Sophie's First Shift: There’s No Turning Back (Shifters Take Manhattan Book 1)

by A. M. Sommers

  SOPHIE’S FIRST SHIFT

  There’s No Turning Back

  Book One of

  SHIFTERS TAKE MANHATTAN

  A.M. SOMMERS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used factiously.

  SHIFTERS TAKE MANHATTAN

  SOPHIE’S FIRST SHIFT

  Copyright@ 2020 by A.M. Sommers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored or transmitted electronically, mechanically or recorded without express permission from the author.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Walking home from work, a bundled-up Sophie Parker tries to shake off the gloom that’s been stalking her all day. She’s usually pleased when she can recall her dreams in detail, but not today. There was nothing sweet about last night’s long-playing visitation. She can’t escape the terror of being chased by a dark force and being rejected by everyone she turned to for protection. They didn’t seem to recognize her. She knows it’s silly, but she still feels confused, shocked, and hurt by having her family turn away from her. Which they would never do.

  Waiting for the light to change at Central Park West, she attempts to calm herself by reflecting on the good things in her life. She’s been married for two years to Will, the kindest, most intelligent and best-looking man in Manhattan. She has the abundant support of an intact family. She has a great social life as most of her high school friends returned to New York after college, as did several of her college friends. And, she loves working at St. Edwards, where she teaches high school English.

  It’s highly unlikely she’ll ever have to deal with a bogey-man in real life. Come on now.

  When Will finishes his MBA at Columbia, and becomes a Wall Street warrior, they’ll leave their small walk-up on the Upper East Side behind and find an apartment in the promised land below Fourteenth Street. She’ll say adieu to the constant roar of the FDR Highway that keeps her up at night and return to the quiet of Greenwich Village’s brownstone blocks.

  Exiting the park at Fifth, she pulls her hat further down over her ears and tightens her scarf. Despite her gloves, her fingers are nearly numb. She decides to make spaghetti for dinner and heads for the Food Emporium. After grabbing a cart, with meatballs on her mind, she starts to pick up some ground turkey, but opts instead for chopped sirloin, which Will prefers. Barilla pasta, Paul Newman sauce, organic diced tomatoes, onion and garlic all go into her cart, as does a baguette. There’ll be no salad as she’s too tired to bother making one, and lettuce isn’t Will’s favorite food group anyway. At the wine shop, she scans the reds and opts for mid-level Chianti.

  She stows the wine in her backpack, sticks her arms through the straps, slings her purse strap across her chest, and reclaims her bags of groceries. She assesses her energy level. On the one hand, she’s tired and doesn’t relish carrying her two bags of groceries up three flights of stairs wearing a backpack. On the other, here she smiles, she can’t wait to see Will’s face when he sees her in an apron and nothing else, stirring a savory sauce. A plan conceived while walking through the park.

  After dropping the groceries in the kitchen, she races into the bathroom shedding clothes as she travels. Quick shower, lotion, a spritz of Burberry perfume, and she heads naked to the kitchen to pick out her outfit: a favorite Williams Sonoma French provincial apron. There’s enough cloth to protect her tender bits when the sauce starts spitting, but not enough to hide all her assets. After browning her meatballs, she slices and dices the vegetables and throws them in a large frying pan for sautéing in olive oil.

  With the sauce on simmer and water on to boil for the pasta, she pours herself a glass of wine and heads for the living room. She plops on the sofa and begins testing alluring poses. She wants to remind Will that she’s both an excellent cook and a sex kitten. After considering several positions, she opts for stretching out seductively on her side, propped up on an elbow with her legs slightly bent, sipping her wine. Her boobs peek out from the sides of the apron, which pleases her. When Will’s key scratches at the door, she tilts her head slightly and waits for him to find her. Too bad she doesn’t have a rose to put between her teeth.

  Too late, she realizes Will isn’t alone. “Smells great, honey,” he says as he and his best friend Justin enter the living room. “Whoa,” he says next.

