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Sophie has been in my life long enough to know exactly where my weak spots are and exactly how to step on them.

She also looks like she could ruin a man’s life with a smile and a sentence.

“Hi, Soph,” I say dryly.

Sophie lifts her brows. “Hi, Limp Bizkit.”

“Babe.” Beck groans. “I told you to be nice.”

I glare. “Don’t call me that.”

“You’re limping,” she points out. “And you’re being dramatic. It fits.”

Beck mutters, “I hate both of you,” and takes a sip like he’s trying to survive us.

“Liar. You love us.” Sophie’s gaze cuts back toward the yard. “Is that her?”

“Yes,” Beck and I say at the same time.

Sophie hums. “Okay. So you’re doing the thing.”

I narrow my eyes. “What thing?”

“The ‘I’m going to stand here and suffer in silence like it makes me noble’ thing,” she replies. “It’s a favorite of your species.”

“It’s not noble,” I bite. “It’s?—”

“Fear,” she finishes for me instantly. “Yeah. I know.”

My chest tightens.

Sophie’s eyes flick to my face. Softer, just for a second. “What did you say to her back then?”

Beck answers before I can, “He told her that no one wants a desperate girl.”

Sophie’s expression changes.

Not shocked, Sophie doesn’t shock easily, but something sharp slides into place, like she’s suddenly furious on Sloane’s behalf.

“Ouch,” she says quietly.

I swallow hard. “I know.”

Sophie studies me for a beat. “And you’ve just…let her carry that?”

I clench my jaw. “I’m not proud of it.”

“No kidding,” she says. Then she points toward the yard. “Go.”

My stomach drops. “Sophie?—”

“Go,” she repeats, firmer. “Not to start a fight. Not to pull some possessive caveman shit either. Go apologize.”

Beck nods beside her. “She’s right, man.”

I glare at both of them. “You two are ganging up on me.”

Sophie smiles, all teeth. “Correct.”