Chapter 2 Tommy
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I wait for Sam’s brain to stop running scenario after scenario. I’m still really intentional with my word choice ever since we started texting regularly. She can stress over what seems like the simplest detail and I want tonight to feel fun.
I’ll ask her out on a proper date, eventually, but I want her to feel completely comfortable around me. Something inside me says that her past relationships have been centered around what her boyfriend wanted. She drops little hints about her past when her guard is down and she doesn’t feel like she has to be perfect for everyone. I honestly think she doesn’t realize she’s let something slip when it happens.
Samantha Davies is incredible, plain and simple. She’s smart, caring, thoughtful, organized, gorgeous, and funny. I just hope that she can see it one day.
Well, I hope that I get to be there with her when she realizes it.
Three dots appear on my screen.
Then disappear.
Then reappear.
My mind tries to look for something that I might be missing about why she hasn’t responded, yet, but I remind myself that she’s an over-thinker who always needs to work through her words.
Sam: That sounds like fun and it would be nice to not drive myself home after dark, so thank you. Is there a dress code?
Smiling, I type my reply while telling off that little voice in my head looking for trouble.
Tommy: Whatever you’re wearing now will be plenty dressed up, I promise. It’s a bar with great apps, including buffalo chicken wings. So don’t wear white.
Tommy: I’ll pick you up at 5:45?
She likes the first text and is quick to respond that she’ll be ready.
“Tommy! Can you remember to get more pepper flakes from Mark at the meeting tonight?” Matt calls from the kitchen, immediately pulling me out of the fantasy to reply telling her it’s a date. I’m not taking her out on a date that’s linked to a work function. It would feel like a cheapened experience after all the time I’ve taken to get to know her. And I want her to feel seen and special. Tacking a date to one of the most boring meetings this town has ever known would be the opposite of making her feel special.
The smell of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh basil draws me to the kitchen where Matt is cooking a massive pot of marinara. I dip a clean spoon in, spinning away from him as he tries to swat me out of the way.
“You had to yell instead of walking the ten steps through an open doorway to the office?” I ask, blowing across the spoon.
“I can’t leave this unattended with Chuck roaming around the house,” Matt says, waving a hand over the steaming pot. “I’m splitting it up for a few houses and I’ll have to start over with his constant double-dipping.”
I can’t argue with that. Matt gives me an expectant look and I taste the sauce, flavor exploding in my mouth.
“Damn, that’s good.”
His face splits into a grin that could charm the boots right off a cowboy. None of us know how he got so good at cooking, but our baby brother keeps us well-fed. He likes to make extras for a few families whose ranches and farms are facing tighter times. I reach over to muss his hair, which he promptly dodges, and resumes his ever-vigilant watch over the pot.
“You want me to start some pasta? I can get you something before you have to leave.”
“Nah, there’s leftover rice, I’ll put the sauce on that,” I reply. He gives me an affronted look.
“That’s not—”
“I like it and I don’t do it when we’re all eating together, so let me have my weird food quirk.”
His eyes narrow at me and he points the spoon in my direction. “Just this once.”
My hands raise in surrender. “Just this once.”
We both know I’m lying, but he doesn’t fuss as I scoop the leftovers into a dish and put it in the microwave. I could live off rice, which is why there are leftovers in the first place. Matt’s our main cook, but the rest of us rotate in regularly. Whenever it’s my turn, it’s either kebabs with rice, stir fry with rice, or pineapple fried rice. Everyone stopped complaining a few years ago, just like we don’t complain when Bryant walks in with a comical pile of beef on his nights.
The microwave dings and I grab my dish, alternating hands to avoid getting burnt.
“Do you want chicken? I haven’t shredded it, yet, but it’s good.” And by good, he means melt-in-your-mouth-perfection.
“You know I do.”
He nods and grabs the tongs to pull out a chicken breast that’s falling apart. My mouth waters. When he finishes ladling sauce over my chicken and rice, he gives me a look of pure judgment.
“Just this once,” I whisper, grabbing my feast and tiptoeing backwards out of the kitchen to the office. I set my food aside and open up the calendar. It didn’t take me long to realize that my brothers are terrible at sharing calendars online. They’re not Neanderthals, but you’d think I was asking them to take the LSATs instead of checking one calendar at the start of every week.
Apparently, they’re too damn stubborn to do that, so I track their schedules on a weekly, bound calendar that’s color-coded. Bryant comes by and checks the calendar every Wednesday, like he thinks it might have changed, but otherwise, I’m the only one touching it.
Footsteps approach and I turn around to find Matt holding out a full glass of milk.
“You need more vitamin D. You’re inside too much.”
I snort out a laugh. “Thanks, Matt.”
He grunts, taking after Bryant and Jax, and turns on his heel.
Within seconds I hear a scuffle in the kitchen.
“God damn it, Chuck! I leave for two seconds and you’re already in the sauce!”
Chuck lets out a whoop right before Matt likely has him in a headlock because a moment later he’s straining out, “I give, I give.”
“How many times did you dip your spoon?”
“Just the one time, I swear,” Chuck replies, clearly unwilling to hold out any longer. Matt was the only wrestler out of all five of us and he’s scrappy as hell when it serves him.
“Not twice?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You and Jax have to stop saying that—neither of you were scouts.”
A moment later, Chuck comes out and gives me a look. “You couldn’t have kept him distracted?”
“I’m not a mind reader. How the hell was I supposed to know you were planning to sneak in?”
“When am I not?” He crosses one ankle over the other and leans against the desk.
“Touché. You going out tonight?”
“Maybe,” he replies, so he’s got plans for sure. “You?”
“It’s the fire meeting tonight so we’re grabbing wings after. I’m picking Sam up,” I say, attempting to be casual.
“Look at you blushing!” He slaps his leg as his face lights up. “You finally asked her out?”
“I didn’t call it a date,” I say, feeling the need to clarify this isn’t going to be our first date. No, it’s going to be something special.
One eyebrow raises and he oozes judgment in a way that only Chuck Landen can.
“Shut up,” I grumble.
“Just don’t let her put you in the friend zone.”
Doubt creeps into my mind, reminding me of how easy she was around Jax.
“On second thought, don’t overthink it,” Chuck says. “Listen to your gut.”
My mind races about how I’m approaching the most-perfect human being I’ve ever encountered in an attempt to date her. If only I had half of Chuck’s confidence. Unfortunately, Maisy shredded whatever I had to bits. I just hope that, if she’s interested, Sam really is everything she seems to be.