  “Oh my God,” Sophie squeals, while using her arms to mash her boobs together and looking around for something to cover her ass. “Will, give me your coat right now.” As Will retrieves his coat, she locks eyes with Justin who is smirking. “And, what are you looking at?” she asks sarcastically.

  Embarrassed by her burlesque act, she over compensates by wearing sweat pants and a heavy sweater as she finishes cooking. After Will helps her move the plates of spaghetti from the kitchen to their small dining table, the conversation centers around passing the parmesan, the baguette, and the butter. “So, tell me, Sophie,” Justin says, ending the silence. “Are there any more like you at home?”

  “Meaning what? She responds icily.

  “Why someone who graciously welcomes unexpected guests and then dishes up a great meal. Kudos.”

  Sophie relaxes, he’s trying to make amends, not prolong her discomfort. “Justin, you’ve met my sister Nina. As she’s only seventeen, her domestic skill levels are an unknown. Check back when she’s twenty-one.”

  “Not when she’s eighteen,” he teases.

  “No, twenty-one.”

  After Justin leaves, Will clears the table and puts things away while Sophie sticks dishes into the dishwasher. They are such a good team. Just like her parents.

  “Could you please put that apron back on and wear it to bed?” Will asks. “I’ll close my eyes and pretend I’m ravishing Betty Crocker in her prime.”

  “Well I don’t know,” she drawls. “I’m not sure I’ve recovered from seeing Justin’s eyes pop out of their sockets.”

  He takes her hand and leads her to the bedroom, where he lights a sage candle, turns off the lights and sits on the side of the bed. He pulls her close. “What were you hoping I might do when I saw you in that apron?” he asks, leaning over to pull her sweats down to her ankles. She rests her hands on his shoulders for balance as she steps out of her pants.

  “A little of this and a little of that,” she responds, turning around so he can pull of her sweater and undo her bra.

  “A little of this,” he says, taking one of her nipples between his teeth while kneading the other.

  She shivers and covers his dick with her hand. “Oh yes,” she says, “a lot of that.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  When Sophie’s alarm goes off at 6:00 the next morning, she moves quickly in the dark to silence it. Will doesn’t have to be anywhere before ten. Lucky guy. She gently kisses the top of his head and shivering reluctantly eases out from beneath the covers’ quilted warmth. In New York, buildings don’t have to provide full heat overnight.

  She pulls on her robe, steps into her slippers and pads into the kitchen where she sets up a
half-pot of coffee to brew. Will chides her for being too cheap to make a whole pot, but she doesn’t like being wasteful. She wipes condensation off the window and looks over the roofs of the buildings to the south. In the waning moonlight, she can see steam coming out of their chimneys. It’ll be a while before the sun makes its full appearance.

  She brings her clothes into the bathroom, so she can dress in relative warmth. After showering and toweling steam off the mirror, she begins her minimalist makeup routine. A dark brunette with blue eyes, she’s blessed with well-shaped eyebrows and thick lashes. After a slight fuss with her hair, she stands back for a final check. Not bad, she thinks, not bad.

  Unless it’s below zero, pouring or there’s a blizzard, she enjoys the mile and a half walk to work. It un-fogs her brain. The daily round-trip hike across town frees her from needing a gym membership. She likes monitoring the seasons and having time to mentally edit what she’ll teach that day. When she leaves their apartment at 6:45, it’s still dark but there’s already a fair number of people scuttling towards the Lex Subway.

  When she reaches the park at 7:00, it’s light. Good. She’s promised Will not to enter the park alone, morning or evening, when it’s dark and other people aren’t around making the same trek. The promise is easy to keep in the a.m., but tricky on early winter afternoons when the sun disappears before four-thirty. When she can’t leave school by 3:30, she must bus it through the park. She always feels a little cheated on those days.

