The Bet by Max Monroe

Saturday, April 14th

Jude

I pace on the sidewalk, and every time I look at the entrance door to the building, I have to force oxygen in and out of my lungs.

Just stay calm, man.

And when the pacing is only causing me to freak out more, I stop and pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the last few text exchanges between my sister and me.

Winnie: It’s go time, bro. She’s going to be at her apartment soon.

Me: Are you sure, Win? It’s Saturday night. She usually has wedding events on the weekends.

Winnie: I’m positive. Get your ass in gear and head to her apartment, stat.

That was the last message she sent me, but it’s been nearly two hours and I’m too impatient to just stand here clueless and waiting.

Me: We all set, Win? What’s her ETA? Give me an update, for fuck’s sake.

But a full minute goes by and no response.

And then another full minute goes by. Still, no text back.

When the count moves to four minutes and only radio silence, I begin to demon-dial Winnie. Over and over and over again, I call her, get voice mail, hang up, and call again.

“Oh my God!” she snaps into my ear once she finally answers. “Relax. I swear to you that everything is all set.”

“You know,” I retort back and run a hand through my hair. “You could’ve just texted me back and told me that.”

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Attitude, that I was on the phone with a certain someone by the name of Julie.”

Sophie’s assistant.

“For real? What’d she say? How is Sophie? Did she say anything about me?”

I am officially a man in love, and apparently that means I act like a fool. But honestly, after spending the last week trying to get in touch with Sophie—more texts and calls than I’m certain I’ve ever sent anyone in my life—I don’t care about anything besides seeing her.

“Shit,” Winnie mutters. “Hold on just a sec, Jude.”

Hold on? Fucking hold on?!

“Oh my God,” I breathe out in frustration and resume the pacing again.

When I was a teenager, I can remember my mom wearing the life out of two DVDs. Repeatedly, she watched those damn movies. They were her go-to when nothing else was on.

One was a movie called Twister. It was a love story wrapped up in a dramatic tornado, storm-chasers plot. The visual effects made it seem like they filmed it with a potato, and the acting, in my opinion, wasn’t all that great either.

The other movie was the famous When Harry Met Sally.

And truthfully, I always thought the one monologue Harry delivers when he’s trying to make Sally realize that he loves her was gag-worthy. I’d cringe if I heard those clichéd lines coming from our living room television, and trust me, I heard them a lot with Wendy Winslow’s frequent viewership.

I thought Harry was a fucking sap. Pathetic, even. But right now, standing outside Sophie’s apartment, I realize that I am Harry. I’m Harry, and I’m desperate to make the woman I love, the woman I know I screwed things up with, understand that I need her.

And the urgency to do all that is pressing around my neck like a vise.

“Okay, I’m back.” Winnie’s voice is in my ear again.

“What the hell, Win?” I question and stop pacing so I can give my full focus to the conversation.

“I’m sorry, okay!” she apologizes, but it’s more sass than apology. “Julie was calling me on the other line again.”

“Oh, well, you should’ve fucking said that. What’d she say? Did she tell you if Sophie has said anything about me?”

“Jude,” Winnie responds on a snort. “We’ve been through this. I am not calling Julie to get the girl gossip. She thinks I’m a flipping bride trying to find an event planner, even though I’m just carefully trying to figure out what Sophie is up to so my brother can give her the big romantic gesture that will make her realize he may be an idiot, but he’s an idiot who loves her.”

“Yeah, I keep forgetting about that.”

Frankly, ever since Winnie said she’d help me, she wasn’t lying. And once it was apparent that I’d fucked things up so bad with Sophie that she wasn’t even answering my calls or texts, Winnie’s been on the case, even dragged two of her best friends, Cassie and Georgia, in on the charade. They’ve basically been undercover CIA agents, trying to figure out Sophie’s whereabouts and shit.

It all sounds pretty stalkerish, but what can I say? I’m new at this whole being-in-love thing.

“But don’t worry, I got enough info about Sophie to know we’re still a definite go.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You’re at her apartment, right?”

“Standing outside her building like a stalker as we speak.”

“Perfect.”

“You realize that you probably shouldn’t be encouraging this sad behavior, right?”

“Jude, it’s not sad when you’re putting it all on the line for the woman you love.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling me that. I just hope you don’t have it all wrong.”

“I don’t,” she says, and her voice doesn’t falter. “Now, since Julie let me know that Sophie just texted that she’s done running errands but is going to call me in about thirty minutes when she’s back at her apartment to talk about my fake wedding plans, I also know that you’re exactly where you need to be, and the rooftop is ready.”

“What? How? Are you here?”

“No, Jude, but I’m just that good,” she answers through a confident laugh. “And I also had a little help from some of my friends.”

I glance around the mostly empty sidewalk, but besides an old man with a cane and a small group of teenagers near the bodega on the corner, I see zero familiar faces.

But then, when I turn on my heel to look toward Sophie’s building, one big, familiar-as-hell dude is highlighted beneath the glow of the entry lights as he comes striding out with an even bigger smile on his face.

