The Bet by Max Monroe

Sunday, March 25th

Sophie

In between focusing on the Crenshaw wedding currently surrounding me, I can’t seem to stop my brain from floating back to memories of Vegas with Jude.

Mile High Club. Girl Scout badges. Room service in bed.

Having more sex than my vagina should be able to tolerate in three days.

No doubt, a lot of awesome shit happened in Vegas, but tonight, I feel a bit out of sorts. I’m hardly able to concentrate on the songs the DJ is currently playing, and it takes a Herculean effort to keep checking in on the bride to make sure she appears happy and at ease.

Is this jet lag?I mean, our flight back home to Teterboro got in yesterday afternoon, but it’s like my body is still on West Coast time or something.

More like, your body is on Jude Winslow time.

“Hello? Earth to Sophie?”

I look up from the cake table to find Julie standing beside me with a hand on her hip.

“You okay, boss?”

“Yeah.” I nod, clearing my throat. “Of course. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” she questions with narrowed eyes and steps closer to me. “Because you’re, like, really out of it tonight. Come to think of it, you’ve been out of it a lot lately.”

“What?” I blow out an exasperated breath. “No, I haven’t.”

I mean, sure, tonight, I am. But prior to this? I don’t think so.

“Oh, yes. You have,” she whispers and begins to help me set up the area for the bride and groom to cut the cake. “I mean, you just took a few days off to go see your parents in Miami, which was kind of strange because you never do anything last minute. Trust me, Soph, you’ve been in la-la land for the past two months.”

Have I really been that out of it?

I meet her eyes, and the look on her face says, “Yes, girl, you definitely have.”

Shit.I guess all of this secret-rendezvous fun with Jude is starting to show its effects.

Well, you did sneak off to Vegas with him…

I grimace.

“All right, spill it,” Julie comments. “What is going on with you?”

Oh boy. There’s the big, million-dollar question, and the answer revolves around an irresistible, larger-than-life man with witchcraft-like abilities to bestow mind-blowing orgasms.

Otherwise known as Jude Winslow.

I haven’t told anyone but Dr. Winters—vaguely—about how I’ve been filling my time lately, but there’s a huge part of me that feels like I need to tell someone. Maybe if I could confide in Julie, then I wouldn’t appear so fucking out of it when we’re working.

If anything, I probably should tell her…right?

When I realize Julie is still standing there, waiting for me to answer, I bite the bullet and dish some of the dirty details of my ongoing, top-secret…whatever it is Jude and I are doing.

“Okay…so…I’ve kind of…sort of…been seeing someone,” I confess, and Julie’s eyes expand in surprise, and her mouth quirks up in a giant, happy smile.

“What?”she nearly shouts, and thankfully the music coming from the DJ at the front of the venue prevents her outburst from drawing attention. “You’re seeing someone?”

I nod, but also cringe. “It’s actually who I was on a trip with. When I told you I went to Miami to see my parents, I lied. Which I’m really sorry about. I know it was a shitty thing to do. Please don’t hate me.”

“Okayyy…definitely shitty and I wish I could hate you because I was stuck dealing with the bride from hell’s meltdown for nearly three days, but I can’t. At least, not until I find out if the reason for your absence is something I want to hear about. I mean, I’ve been waiting for the Ding-Dong Dish from you for years.” She offers a small, forgiving smile. “So, tell me, what in the hell were you doing? Where did you go if not to Miami?”

“We went to Vegas.”

“Vegas?!” Her jaw damn near hits the tops of her nude pumps, and this time, her voice rises over the DJ’s music enough to grab a few wedding guests’ attention. “Holy balls, Soph! Did you, like, run off and get married?!”

“Shh,” I say and lift my index finger to my lips. “And oh my God, no,” I quickly answer and shake my head maniacally. “No. I did not get married. It was just for fun. That’s it.”

“Phew. Okay.” She puts a hand to her chest and lets out a relieved breath. “Because I was going to say if you went off and got hitched and I didn’t get to be a part of planning your big day, I’d straight up murder you.”

“It wasn’t like that. I promise,” I add. “He’s just a guy I’ve been spending a lot of time with. A guy I’ve been having a lot of fun with. A guy I haven’t told anyone but you about.”

“You haven’t even told Belle? Or Katelynn?”

I shake my head.

“Man ohhh man…” She lets out a low whistle as another stupid smile covers her face. “This is seriously the best news I’ve heard all week.”