  After exiting the park, St. Edward’s is only one block west. She’s usually in the first wave of teachers to arrive, about a half-hour before they’re required to be there. She drops her outerwear and backpack in her classroom and heads for the teacher’s lounge and more coffee.

  “Hello. you child bride,” her best friend Nora greets her, holding the coffee pot up ready to pour for Sophie. “How’s that extended honeymoon going?”

  Knowing Nora will enjoy a dramatic retelling of the previous night’s events, she shares the details and embellishes a few facts. “I’ve now made Will promise to always text ahead if he’s bringing company. I’m just grateful it was only Justin.”

  “Maybe you and Will should have a warning code word so you know right away when he’s not alone. You know something subtle like ‘hide.’”

  “Or,” Sophie proposes, “how about ‘duck and cover.’”

  “That would do it,” Nora agrees.

  This year, Sophie is handling junior and senior grammar and lit. The material is more interesting than that of the freshman and sophomore curriculums, but she prefers working with the younger boys. It’s a little uncomfortable to be a young female teacher at an all-boys’ school. Many of her students are wealthy, good-looking and spoiled. Too many already believe they’re God’s gift to the opposite sex. And, she knows from their furtive glances at her that they think they have a shot. No sir, her wedding ring doesn’t bother them.

  Her first class straggles in and takes their seats. The school dress code calls for button-down shirts, ties, and navy blazers. They are usually shod in penny loafers or topsiders, but some boys have adopted low-rise boots. As they can’t wear jeans or cargo pants, most wear tan khakis. She’s always amused and sometimes impressed by how the boys assert their individuality despite the sartorial limitations. Their shirts are of different textures and patterns ranging from solid colors, to checks, plaids, stripes and polka-dots. They compete to wear the ugliest tie.

  The class has been reading Catcher in the Rye out loud. It’s not an original literary choice, but hey, they’re teenage boys living in New York. How could they not relate? She has Thomas, as good-looking as he is shy, read first. Salinger’s writing lends him an uncharacteristic swagger, which she relishes.

  At the end of the day, as Sophie gathers up tests that need grading, Margery Ainsley, the school’s guidance counselor ushers in a boy she’s never seen before. He is a perfect specimen. Tall, visibly muscular even in his boxy blazer, olive skinned, thick black hair long enough to tuck behind his ears, and surprisingly delicate features.

  “Mrs. Parker,” she says. “I’d like to introduce our new student Marko Perez. His family just moved here from Paris, although they’re originally from Argentina. He’ll be joining your senior creative writing class tomorrow.”

  “Welcome, Marko,” Sophie says offering her hand. The boy’s lingering handshake is firm enough to hurt a bit. She scans his face to see if the inflicted pain was intentional, but his expression is open and respectful.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Parker,” he says. “My English is okay but not great, and I can read it well. I don’t know, however, how long it will take for me to translate my thoughts from Spanish to English and put them into writing.”

  “Well, I’m sure Mrs. Parker will do her best to help you with that,” Ms. Ainsley says, pulling him out of the room before Sophie can reply.

  ****

  When Marko shows up for class the next day, Sophie can tell from his expression that he’s unsure where to park his butt. He looks to her for guidance. “Come up to the front, Marko,” she says indicating an empty front row seat. “If you have questions, it will be easier for me to help you.”

  He gracefully squeezes into the seat, tucks his hair behinds his ears, places his backpack beside his chair and looks at her expectantly. So does the rest of the class as they know nothing about him. Many of them have been together since pre-school, so a new guy, especially one as exotic as Marko, is a big deal. She asks him to stand and introduce himself.

  She expects him to be a little shy, first day, new school and all. She’s wrong.

  “Well, muchachos,” he says, totally at ease. “What should I tell you? My name is Marko Perez, I am from Argentina, but my family just transferred here from Paris. My first language is Spanish, my French is acceptable, but my English will not impress you. If I seem a little loco to you at times, please forgive. I am so much missing my cigarettes.”

