One Night Standards by Cathy Yardley Page A

shouldn’t get involved in any way, shape or form. Men who looked like him did not under normal circumstances go for women who looked like her, for one thing. And while Sophie knew she wasn’t ugly, she wasn’t about to pass for a model any time soon. She also knew that he had plenty of women going after him. He probably had no shortage of willing applicants for the position of bed warmer, and no doubt had spent plenty of time with a variety of them. And that type of man wasn’t her type at all.
    She thought about Troy, her last and longest-lasting relationship. He had been tall, geeky, with blond hair and glasses. He was a finance analyst, and a good one. They’d met in the MBA program at the University of California, San Diego. In her case, it had been love at first sight. They’d been friends first, but she’d always known they’d shift over to lovers.
    What she had not known was they should’ve stayed friends. She’d nearly smothered in all that comfort and compatibility. And she had to admit, she’d been shocked when he’d said the same thing, just before he’d broken up with her. She’d been the best study-buddy he’d ever had, but he just couldn’t see himself marrying her.
    Not that you want to marry Mark.
    She flipped over. She ought to get up and do something. Clean something. Maybe do some more work, even though she doubted it would be usable, what with her mind highballing as it was at a million miles an hour. She really ought to start that meditation that Lydia had raved about. She ought to do something.
    Flashback to Mark, pressing her into the bed at the hotel…his weight, his strength, the gentleness of him covering her. How there had only been thin layers of cotton between the two of them and one night of what she felt sure would be unforgettable bliss.
    She shivered uncontrollably.
    You are insane!
    She only barely realized she’d picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.
    â€œMark McMann,” he said, sounding tired.
    She stared at her phone, aghast. What are you doing?
    â€œI’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean…”
    â€œSophie?”
    â€œIs it too late for me to call?” She winced. “Certainly, it’s too late for me to call. You’re on the East Coast. It’s, what, one o’clock in the morning? Listen, I’ll—”
    â€œDon’t hang up.” He chuckled, and she reveled in the sound, wrapping around her like mink. “I’m glad you called. And don’t worry, you didn’t wake me. Strangely enough, I couldn’t sleep.”
    She closed her eyes, picturing him next to her. “Funny. Neither could I.”
    â€œYou know, I can hear the smile in your voice,” he pointed out. “It’s nice.”
    She felt like a teenager, talking to a boy for the first time. Her hormones were probably off the Richter scale. “You know, of course, that this is utterly crazy.”
    â€œIt’s one o’clock in the morning. Nobody knows how crazy this is more than I do.”
    She laughed. “Did you want to talk about anything in particular?”
    â€œNo.” Now she heard the smile in his voice, and she trembled lightly in response.
    â€œWell…how was your day?”
    â€œIt sucked,” he said, surprising another laugh out of her. “But it’s gotten exponentially better in the past five minutes. Yours?”
    â€œMarginally better. I got a lot of work done today.” She winced. “Which, of course, I shouldn’t talk to you about at all.”
    â€œI wasn’t going to ask.”
    â€œYes, but it’s stuff like this that makes it even more necessary for us not to talk to each other.”
    â€œWe managed to avoid talking about work for six hours. In a car, no less,” he pointed out.
    â€œSo, what, we manage to do that for the rest of our lives?” she asked, then