Free Unlikely by Sylvie Fox

throwing them against the seatbelts.
    “What is it? You okay?” he asked, concerned.
    “I think I got paint on your nice leather seats,” she explained.
    He breathed an audible sigh of relief. “It’s only a car. Just don’t let anything happen to the woman in that seat.”
    Sophie was surprised that Ryan didn’t need directions to her Studio City home on Babcock Avenue. Most Angelenos were unable to picture the San Fernando Valley as anything but one giant unhip, monolithic suburb.
    Sophie lost a little bit of her bravado for every mile they got closer to her house. Once he got to her house he’d have certain expectations that she suspected she couldn’t fulfill. “You seem to know your way around the Valley,” she said into the silence of the car just to have something to say.
    “I grew up here,” he said.
    “Really? Where?” she asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. “I’ve lived around Studio City and North Hollywood for years.”
    “Near Victory and White Oak,” he said, elaborating no further.
    He was from the hot center of the Valley that walked the often-unstable line between working and middle class. The ‘Beverly Hills Post Office’ house and tailored button-down wardrobe did not bring Reseda to mind. Sophie refrained from asking the follow up questions that sprang to her lips. That kind of conversation would reveal more about herself than she was willing.
    Ryan’s large hand set the parking brake as he pulled up to her house and brought her mind back to the issue at hand.
    This was where it always got hairy for her. She had no idea how to get them from point A—fully clothed—to point B—hot, sweaty, and naked on her crisp white sheets. And she wanted to get there—bad. She invited Ryan into the house and left him to wander as she let Sasha out. It was going to take a lot of Dutch courage to get through tonight—but if their earlier kisses were any indication—this time it would be worth it.
 

Chapter Five
 
 
    “So what’s your real hair color, if I may ask?”
    Sophie took a gulp from one of the large glasses of wine she had poured for herself and Ryan. “So formal,” she said, her voice dropping a register. “Yes, you may ask if the drapes match the carpet. Isn’t that what you really want to know?”
    A slight blush rose high on Ryan’s cheekbones. She was sure he did not usually hear that kind of language in his ivory tower universe.
    “You’re not going to shock me out of being attracted to you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I think you’re cute with blue or pink or yellow hair. I was just wondering where you started.”
    Discombobulated by her second compliment of the day, she took another greedy swallow of wine, and poured more into her glass from the now half-empty bottle on the coffee table.
    Ryan carefully placed his own goblet on the wood. “Do I scare you?” he asked, looking directly into her eyes.
    Sophie’s eyes skidded away from Ryan’s intense azure gaze. She looked at the dog, hoping for salvation from her sudden feelings for Ryan. The damned cur was no help. She was sound asleep, snoring audibly, feet twitching in the way only dogs in REM sleep do. She’d love it if the dog’s need to go to the bathroom would excuse her from this conversation. Sophie considered nudging Sasha with her bare foot, but that would be too obvious. Instead, she filled her wine glass to the brim and scooted to the far corner of the room’s only seating, taking her wine with her. She wished right then that she’d had the money to buy a chair for the room as well, so she could be far enough away that the citrusy scent emanating from him didn’t make her swoon.
    After that long delay, she answered untruthfully. “No.” Then she took another sip of wine. She held the glass’s stem tight in a death grip.
    Ryan eased back into the sofa’s other corner and crossed one long leg across the other knee. Looking like he had settled in for the long haul, he examined