“Uh…Win? By any chance, did you happen to have Thatch help you?” I ask her, a part of me hoping that what I’m seeing isn’t real.

“He had to pitch in last minute,” she answers. “Between an issue at Wes’s restaurant and an off-season knee injury for one of my players, I couldn’t be the one to do the setup on two hours’ notice.”

Thatcher Kelly and his wife Cassie are two of Wes and Winnie’s best friends. But Thatch is also one wild motherfucker. Frankly, the two of us are kind of kindred spirits when it comes to seeking out fun and good times.

But I’m not so sure he’s the man I want at the helm of this.

Instantly, visuals of last summer when we caught a canoe on fire while shooting off fireworks for the Fourth of July flash in my head.

God, no.

“You didn’t happen to plan a big fireworks show or anything, right?”

She cackles. “After the two of you almost lit the lake house on fire? Um, no. There’re no fireworks.”

“Jude, the man of the hour!” Thatch exclaims and walks toward me.

“Wait…is that Thatch? Is he still there?” Winnie questions in my ear.

“Hey, man,” I greet, and Winnie is now yelling.

“Oh my God, tell him he needs to leave! Now!”

“By the way, my sister says you need to leave.”

He chuckles. “Tell Winnie to cool her jets and that ole Thatcher was just making sure everything was fluffing perfect.” He winks. “Which it is. Made sure it’s extra special just for you, bud.”

Now, I’m really starting to wonder if I should be terrified that Thatcher Kelly was a part of this planning process. This is a big moment, what feels like the most important in my life, and I can’t have anything go wrong.

“You want me to hang around?” Thatch asks. “There’re plenty of places I can hide on that rooftop and make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“Tell him to leave!” Winnie shouts into the receiver. “You’re not his own personal rom-com movie!”

“Nah, man, I’m good, but I appreciate the help.” Also,please tell me “extra special” doesn’t mean you added a last-minute fireworks show or explosion or, you know, anything else that might put Sophie in too much physical danger to allow her to focus on me telling her I’m in love with her.

“Anytime, son,” he responds, completely oblivious to my current concern. “Anyway, I better head out of here before Cassie calls me again. I told her I’d be home in twenty minutes, but that was thirty minutes ago. So, yeah, if I don’t get home soon, she’ll kick me in the dick.”

I grimace.

“Love is grand, isn’t it?” he chuckles and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m just kidding, my man. This, what you’re doing, it takes giant gonads. But I can tell you, it’s worth it. When you find the woman who makes you want to show all your fluffing cards and put your balls on the line, you do everything in your power to make her yours.”

I step back and meet his eyes. But the usual sarcasm and humor aren’t what I find. Just steady, serious, and full-on honesty.

“Anyway, son,” he continues and claps a hand onto my back. “Good luck. Although, I don’t think you’ll need it. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

Once Thatch leaves and I end the call with Winnie, the weight that sits on my shoulders feels like a thousand pounds as I use the entry key my sister somehow managed to commandeer by what I hope weren’t illegal means, and I head inside.

Once I’m on Sophie’s floor, standing beside her door, my phone chimes with a text.

Winnie: I’m proud of you. I love you. Everything is going to be okay. And most importantly, YOU GOT THIS.

God, I hope she’s right. Because I feel like I’m standing on an actual ledge right now, and I’m not even on the rooftop yet.

In less than twenty minutes, you’re going to find out…

Twenty minutes turns into forty minutes, and I start to wonder if Julie doesn’t know what the fuck she was talking about, but then, the elevator doors open and there she is.

Sophie.

She looks more beautiful than my mind even allowed me to recall over the past week and half. Most likely, out of self-preservation. No doubt, I’m in enough pain as it is, but my mind hasn’t lost clarity on anything about this woman.

I know her. To the depths of my heart, I know her.

I know her laugh. And her smile. I know her adorable quirks. I know who she is on the outside as much as I know who she is on the inside.

And I know all those things because I love her. Plain and simple.

With her arms full of bags, she juggles carrying them while also typing something on her phone, and her eyes don’t look up from the screen until she’s steps away from where I stand beside her apartment door.

Her eyes flash with instant, intimate familiarity, and my presence is such a shock that the bags in her arms start to fall.

Quickly, I step forward and snag them before they topple over and to the ground.

But she doesn’t say anything. She is a statue, her feet rooted to their spot on the floor.

“I know you’re surprised to see me,” I hedge carefully.

“H-how? W-why?” she fumbles over her words. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I know you haven’t answered any of my calls or texts, and that you most likely don’t want to talk to me, but this, you, are too important for me not to try as hard as I can to get you to hear what I need to say.”

She shakes her head, like she still can’t understand what is happening.

“I just need five minutes of your time, Sophie,” I say, and I know that my voice borders on pleading, but I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to get her to hear me out.

“Jude, I’m pretty sure that everything that needed to be said was already said.”

Fuck.

“Just hear me out for five minutes, and then if you never want to see me again, I’ll leave you alone.” But please don’t make me leave you alone. I love you too much.

