The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

4. Chapter Four

4

CHAPTER FOUR

December

Eight Months Earlier

New York

Samantha dropped to her haunches beside the coffee table hours later, her vision slightly blurry as she began organizing Monopoly pieces back into the box. In the kitchen, Edward and Margaret tossed empty bottles into the trash, while Peter lay passed out on the living room floor beside the couch. Samantha wasn’t sure what had rubbed her the wrong way about Edward initially, but as the night progressed, she’d gotten used to the guy.

Maybe it was his unapologetic nature that threw her off or the way he always said exactly what was on his mind. He was different, perceptive, and having him around distracted her from the crazy doubts about her art that had crept into her mind over the past few months.

“Samantha? Sam? Sammy?” A faint whisper pulled her attention to the floor. Peter was half awake, tracing circles into the antique rug he lay on top of.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Peter, what is it?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe waffles are just pancakes with abs?”

Coughing on air, she closed the lid of the game box and rose to her feet. “No, I can’t say that I have, but I don’t think I’ll ever think about waffles the same way again.”

He made a face. “It’s sad, isn't it? That two things can be made of the same ingredients, but people think one is better” — he hiccuped— “just because they have muscles.”

Unable to hide her amusement, Samantha pressed one finger to her lips, knowing that they both needed sleep. “Shh…”

“Does Tristan have abs?” he asked, not lowering his voice in the slightest.

Tristan had everything. Gifted to him by genetics and hard labor, but he was never pretentious about it. “Yes,” she said cautiously. “So does everyone, if you really think about it.”

He made a face while glancing down at his own stomach. “I guess you’re right. My abs are just covered in layers of whipped cream.”

She bit her lip. “That’s right.”

“Which do you like better? Pancakes or waffles?”

“I like both––but that’s enough with the questions. We need sleep, Peter.” If she didn’t put an end to this conversation, she’d never get to bed.

“Is it bedtime?” he asked genuinely.

“Yes, it is,” she answered honestly, taking the blanket from the back of the couch, and throwing it over his large body. “Goodnight.”

He muttered something unintelligible as he shifted toward the couch, possibly about syrup, then pulled the blanket up to his chin and immediately started snoring.

She smiled at his complete surrender. That’s what she loved most about Peter. He was the type of person who had not a care in the world—no fucks given as he lay drunk and asleep in the center of the apartment for all to see.

Picking up the rest of the game boxes, Samantha placed them on a shelf before turning to face the studio. Tiny rainbows danced on the walls of the apartment from Peter’s stained glass. The sun was barely visible as it rose in the sky, yet somehow the light and glass found one another and created magic.

Sam crawled into bed around dawn, the sun already peeking in through her window as she reached across her mattress to grab her cellphone from the nightstand.

Wild Stallion: Missed call 10:57pm. Over six hours earlier.

She rolled to her back, squinting at the screen as she remembered the day he’d given them their code names in a gas station parking lot. Two years later, she was still giddy every time she saw it.

Tristan hadn’t left a message, and although she knew he’d still be sleeping, she had the urge to call him and say goodnight.

Rolling to her side, her still drunk fingers typed out a message she knew he wouldn’t get until he woke up that morning.

Mona: Good night you sexy beast. I love you more than you will ever know.

She waited a few moments, but the telltale dots that would say he was awake never came. She stuffed a pillow under her cheek, forced her eyes closed, and tried to keep the world from spinning. This was the first time she’d been this drunk in years. The first night since moving to New York, that she wouldn’t talk to him before falling asleep. The first day in two years that they wouldn’t say I love you .