  “We hear you man,” a voice calls from the back.

  For the day’s writing exercise, and in honor of their new classmate, Sophie has the boys interview each other for ten minutes and then write up bios. She pairs Marko with Todd Gray, one of the better writers and friendlier guys. “Don’t be held back by reality,” she tells them. “Make up as many facts as you wish. Be bold.”

  She walks around the class as the boys carry out their interviews and observes their interactions. There’s a lot of laughter, which pleases her.

  When Todd stands to read Marko’s bio, he looks uncomfortable. He nervously clears his throat. “Marko’s family used to live most of the year in Buenos Aires, which is a big city like New York. Their country house is a cabin on the Amazon,” he reads. “When in the jungle, Markos sometimes travels by grapevine. Other times he likes to roam with a pack of wolves and hunt down small prey.”

  The other boys find this hysterical. Marko looks pleased and amused, like he’s gotten away with something.

  “Well Marko,” Sophie says, “given your excellent imagination, we’ll be expecting some great stories from you.”

  On her way out that afternoon, she passes the gym where the basketball team is practicing. She’s surprised to see Marko, in a basketball uniform, on the court and dribbling like a pro. He passes the ball to another player who, unable to see an opening, tosses the ball back to him. Marko pivots, dodges the guards in his way, approaches the basket, leaps straight up and gently releases the ball into the basket.

  He is beautiful, she thinks, and moves like a gazelle, a hairier than normal gazelle.

  His talent is amazing, she thinks. The coach and the other players look dumbstruck. It’s unlikely Marko will spend much time riding the bench this season.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A few days before Christmas vacation, several boys linger after last class so Sophie makes her exit later than anticipated. The school furnace was on overdrive all day leaving her sweaty and dehydrated. Air, she needs air. Fresh air. She wants to get out the door and reach th
e park before it’s too dark to cross on foot.

  As she leaves the building, she sees Marko talking to a boy – no, a young man -- who clearly isn’t a St. Edwards’ student. He’s not wearing a jacket and tie and he looks too old. He’s shorter than Marko, his center-parted dark hair hangs past his shoulders, and he has a five o’clock shadow that darkens his face. She hesitates and hopes Marko doesn’t see her, she doesn’t have time to chat. Unfortunately, he beckons her over.

  “Mrs. Parker,” he calls, “Come meet my friend Guillermo. He’s here visiting my family for a few days.”

  The twenty-something gives off a weird vibe. She senses menace. She extends her hand for a handshake, but he clasps it and presses it to his lips. Gross. Marko can tell she’s not charmed but is uncertain what to do.

  “Please excuse my friend,” he says lightly. “He thinks himself very continental.”

  “I’m afraid handshakes are more my style,” she says. “I’m sorry to rush but I want to get through the park before it gets too late. Nice to meet you, Guillermo.”

  When she’s certain they can’t see her, she reaches into her purse for her travel-size Purell. What was it about that guy that gave me the willies she thinks, picking up her pace. She hesitates at the park entrance. While it’s still light, it’s the time of year when the sun makes a fast exit. It’s doubtful she’ll make it through with natural light. But, maybe. She looks around and doesn’t see anyone she can play follow the leader with. Rats. She enters the park anyway.

  The sun provides good light until she’s more than three quarters through the park, then it starts its brisk slide into the west. Twilight, she tells herself, I’m safe with twilight. A trio of laughing bundled-up runners jog past her. She’s reassured. It’s all good. The sky’s last pink streaks fade away, leaving only the widely spaced lamps to break the dark. She begins to jog but is soon out of breath because of her heavy backpack. As she tries to regain control of her breathing, she hears something or someone coming closer. The oncoming sound doesn’t sound like footsteps. There’s a rhythm, a padded rhythm that indicates her pursuer may be four-legged. So, if it’s an animal and not a person that could be a good thing. She holds her breath so she can hear better. The movement stops, but she thinks she hears very close-by panting.