The Social Experiment

by Addison Moore

  How about coffee tomorrow? Or better yet, dinner. I’ll talk to you soon.

  Boomer and I spot Coach in the back, and we head on over past the crowds congesting the oversized restaurant on this bustling Saturday night. But I’m not all that hungry. I’m not at all into meeting with a bunch of high school kids, trying to convince them that my school is the best. What I really want more than anything is to dive into my bed, alone, while I try to figure out what the hell to do about Sophie.

  All week I’ve had that girl on my brain. I couldn’t get that kiss out of my head. I thought for sure she wouldn’t show up tonight. I thought if I showed, at least it would have been reported back to her. There’s no way I would ever want Sophie to think I was rejecting her. But she showed up. And she kissed me. My boxers heat ten degrees just thinking about it. Damn. Sophie Meyer is hot, and those kisses she was doling out have set more than my dick on fire. What happened in that little black box tonight felt intimate, it felt holy, special on another level. If it were any other girl on the planet, it would have been simply me scamming off her for the hell of it. But it was the one girl who I would never want to use or abuse in any single way. Not that I’m a user or an abuser, but my lips have gained some mileage in the last three years.

  Boomer leads us down the final corridor to the rear, and I stop cold.

  Shit.

  There she is in all of her beautiful glory. Holy hell. I give a few quick blinks of disbelief as if I’ve harnessed the power to conjure her.

  “Sophie?” I mutter under my breath as our eyes lock. It takes a minute for me to take in the scene. She’s seated at a table with a bevy of familiar faces, all of them a blast from the past. Braden spots me, and soon they’re both glaring at me. Crap. I spot Becca and her parents, all three with their backs to me, thankfully. And Tanner, Bec’s little brother, who I once saw as a little brother myself, is busy trying to steal Sophie’s attention. He always did have a slight crush on her.

  Boomer knocks his elbow into me. “Dude, you’re staring.”

  “Right.” Shit. I follow him over to where the coach is seated just a few measly tables away from ground zero, and suddenly I feel the urge to bolt.

  Coach Peters does a quick round of introductions, but I haven’t committed a single recruit’s name to memory. Instead, I steal a few glances back at Meyer central and catch Sophie casually trying to do the same. My gut cinches as our eyes lock for a moment. She is a stunner. But that mouth. The things she did to me with those kisses. I don’t know if it was the element of surprise, that dark as hell room, or the fact that Sophie is all grown up, but something had me going a thousand times harder and hotter than anything or anyone has before. Becca laughs at something Braden tells her—that high-pitched, I’ve sucked down a helium balloon cackle that I used to find adorable until I finally admitted to myself that it grated on me like rusted razors. And then it hits me. It’s September twentieth, Becca’s birthday. I almost feel like an ass for putting it out of my mind—almost. So that’s what they’re doing. Braden and Becca are painting the town with steak and family before they head back to their shared apartment and he fucks the brains out of my former girlfriend. My blood boils for a brief minute, but for some reason when I picture the two of them unhappily grunting away, it doesn’t enrage me like it once had the power to do.

  Boomer leans in. “Dude, you want to switch seats?”

  “No.” I haven’t said a word about who I’m spending time with at that experimental nightmare. Not that Sophie is a nightmare. She’s a great girl. She’s just not the one for me. If Dexter Houston thinks he’s going to get some happily ever after love connection out of the two of us, he’s sorely mistaken. In fact, that software he’s using to pair up his matches has severely malfunctioned. If the rest of the experiment is running just as smoothly, then I give it another week before it completely implodes.

  “Do us both a favor.” He slides a menu over to me before shaking his open. “Don’t stare at your ex. Especially not when she’s with that dude that fucked you over. The coach really wants the kid on the left. This is a no drama kind of a night. Got it?”

  Coach Peters nods over to me. “Tell Ryan here about all the hot chicks at Leland.” He offers a wink and crude chuckle to the kid. “Some things are better left said player to player.” Coach Peters is cool. He’s been like a second father to me, and I’d do just about anything for that man. Case in point, lock myself in a dark room once a week with Sophie Meyer while mapping out the landscape of her mouth. “Well, son?” Coach leans in, displaying his salt and pepper hair—the salt is winning. He’s grown a double chin since we’ve met and a beer belly that holds his playbook nicely. But on this night, he’s trying to extract a female centric playbook from me, and I’m not quite sure what to say—so I say what’s really on my mind.

