Biking all the way to your house in this heat was an awful idea.”
Walsh fell onto the couch, lining his arms along the back of the gray cushions. He looked exhausted; if he were to relax, he could’ve fallen asleep. “It can’t be as bad as sweaty baseball players.”
I rolled my eyes. “Totally worse.”
Walsh’s gray expression broke, the clouds in his eyes parting to show a ray of light. The sun on a rainy day. A surge of triumph came over me, knowing I was responsible for this break in the weather. “Is it sad that you rolling your eyes at me makes my entire day?”
I plopped down next to him on the couch, deciding that I didn’t care if I smelled or not. “Rough night?”
“Are you that good or are the circles under my eyes that dark?”
“Both.”
Janet’s socks made no noise as she moved into the room, carrying a tray with a water pitcher and two glasses. She set it down on the coffee table, and Walsh leaned forward to stop her from pouring. “Let me get it, Jan.”
She allowed him to take over, pressing her palms together. “You’re very beautiful, Sophia. As pretty as Walsh said you were.”
That sentence startled me, but I tried not to let it show. Instead, I looked at Walsh accusingly. “I haven’t been talking to people about you. Now I feel like a bad—”
My mind seized on the word and choked, forbidding my mouth to speak it. I’d never said that word in reference to him before.
“Girlfriend?” Walsh covered smoothly, leaning back and handing me a glass of water. “Don’t worry. You haven’t hit the red zone yet.”
Cue my second eye roll.
“Be nice.” Janet swatted his arm. “I’ll give you two a little privacy. It was great to meet you, Sophia.” She shot me a little smile as she headed back out of the room.
Walsh leaned deeper into the couch, moving so his inner elbow was brushing the skin of my neck. Ugh, I hoped I wasn’t as sweaty as I felt. “You told Janet about us?”
“I figured if I’m going to be living a lie, I might as well practice it everywhere I go. That way I won’t screw up, right?”
A sour feeling simmered under my skin, hot and itching. I moved out from underneath Walsh’s arm, letting it drop to the seat of the sofa with a thunk. “It was your idea.”
His eyes went wide, clearly caught off guard. “What was my idea?”
“‘Living a lie’? I never asked you to. You were the one to start all this.”
At that, his eyebrows slammed together. “I’m not mad about it, Sophie. I just thought if I’m being consistent then—”
“It’s just one vowel, Walsh. How would you feel if I