“I’m supposed to call a client that’s been riding my assistant’s ass for the past week to get in touch with me,” she answers, but also, she searches my eyes for a beat before adding, “So, you’re going to have to make this quick.”

She unlocks her apartment door and pointedly holds it open for me to step inside. Which I do, but after I set the bags down on her kitchen counter, I turn to her.

“I know this might be a big ask, but can you follow me somewhere?”

“Jude.”

“Please?” I beg.

“Where am I supposed to follow you to?”

“I have a feeling you’re really going to hate this answer…” I pause and cringe a little. “But I can’t tell you that until we get there.”

She sighs. “I don’t think—”

I cut her off by walking over and pulling her hands into mine. They come easily, like they want to be there, and she doesn’t pull away, which I take as a good sign.

“Just five minutes, Soph. And I promise it’s not anything crazy.”

She sighs again. Stares down at our interlocked hands, and just as she lets go of mine and my heart feels as if it drops out of my stomach, she says, “Fine. Lead the way.”

An inkling of hope. I’ll fucking take it.

Out of her apartment and into the elevator, she follows me, and I’m sure I glance over my shoulder a hundred times to make sure she doesn’t attempt to run.

But she doesn’t. She also doesn’t look at me at all, her eyes fixated on the ground and her arms crossed below her breasts, but she stays.

The elevator doors open directly onto the rooftop, and Sophie’s brow furrows as she steps out to find a hundred LED tealight candles—not a fire risk, thank fuck—covering every surface of the ground around us. Along with what have to be at least fifty large vases filled with flowers that guide an open pathway toward a perfect spot on the deck that showcases the city.

“Oh my God.” A hand goes to her mouth. “Did you do all this?”

“With some help, yes.”

Sure, I didn’t actually do the setup, but I was part of the planning process. Especially when it came to the flowers. I made sure exact replicas of bouquets I’d watched her quietly admire at the Venetian were made.

Her green eyes move to mine, and I swear it looks as if a few tears sit behind her lids.

I reach out with my hand, hoping she’ll at least let me lead her a little farther, and my heart starts pounding wildly inside my chest when she actually does, placing her small hand in mine again.

If I could just hold this woman’s hand for the rest of my life, I’d be happy.

I stop right at the end of the path of flowers and grasp both of her hands in mine. She looks up at me with eyes that clearly don’t know what to expect, and I know now is the time for me to man the fuck up.

And on a deep breath, I do.

“Do you remember on the plane to Vegas when you asked me if I had any regrets, and I said I had none?”

She nods.

“Well, I do, Sophie.” I begin to tell her everything I desperately need her to hear. “I have one giant regret, and it was the night you had to kick me out of your apartment because of the horrible things I said. The way I acted like I didn’t have feelings for you—and especially because I made you cry.” I admit the painful events out loud. “Seeing you cry and knowing I was the one responsible? That crushed me. Still crushes me. I never should’ve left that night. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve faced what I was feeling for you, and I should’ve told you the truth.”

One small tear slips down her cheeks, and there’s a part of me that wants to stop, fearful that I’m somehow hurting her all over again, but there’s another part of me that needs her to hear the rest. Needs her to understand the truth.

I gently squeeze her hands and continue.

“You scared the hell out of me, babe. But it’s because you’re everything I want and need, and I’ve never felt like I needed anyone. But fuck, I need you. You make me a better man. You make me want all of the things I’ve always told myself I didn’t want. And you’ve stolen my heart,” I say while my eyes plead for her to really listen to these next words. “I’m in love with you, Sophie. I love you. With everything inside of me. And I know it took me far too fucking long to realize that, but see, I’ve never been in love before. So, I guess I’m hoping you’ll understand that it’s a bit of a learning curve for a man like me.”

Her lips part, and her eyes frantically search mine. “You love me?”

“More than anything.” I nod. “I just want you. Only you. Twenty-four-fucking-seven with Sophie Sage. That’s all I want and need.”

All of a sudden, the sensation of something I purchased two days ago sits heavy in my back pocket. This something wasn’t in the plans for tonight, but when I saw it, I knew it had to be hers. And I had to be the one to give it to her.

Honestly, I don’t know why I brought it with me, but I think something deep inside my heart told me this moment wouldn’t be complete without it.

And before I know it, I’m getting down on one knee in front of her, pulling that something, which is a Tiffany blue box, out of my pocket.

“Babe, I need you to understand that I’m not the same Jude you first met at Club Craze,” I tell her, and her eyes grow wide with disbelief. “I’m the Jude after Sophie. The one who loves you with everything inside himself. The one who sees and wants and needs forever with you. You might be the first woman I’ve ever loved, but I know with absolute certainty, you’re the only woman I’ll ever love.”

I pop open the ring box to reveal a round diamond solitaire on a rose gold band. It’s beautiful and elegant and belongs on her finger.

“Sophie Sage, will you marry me?”

She takes the longest blink I’ve ever seen, and her eyes bounce between my face and the ring in my hand more times than I can track.

But eventually, she answers. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t stab a knife right into my nuts.

“No.”