  “The girls are scorching.” I nod in agreement to the coach’s sentiment. “But if I were you, I’d keep your dick in your boxers.”

  All three of the freckle-faced kids dotting the vicinity drop their jaws. Even my teammates take a moment to glance up from their menus.

  “Take your time,” I say it like I mean it—and I do. “There are a lot of girls out there that will only want you because of your jersey. Be choosy. You don’t need all the girls. You just need the right girl.”

  Dan and Tim Locke, a set of twins that have managed to get on the team, defying both the odds and the coach’s better judgment, share a quick laugh. Normally, I’d be affronted but, at the moment, they’re breaking up the stunted silence I seem to have initiated in everybody else.

  The waitress comes by to takes our orders, and I’m thanking God to get this harrowing ordeal moving along.

  Boomer leans in. “Tell me you’re not buying the bull you just slung across the table.” It’s not surprising that he wants clarification. He’s told me in no uncertain terms that I’m somewhat of a hero to him when it comes to my bedroom antics. Boomer gets his fair share of girls, perhaps even more than me, but his PR department isn’t doing half as great a job in advertising the fact. I think that’s where the ego blow comes from on his part. He’s a running back. And unfortunately, in most girls’ eyes, running backs simply don’t have the charm that a quarterback has attached to him. Honestly, I think that’s the only thing giving me a thigh up in the panty department.

  “I’m not buying it.” My stomach sours as if maybe I am. I thought I believed in love and all of its trappings. My parents have a great marriage. And I want something that special for my sister one day—once she’s settled into her fifties. But for me—I glance over to where Becca nibbles on Braden’s ear, and surprisingly I don’t growl, which is my usual go-to response at the flesh feast. But it still sours my perspective in regards to love—that cheap commodity Dexter Houston is trying to sell to the student body like a bag of rotting fish.

  Sophie catches my eye again with that long dark hair my fingers were knitted to just a few short hours ago, those lips that I made my own. Tanner has scooted in so close to her, he’s practically sitting on her lap. But you can tell by her body language she’s not that into him. I almost feel sorry for the dude. Almost.

  Sophie glances my way and catches me staring and quickly looks away. It takes less than three seconds for her to devote her full attention to Tan the Man while he soaks in every phony minute of it.

  “So, who’s the chick?” Boomer whispers as everyone at the table erupts in their own microcosm of conversation. “Because, dude, she is fucking hot.”

  “That’s Sophie—Braden’s little sister. She’s just a kid.” I take a long swig of my water to cool myself off. That kid elicited a heat wave in me, melting me straight down to the marrow. If Boomer knew, he’d flip a switch. And he’s right. She really is that hot. “She’s off-limits, though.” My cheek flinches because that entire statement just flew out of left field. “She used to be Mindy’s best friend.” There. A swell of relief fills me at the justification. “If Mindy finds out your trying to bed her ex-BFF, yo
u’ll have her chasing you down with a hatchet.” And that, right there, is a true story.

  Boomer belts out a dark and twisted laugh. “I’m no fool. I don’t do little sisters, and I don’t make little sisters pissed enough to want to put my balls on the chopping block,” he grunts while keeping his gaze focused solely on Sophie. “Too bad, though. She’s got a face. And that body…”

  And that body indeed.

  Our first course comes out just in time to save Boomer’s little red neck. But I’ve never been too hot on salads. The only thing that has me hot and bothered in this entire cavernous room is little Sophie Meyer, only she’s not so little anymore. I glance over, thankful that Mr. Carmichael has moved over a notch, thus brilliantly blocking Braden and his obnoxious face from view. I swear if I weren’t driving tonight, I would empty this place of hard liquor just to have half an excuse to go over and bash his face into a glass table. That might sound violent, but what he did to my family and me felt far worse.

