The Bet by Max Monroe

Sophie

I was going to go through with it. At least, I think I was going to go through with it.

But in a blink of an eye, everything changed. One moment, I was gripping Jude’s pants and boxers, ready to pull them down, ready to make him and me feel good. And the next, he was telling me we needed to leave.

A hundred different feelings stirred in my belly. Confusion. Disappointment. Relief.

I still don’t know what to make of any of it, but with Jude’s lips persistent against mine, it’s currently the furthest thing I’m thinking about. Hell, I can hardly unlock my door as we stumble into my apartment, his arms around me and his kiss a fierce, determined force guiding and heightening my arousal.

Ever since he decided it was time to leave that club, leave that bedroom, we haven’t stopped kissing or touching each other. Not during the ride on the subway. Or during the three-block walk to my building.

And not now that we’re inside my place either.

I kick off my heels, and Jude lifts me up into his arms, wrapping my thighs around his waist as he strides toward my bedroom.

“Fuck. I need to be inside you,” he says. “Now.”

For once, I just tell it like it is. Say what I’m feeling out loud. “I need that too.”

He groans and presses his mouth to mine again, and our lips and tongues move together in a frenzied, rough tango.

When my back hits my mattress, only then does he disconnect the kiss to slide my dress up my waist and remove my panties. But then, he pauses and says, “Everything off, babe. I need to feel your body against mine.”

I don’t balk, I just do, and all our clothes become a distant memory on my bedroom floor.

Between one beat of my heart and the next, his body covers mine. Every inch of his skin and my skin are touching, connected, rubbing against each other. And I’m wild with the need to feel him, all of him. It’s an all-consuming craving that feels impossible to fully satisfy.

He pauses and leans off the mattress, grabbing for a condom in the back pocket of his discarded pants, but my mouth moves before I can even think.

“No. Don’t.”

He looks at me. “Don’t what?”

“I want to feel you inside me. Bare.”

“But—”

“I’m on birth control,” I add in a rush. “And I’m safe, clean, and—”

“I’m clean too,” he cuts me off. “But are you sure, Sophie?”

I nod, but then I quickly say, “Only if you want it, too.”

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he shows me his answer through actions.

With his body over mine, he guides himself inside me…completely bare. Just like I wanted. Just like I need. Inch by inch, I can feel him…really feel him, and it’s better than anything before.

He slowly stokes our intimate connection as his blue eyes stare deep into mine, and our mouths are so close, we’re sharing breaths and moans.

And it’s all so soft and sweet and perfect. It’s eye contact and touching and feeling and just…becoming one.This doesn’t feel like just sex anymore. It feels like something entirely different.

It feels like more.

Jude’s eyes stay connected with mine, and with each of his thrusts inside me, I feel like another piece of my heart slides out of my chest and into his.

“God, you’re everything.”

Those words are a mere whisper, a barely heard wisp of sound that my ears almost can’t discern, but I swear they come straight from his lips.

I feel the same way, I silently think.

“Sophie.”

That time, I know it’s him. And his sapphire eyes hold the kind of emotion that doesn’t stem from a mere good time. The kind of emotion I’ve been feeling for him for far longer than I can even admit to myself.

And I swear, right there, right then, with softness in his voice and the way I feel like his soul is in his eyes, it’s the final blow—the bull’s-eye straight to my heart.

The mattress shifts, and I pop open my eyes to make out Jude’s form sitting on the edge of the bed in the darkness of my room. I have no idea what time it is, but I know that before I fell asleep, I was nestled cozily within the comfort of his arms, right after it felt like the sex we experienced together wasn’t just sex. No, it was far more.

When he starts to slowly stand up, almost like he’s trying to do it without being heard, I can’t stop myself from reaching out with my hand and brushing my fingers against his back.

“What are you doing?”

“I gotta go, babe.”

“Stay,” I whisper toward him. “Don’t leave. Stay the night with me.”

His muscles tense beneath my fingertips. “I can’t stay, Soph.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just…can’t.”

