The Bet by Max Monroe
Saturday, March 17th
Sophie
A rush of cold air jolts me out of unconsciousness, and I open my eyes to find what I think is a blurry vision of my sister standing above me.
What the heck is happening?
“Holy boobs and beaver, you’re naked!” Belle shouts so loud that I jerk to a sitting position, all haziness of sleep gone, and grab at the comforter to pull it up to my chest. “Sophie, you sleep in the freaking buff?!”
“What?” I question, blinking several times to clear the jumbled hysteria from my mind. Eventually, the situation becomes evident. I’m in my own bed and, yes, I am naked. I’m also, other than my obnoxiously loud sister, very much alone.
Which is not how I entered this bed last night.
Club Craze. Jude. Private VIP room. Taxi ride. My place.
Jude naked.
Me naked.
Hot sex. All over my apartment.
“I didn’t know you slept in the damn nude!” Belle keeps shouting, but this time, her words are followed by the kind of cackles that feel like a cheese grater to my nerves.
“Belle, for the love of God, stop yelling.” I groan and grip the comforter tighter around my chest. I didn’t drink that much last night, but I feel hungover. My limbs are heavy, my energy spent, and the sound of Belle’s yelling feels like an ice pick to my brain. Add in the fact that I need two to four hours with a cold compress between my legs, and it’s no wonder I’m not feeling particularly ready for my sister’s company.
My twin laughs like a hyena, and I rub at my eyes with my free hand to try to make sense of the world around me.
I widen my eyes and scout the room for signs of my late-night guest. The spot on the floor where I know we shed our clothing is empty and cleared, Jude’s attire gone like it never existed. My dress, however, is folded nicely on my chaise lounger on the opposite end of the room.
Did he seriously fold my laundry before he left?
That’s kind of sweet. And a bit odd, considering it seems like he left my apartment again like a bandit in the night.
But did he really leave? Or is he still here somewhere? Even if I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s long gone, a one percent chance of him popping out from my bathroom with a top hat on his dick while my sister watches is still a little disconcerting.
It’s not like I can ask her if she’s seen him, though, so the only thing I can do is assume he’s MIA.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven,” she answers and plops down on the bed beside me.
I shut my eyes briefly and put a hand to my forehead.
Shit. I slept in that late? That’s so unlike me.
And it’s all thanks to the good-dicking from Mr. Sexy Good Time.
“Where were you last night?” Belle asks, and I look over to meet her probing eyes. “I texted you five million times for shit’s sake, and when I woke up this morning, I got worried that you, like, died or something and I was going to have to call the cops.” She lies back on my mattress, crosses her boot-covered feet, and stares up at the ceiling. “So, I made John stop here on the way to brunch so your dead body wouldn’t start stinking up your apartment.”
“How kind of you,” I respond and reach out toward my nightstand to grab my phone. “As you can see, there’s no need to contact the authorities to remove my rotting carcass. I’m still alive and kicking.”
She nods, and her eyes light up with amusement. “Great news.”
I glance at the screen of my phone and find so many notifications that I have to scroll down to see them all.
Most are text messages from Belle that revolve around asking where I am, mingled in with social media notifications. There’s one text from Julie about getting confirmation on the last-minute menu change for the Babkus wedding tonight.
But there’s one notification that stands out the most. A text message from Jude. Evidently, he did something before sneaking out this time, by getting my phone number out of my phone so he’d be able to send me this message since I never actually texted him.
That’s one tick in the win column for my inability to remember a damn passcode. Sure, I’m at severe risk of getting all of my personal information stolen by a stranger or hacker, but at least Jude was able to procure my digits.
Immediately, I tap on the screen to open it up.
Jude: Monday, 8 pm. The Champagne Bar, Plaza Hotel. Wear another sexy little dress.
That’s all it says.
Nothing about last night. Nothing about when he actually left my apartment. Just the promise of more fun to come if I choose to follow his instructions. It’s all a bit overwhelming, and I have no idea what I want to do, but my sister doesn’t give time to ponder on it.
“What the hell were you up to last night, Soph?” Belle asks again, and I try my best to redirect the conversation toward something that doesn’t make my head want to spin.
“Nothing really,” I answer. “But do you mind getting out of my bedroom so I can get dressed?”
“Only if you’re getting dressed to go to brunch with John and me.”
I quirk a brow.
“Oh, c’mon, Soph,” she whines and stands up from my bed. “It’s the least you can do for making me think you’d gone missing.”
“Stop being so dramatic.” I roll my eyes and shake my head, but my sister is determined.
“Put on some clothes, you little nudist, so John can buy us some fucking French toast.”
I laugh at The40-Year-Old Virgin movie reference. But also, I agree because…French toast. I’m a sucker for all things delicious breakfast foods.
Plus, after the erotic events of last night and Jude not leaving any trace of his presence in my apartment besides a text message with instructions for a future clandestine rendezvous, I’m pretty sure I could use the mental distraction that my sister and brother-in-law can provide this morning.
Amelia’s Diner is always moving and shaking during Saturday brunch hours, but since Belle and I have been regulars for the past five years, Danielle, the hostess with the mostest and a good friend, managed to sneak us in past the waiting crowd and seat us in a booth near the kitchen.