  Without meaning to, I sneak a few stealth glances over as Tanner continuously dive-bombs his arm over Sophie’s shoulder in order to cop a feel. Okay, so he’s probably not trying to cop a feel, not with his mother sitting across from him anyway. But still, what the hell does he need to touch her for? And why isn’t Braden doing anything to stop it? But try as he might want to find a home for his arm over her shoulders, Sophie keeps letting it slide right back off. Nope. Tanner Carmichael isn’t getting laid tonight. At least not by Sophie Meyer, and I can practically feel my dick cheering the shutout.

  Sophie glances my way and lingers a moment. Crap. She sees me watching her like some kind of disgruntled ex when I couldn’t care less what octopus she’s planted herself next to tonight. I could, but Braden is there filling those big brother shoes the way he’s supposed to. Only he’s not doing a damn thing about the fact Tanner keeps trying to get to second base, right there at the table. It only affirms the fact the dude is an idiot.

  After a few seconds into Tanner’s latest molestation, Sophie excuses herself before disappearing down the hall.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say to no one in particular as I get up and head for the restroom myself. My heart picks up pace with every step as I make my way into the darkened corridor. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here—what the hell I’m expected to find, but what I do find is Sophie standing just south of the ladies’ room staring at her phone, proving the point that she didn’t need to get some bladder relief. The only thing she wanted relief from was Tanner himself.

  Here it is—just her and me, alone, the way I wanted. Is that what I wanted? My head swims with the possibilities.

  “Hey.” I swallow hard. Outside of those words we whispered to one another in the TSE hotbox, this is the first conversation I’ve initiated with her in years. It feels both criminal and a long time coming. My heat index spikes to nuclear, and I break out into a soaking sweat all at once.

  Sophie looks up, stunned, and pulls her phone to her chest, darkening the vicinity that much more. It’s okay. We’re used to seeing one another in far darker places than this by now.

  “Oh”—she cranes her neck past me for a moment—“hey.” Her watery green eyes settle on mine, and I marvel at how they almost look backlit. Sophie’s glowing eyes were the first thing I noticed about her all those years ago, soulful and beautiful even at a young age.

  “Why are you letting that guy crawl all over you?” It comes out full of rage, outright angry, and far more animated than I ever meant for it. God, what the hell has gotten into me? I of all people know that Tanner Carmichael is no real threat. Not that I’m even remotely in a position to feel threatened by anyone that Sophie might be into.

  “Ha!” Her entire face lights up with the mocking laugh. That’s another thing I miss about Soph—her bite to the bone humor. “The same could be said about you.” Her eyes enlarge with her own level of rage, and now both of our chests are beating in and out as if we’ve just outrun a heavily armed militia. That’s what the TSE is starting to feel like—some renegade life force that’s trying to suck us in.

  I step in close, effectively pinning her to the wall. We’re so close I can feel the heat emanating off her body, that perfumed hair of hers drives me wild with its hint of vanilla just the way it did a few short hours ago. Normally, I wouldn’t stand this close to Sophie, but after the well-orchestrated event we just went through, that led to a far more chaotic carnal aftermath, it feels natural, necessary.

  Her eyes hood dangerously low, and my arousal level hits an all-time high. “Why did you show up tonight?” She swallows down that lump in her throat. “There—not here.”

  “I know what you meant.” Our hands accidentally brush up against one another, and I pull back as if she had the ability to scald me. She does. I just can’t figure out why. I held both of her hands, with our fingers interlaced, back in that dark room. “Because I didn’t think you’d show.”

  “Wow.” Her eyes widen, pouring out that beacon of bright green light. “Sorry I disappointed you. You were free to leave once you knew I was there. But you stayed.” Her voice shrinks as if she were merely thinking that last line out loud.

  “Leaving wouldn’t have been the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “Gentlemanly?” Her chest bucks with a laugh, and I can’t help but note how much older she looks, how serious and sexy as hell she’s grown to be. “And you? Leland’s own one and only wooden roller coaster—the Colossus? What do you know about being a gentleman?” I wince when she says that horrible nickname. “Please.” Sophie’s entire face fills with disgust, but it’s the hurt in her eyes that stops me cold. She slaps her hands against my chest as she bursts past me. “Next time don’t do me any favors.”

  Shit. That went well. I take a breath before returning to the table and, holy hell, I find Mindy next to Boomer, practically seated on his lap.

  “Hey, man.” He holds up his hands as if there’s not a damn thing he can do.