His back is still toward me, and the lack of emotion in his voice makes an uncomfortable ache start in the pit of my stomach. I sit up to turn on the lamp on my nightstand, and the time on my alarm clock reveals it’s after two in the morning.

“Jude? What’s going on? Did something happen?”

He finally turns around to meet my eyes. “I just can’t stay the night, Sophie. That’s not what I do.”

Not what he does? What the hell?

“What do you mean, that’s not what you do?” I ask as inklings of anger start to flood into my veins. Though, there’s enough hurt and sadness mixed in to make my lips crease down at the corners too. “We were together for three nights straight in Vegas. How is this any different?”

“Because Vegas was fun, babe. And that’s what we are—fun,” he answers, and I hate how cold his voice sounds. I swear, if I put my hand up to his mouth as those words passed his lips, I’d actually feel my fingertips freeze.

I also hate that he’s just written us off like that. After everything we’ve experienced together. After I met his family. After tonight. And he’s going to tell me this is still just fun?

I saw the way he looked at me. I felt the way he kissed me. Touched me. Slid inside me. It wasn’t fucking. It wasn’t sex. And it wasn’t just fun.

When I just sit there staring up at him, trying to understand how one man can change in what feels like an instant, Jude elaborates.

“Soph, babe, I can’t stay because that’s not what this is, you know? I thought you understood that. I thought we were on the same page.”

“We were on the same page,” I say, and my voice grows quiet as my fingers fidget mindlessly with my comforter. There’s a huge part of me that wants to hold back the truth, but the part that refuses to go along with the façade wins out. “But that page feels like it’s turned and turned again, and now, things have changed between us, Jude.”

“No, Sophie.” He stands up with just his boxer briefs covering his body and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Things didn’t change.”

That’s such bullshit. I know I have my own issues with putting relationships and commitment on some kind of pedestal that’s impossible to reach, but I know what I saw. I know what I felt.

“Are you really going to sit there and try to act like nothing besides just a bunch of sex and fun has happened between us? Please don’t do that, Jude. Think about tonight. Think about the way we were together,” I practically plead, silently hoping that he’ll take a step back and really think about what he’s feeling.

But his lips turn into a firm line, and by the way his jaw tenses, I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. Although, I’m not at all expecting what comes out of his mouth next.

“I don’t need to think about anything, Sophie. And it’s not my fault if you’ve made up some shit about us in your head,” he answers, and it feels like each one of his words is a sharpened knife stabbed deeper into my chest.

Tears prick my eyes and my hands shake, and I just sit there, gaping at a man I feel like I don’t even know anymore.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he continues, but it’s the furthest thing from an apology. There isn’t an ounce of anything but emotionless asshole within those words. “I can’t go along with acting like this is more than it is. It’s not my style. Jude Winslow will never be attached to anybody.”

I want to sob. I want to scream. And I want him to fucking leave. More than that, I need him to leave for my own sanity and self-preservation.

“You’re right,” I say, and my voice is harsh as a whip. “We were just fun, Jude. Just a bunch of fucking fun, like you said. Nothing else. Nothing more. And you’ll never be attached to me because I deserve a hell of a lot better than someone like you. So, you can leave now. Pretty sure we’re done here.”

Those stupid tears start to stream down my cheeks in uncontrollable waves, and Jude’s eyes flash with a sense of sadness, like he suddenly grew a conscience and feels bad for hurting me or something. And he steps toward me with an outstretched hand in a pathetic attempt to provide comfort for the pain he just created.

“Don’t touch me!” I snap and abruptly shift my body so his fingers can’t make contact with my skin.

“Sophie,” he starts to say, and the way he says my name reminds me too much of the Jude I thought I knew.

“No. Get out.”

His eyes go wide with shock and other things I don’t care about, but he doesn’t move from his spot beside my bed.

“Get out!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Leave! Now!”

And only then does he listen to me.

Right out of my bedroom and out of my apartment and out of my life, Jude leaves.