“What?” A barking laugh pops from my throat. “Why?”

“Because you never let yourself do anything like this, and I’m just happy you’re finally having some damn fun.”

She’s not wrong. I mean, it’s a point my therapist has been trying to get through my head.

“So…” She scrutinizes my face like she’s trying to solve a crime. “I know you’re having fun with him…but do you think it’s going to go anywhere?”

“Uh…” I pause, completely unsure of what to say. Frankly, the whole prospect of that question makes me feel like I’ve come down with a sudden bout of vertigo.

Jude Winslow isn’t the kind of guy who settles down, but when I think about the time we’ve spent together, how close we’ve been getting lately, it definitely doesn’t feel like we’re just a random hookup.

I mean, he took me on a work trip with him. Told me about his family. Heck, he even remembers when I tell him things like I always wanted to be a Girl Scout, and then, takes it a step further by trying to make that dream come true in a sexy, dirty, but super-sweet way.

“I don’t know.”

It’s all I can answer. Because I really, truly don’t know what it is that we’re doing. Still, though, I kind of wish I’d have just said no. Because it feels like hope is already creeping in.

“Gotcha.” Julie just nods. “Well, I’m hoping it turns into something and I can meet this guy, whoever he is. Because a man who can get Sophie Sage to take a last-minute trip to Vegas must be pretty damn spectacular.”

I open my mouth to respond, but when no words come out, I quickly shut it and busy myself with a double-check of the cake table.

And by the time the DJ announces for everyone to gather around the rear of the room to watch the happy couple cut the cake, I head back toward the kitchen area to make sure waitstaff is ready to start serving the extra dessert add-ons the bride wanted for her guests.

But just as I step through the doors, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my jacket. When I check the screen, I find a text from the man who’s been taking up a lot of flipping real estate in my head.

Jude: What are you doing right now?

Me: Working a wedding at NoMo.

Jude: Shit. You’re in SoHo? That’s like three blocks from this kick-ass apartment where a guy with an awesome cock is currently sitting with about an hour to waste before he has to head to Club Craze. Think you can sneak out of there and meet him?

I laugh to myself, but then, my face expands—eyebrows, mouth, cheeks—when I think, is he asking me to come to his apartment?

I’ve never been to Jude’s place. Which is definitely creating the urge to actually leave this wedding to meet him.

Me: My assistant might kill me if I skip out on this wedding reception. The bride is a bit of a lunatic.

After I send that message, a question that’s been floating around inside my head for a while makes its way to the forefront of my mind.

Me: Speaking of Club Craze, I have a question for you.

Jude: And what’s that, babe?

Me: Why were you the exotic dancer on the night of my sister’s bachelorette? As I know now, your job is a whole lot more managerial in nature than that.

Jude: Because I can’t resist a bet.

Me: A bet?

Jude: Yep. With Maverick. The guy who was supposed to dance for your sister’s party. He’s a cocky little shit, and I was in the mood to prove myself as the better dancer.

Me: Did you win?

Jude: Technically, yes.

Me: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Jude: It means, yes, I did win the bet, which revolved around bringing in more tips than Maverick—most of it was thanks to a tall, handsy chick at your sister’s party who shoved like three hundred bucks in my underwear.

I laugh. That wasdefinitely Tonya

Jude: But a gentleman like me never kisses and tells—or, in your case, never makes a fake bride-to-be orgasm during an exotic dance and tells—so I didn’t actually claim the money I was rightfully entitled to.

I don’t know why that revelation makes me feel good, but it does.

Although, there’s also a part of me that isn’t too thrilled over the idea of Jude stripping for other women. Especially when I think about what that dance of his did to me.

Me: And how often do you take bets like that?

Jude: HA. Once and only once, babe. Now, go tell your assistant that you have a very important Secret Club meeting, but you’ll be back before she even misses you.

Me: You’re nuts, sir.

Jude: Nah, babe. I just miss your sweet-as-fuck pussy, and I’m very determined in my support of you earning all those badges.

Damn, he makes it so hard to say no. With my phone pressed to my chest, I glance around the kitchen and see that everything is still in order. And when I step back through the door and into the main venue area, I note that Julie looks relaxed and hasn’t developed that weird vein in her forehead that only comes when she’s about to lose her fucking mind.

But can I really sneak out of here for an hour?

Oh yes, you can, and you’re already figuring out how you will.

Next thing I know, I’m sending a text confirmation that showcases my possible lunacy.

Me: What’s your address?