  Mindy’s eyes grow wild as she carefully points behind her and mouths the words Oh my God!

  I give a quick nod because I’ve already been apprised of the lunacy of this evening. Oh my God is right, and Mindy and her outright obsession with Boomer is only adding to the absurdity of it all.

  Dinner drones on with Coach asking the prospects everything that comes to his mind. I’m shocked to hell he hasn’t asked them why the sky is blue. Mindy peppers Boomer with questions of her own, each and every one of them edging dangerously close to a sexual nature, and I monitor closely just how he answers. He’s kind enough to humor her and smart enough to stay the hell away. But, in truth, my mind isn’t anywhere at this table. I also happen to be closely monitoring the happenings over at the Meyer end of the room.

  Eventually, the waitress brings out a cupcake and sets it in front of Becca, and the waitstaff sings a cheery version of “Happy Birthday” that involves far too much clapping and jubilation—the entire mockery looks like a fraud. But my mind isn’t on Becca either.

  Tanner boldly wraps an arm around Sophie’s shoulder and shockingly sticks the landing. He leans in and whispers something into her ear, and she immediately agrees with a nod. Probably asking her out on their first date and lucky me got to witness the blessed event.

  Mindy kicks me from under the table and shakes her head. “No ogling allowed.”

  “Got it.” I need to get out of this situation with Sophie so we can go right back to ignoring one another for the rest of our lives. My stomach sours at the asinine thought. I no more want to ignore Sophie for another minute than I want to drink a gallon of bleach.

  Coach picks up the tab, and I say an amicable good night to the prospects, wishing them well at whatever school they land in.

  Boomer and I head out with Mindy just as the Meyer-Carmichael clan call it a night. Mindy races ahead, and in trying to keep up with her I’m the first to open the door. Mindy and Boomer zoom out, and without warning Tanner ducks on by. The little shit didn’t even bother with
hello. My chest pumps with a dry laugh. Sophie exits, head down, mumbling a thank you on her way out the door, and that sweet vanilla scent lingers as she passes me. I’m just about to let go of the handle when Braden barrels through. His hard gaze meets with mine for the first time in over a year. Those stony green eyes of his are filled with just as much rage and hate as ever, and as much as I want to feel the same, I’m done with that shit parade. Mrs. Carmichael struts by, adjusting her scarf, completely oblivious to the fact the boy her daughter dated for close to two years is holding the door open for her. Then there’s Mr. Carmichael.

  He pulls his coat taut over his back and leans into the night wind before doing a double take in my direction. “Son of a bitch!” His entire face lights up when he sees me. Stan Carmichael and I grew close over the months that I hung out in their living room like a regular piece of furniture. “Rowen Garret! How the hell have you been?”

  “Dad.” Becca pops up from behind, and like a boomerang my eyes flit toward the parking lot for Sophie. I’m not interested in having a conversation with Becca or her father. “Just go already, okay?”

  “But, Becs, it’s Rowen!” He slaps me hard over the arm with an ear-to-ear grin that I used to love invoking in him. “Take care of yourself, son. You’re doing fantastic on that field! You’re a real dominator!” He jogs on out to catch up with his wife, and it’s just Becca and me the way it was for so long. But I don’t miss it.

  I nod for her to step on out, so I can get the hell to my truck and out of this mindfuck I’ve stepped into.

  “Hey.” She bites down on her lower lip. Her hair is lighter with a hard, dark line at the root. Her eyes are overdrawn with kohl, and her perfume attacks me like a sensory takeover. Becca was never one for subtleties. “That was weird, huh?” She shrugs it off, but doesn’t set a foot out the door. Instead, Becca keeps those coffee brown eyes glued to mine, and she’s saying something with them. The way she licks her lips on a loop makes me feel like she’s taking this somewhere she shouldn’t be. “Braden’s getting the car.” She wrinkles her nose as if this were an offense—and in her valet parking world it just might be. “So, anyway, maybe we can catch up sometime? You know, grab a bite or something. I mean, it’s kind of odd that we both ended up here tonight—on my birthday of all nights.” She nods, waiting for me to say the words, but I’m not up for any head games. And that coffee klatch invite is just that, a head game. I should know. Becca is a master at them.