by Sophia Henry
The brunette almost seems plain standing next to the other two. That’s not a slam. She’s gorgeous, but in a completely different way. Her face looks natural, as if she’s not wearing much makeup—if any—just the rosy cheeks of someone flushed from dancing. With loose, sable waves cascading over one shoulder and a bright smile, she’s sultry as fuck in the most unassuming way. It triggers the librarian fantasy I’ve always had. Sexy, nerdy girls are my kink.
As I study the photo, I realize now that the neckline of her dress is actually quite modest. Her boobs seem to be spilling out because that’s what happens to voluptuous girls who wear V-necks.
I wouldn’t say I have a type, but I am partial to women who have some meat on their bones. There’s nothing sexier than curves in all the right places. A round ass, big bouncing tits, and padding over her hips so I have something to grab onto when she’s riding my…
“Jesus,” I hiss. I’m getting a hard-on just thinking about her. I tip my water back and down what’s left in one long pull.
“What’cha doing, Austin?” Tim asks from the doorway.
“Sexting your mom,” I respond without missing a beat.
“She wishes,” he says with a laugh. “You know she wants to grab your pretty hair and—”
“Oh my god! Stop!” I yell. I know I started it, but damn, Tim’s always taking shit to the next level—the creepy level. I take a moment to scan the area, and notice our drummer isn’t back yet. “Where’s Fozzie?”
“Probably checking his bass drum for cracks.”
Fuck.” My stomach sinks. “I should have asked first.”
“I don’t think he cares, to be honest.” Tim shrugs. “He’s still out front talking to people. I’m heading out, too.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Want to finish responding to a few messages.”
“Tell mom I said hi!” he teases before ghosting.
Fucker.
But at least my boner’s gone.
I do want to get back on the floor and start talking to people who are sure to be lined up at the merch table, buying T-shirts and CDs while waiting for us to come out. I won’t let the exhaustion and my natural state of introversion take over until later.
One of my favorite parts of playing live is afterwards when we get to meet fans who came to see us—and the new people we convert who were here just to see the headliner. I’ll never get bored with signing stuff and taking photos with fans. That powerful connection will make people talk about us.
But EmVee was kind enough to tag the picture with @commonliz directly over the brunette’s rack, so I want to check the profile quickly. I need to know more about her.
Why does that social media handle sound familiar?
A quick thumb click takes me to her page—a page I vaguely recognize.
No way. No fucking way.
Liz Commons: Duke > Columbia > Surgical Resident. It’s a beautiful day to save a life.
There’s no fucking way Miss Honey and the girl in EmVee’s photo are the same person.
Yet here I am, looking at the exact Instagram account that popped up when I’d entered “Liz Commons surgeon” into an internet search, to find out more about her the night I dropped her off at the hospital.
The girl in the profile photo, with mousy-brown hair and thick, black-framed glasses, looks nothing like the smokin’ hot goddess from in the second row. Except those cheekbones—and the gorgeous peachy-pink tone I’d imagined her skin would have if it hadn’t been purplish-blue last time I saw her.
The revelation is flipping my world upside down.
Maybe I shouldn’t have brushed Miss Honey off so quickly. The girl I connected with tonight sure doesn’t seem as boring as I’d imagined her to be when I checked out her profile six months ago.
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Also By Sophia Henry
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Preorder for January 2021
About the Author
Sophia Henry is a proud Detroit native who fell in love with reading, writing, and hockey all before she became a teenager. She did not, however, fall in love with snow. So after graduating with a Creative Writing degree from Central Michigan University, she moved to warm and sunny North Carolina to live out the remainder of her winters.
She spends her days writing steamy, heartfelt contemporary romance and tweeting personal stories which she hopes resonate with and encourage others. When she’s not writing, she’s chasing her two high-energy sons and an equally high-energy Plott Hound, watching her beloved Detroit Red Wings, or rocking out at as many concerts as she can possibly attend.
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