It’s also how we managed to get our food within fifteen minutes of arriving. Otherwise, we’d still be sitting outside with the rest of the crowd, waiting to be seated at a table.
In New York, it always pays to know someone.
I cut into my last piece of French toast, but when I shove another bite into my mouth, I realize it’s going to be a no-go on finishing my plate.
“I’m stuffed,” I mutter, set my fork down on the table, and lean back against the cushioned booth on a sigh. “I want to eat more, but I can’t.”
“I feel like a bloated whale,” Belle announces just as she shoves the last two bites of her French toast into her mouth.
John smiles lovingly at her from across the table. “Am I going to have to carry you out of this place, sweetheart?”
Belle grins around a mouthful of sugary carbs and shrugs. “It’s either that or ask Danielle if they have a wheelchair we can borrow.”
“I’m just glad you didn’t go nuts and order the waffle sundae like you did that one time,” I tease, and an amused laugh departs from John’s lungs.
“On that, we can agree, Soph.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” my sister retorts, and both John and I give her a look.
“Wasn’t that bad?” I question. “Belle, you ate an entire Belgian waffle covered in ice cream, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream in five minutes flat.”
“I was hungry.”
“You were nauseous for the rest of the damn day and spent a good two hours on the toilet,” John comments, and Belle snorts.
“It’s because I ate it all too fast. I just need to go slower next time.”
“Or you need to realize that you’re not a teenage boy who can eat anything in sight. You’re an almost thirty-year-old woman with a history of IBS.”
“I’m twenty-eight,” she corrects what I already know. I mean, we are fucking identical twins. “And that waffle sundae definitely gave my intestinal tract a run for its money.”
“Pretty sure that waffle sundae is a GI death sentence for anyone who orders it,” my brother-in-law adds, and I laugh.
“You’re spitting facts, John.”
“Whatever,” Belle retorts and takes a sip of her coffee. “One day soon, I’m going to woman-the-hell-up and order it again. Because that shit is delicious.”
“Remind me not to join you guys for brunch that day.”
John grins across the table at his wife. “Yeah, and give me some advanced notice so I can make sure I load you up with Gas-X and Pepcid.”
Belle crinkles her nose at us. “You guys are so lame.”
“If we’re lame, then you’re downright cuckoo. Especially when it comes to breakfast foods.”
My sister has a serious addiction to baking and eating anything carb- and sugar-loaded. Her eyes are bigger than her stomach, but she never actually listens to her stomach. Instead, she scarfs that shit down until she practically has to put herself on bed rest to recover. To be honest, she’s damn lucky her genetics have blessed her with a freak-of-nature metabolism.
Belle just grins and tosses her napkin onto the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to the ladies’ room. But don’t worry, you guys. It’s just to pee. Not to shit myself silly.”
John shakes his head on a laugh. “Sometimes, Belly, you are so sexy I can hardly stand it.”
“You love me,” she retorts and blows a little kiss in his direction.
The responding smile that consumes his face pulls at my heartstrings.
“That I do. Madly.” He slides out of the booth, places a sweet kiss to Belle’s lips, and snags the check off the table. “I’ll go cash us out.”
My heart aches a little at the whole scene. The loving relationship that John and Belle have is exactly what I hope to have one day. It’s what I’ve become obsessed about having for what feels like an eternity. But it’s also what I need to stop fixating on.
Belle didn’t find John because she was a neurotic lunatic with a mile-long checklist of expectations. She found him because she was open to dating and giving men an actual chance. She found John because she was letting herself live in the moment and have fun. Not because she was writing off every man from the start without even getting to know them.
And Katelynn was the same way with her husband Todd.
Both of my sisters found love when they weren’t even really looking for love. They were just open to the idea of it, not on some CIA-style search that always led them to a dead end and a lonely Friday night.
You could probably learn something from them…
I sigh, and while Belle and John are away from the table, I busy myself by pulling my cell out of my purse and looking at my missed messages again.
The first thing I do is send Julie a quick text back.
Me: Great news about the caterer. Glad that pulled through so we didn’t have to ruin the bride’s wedding by serving the guests McDonald’s chicken nuggets. LOL. Meet me at the venue at 5pm tonight.
Once I hit send, my finger hovers over the one text exchange in my inbox that’s been on my mind since the moment I saw it this morning.
Yes or no?
Do I go to The Champagne Bar, or am I asking for trouble by messing around with a guy like Jude?
He’s not a commitment kind of guy, so I know what I’m getting myself into. Last night, I knew. And yet, I’m still here, questioning it all over again.
I reread his message.
Monday, 8 pm. The Champagne Bar, Plaza Hotel. Wear another sexy little dress.
So… which is it? More Jude-flavored fun on Monday night or the stability of the predictable?
I don’t even have to think about it.
Me: Okay.
And then I lock the screen of my phone and shove it back into my purse before I can give myself time to second-guess.
But my phone vibrates in my purse, and I can’t resist the urge to check it.
Jude: I still have your panties. And I’m keeping them, by the way.
A thrill of excitement creates a path of goose bumps up my arms. And his hot and dirty words are all the confirmation I need to stay resolute in my decision.
Sophie 2.0 isn’t going to obsess over the future. She’s only going to enjoy the present, and she’s definitely going to be at The Champagne Bar on Monday night.
If there’s one man who makes the present the most fun this girl has ever had, it’s Jude.