Chapter 12 #3
“What are you doing here?” I asked while he rubbed the towel over his head.
“I always come after my run. Also,” he added in a lower voice, “I want to talk to you. Can we go upstairs?”
I didn’t see any way to disagree in front of my parents without causing a scene, and I’d had my fill of Sam-related drama this week.
Dad handed Sam a stack of clothes as we passed him on the steps, and he changed in my parents’ room while I waited in mine, sitting cross-legged on my bed, listening to the patter of rain on the roof.
As mad as I was at him, when Sam entered the room wearing a pair of my dad’s track pants that were several inches too big in the waist and a green fleece pullover that was several inches too short in the arms, I burst out laughing.
“I hope you don’t plan on having a serious conversation while wearing that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling.
I miss this, I thought, and felt the smile vanish from my face. Sam closed the door and sat across from me on the bed.
“I was wrong,” he began. “So wrong.” My eyes collided with his.
“And you were wrong, too. Yesterday, when you said I didn’t want you.
” He spoke softly, his blue eyes fixed on mine.
“I did want you. I do want you. I’ve always wanted you.
” I felt a sharp pressure in my lungs, like his words had sucked all the oxygen out of them.
“I’m sorry for making you think otherwise, for confusing you.
I thought we should focus on school for now.
What my mom said last summer—that we had plenty of time to be in a relationship—made sense to me.
And I thought we would mess things up if we tried to be something more, but I messed things up trying not to be. ”
“You really did,” I said, a poor attempt at humor. He smiled anyway.
“I told you last summer that I don’t know how to do this.” He motioned between us. “I said we should wait until we’re ready.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if we’re ready, but I don’t want to wait anymore.” He put his hands over mine and squeezed.
I wanted to jump onto his lap and throw my arms around his neck and kiss the crease on his lip. I also wanted to pummel him. Because what if he changed his mind again? I didn’t think I could survive that.
“Sam, I have a boyfriend,” I told him, forcing the words to sound strong. “A boyfriend, who, by the way, is going to be here in just over a week. I just need you to respect that right now.”
“Of course,” he said, though his voice was ragged. “I can do that.”
“SO, THAT’S HIM.” Sam peered through the kitchen window into the dining room, where Mason, Delilah, and Patel were sitting at a four-top while my former favorite server, Joan, handed out menus.
They didn’t arrive at the cottage until midafternoon, just a couple of hours before my Saturday shift, so they decided to show up for dinner to spend more time with me.
Mason said they wanted to surprise me. It worked.
I wasn’t going to mention their presence to Sam, but Joan had burst into the kitchen after seating them to tell me I was “one lucky bitch” for having “such a hot boyfriend.” I used to like Joan.
Mason did look good, though. Now that hockey season was over, he’d cut his dark hair shorter, which had the effect of drawing attention to his jawline.
He was wearing a tight black tee that made all the hours he spent at the gym abundantly clear, a pair of aviators tucked into the neck of his shirt.
“Yep,” I said, feeling the heat from another body behind us. Charlie leaned over me, taking a quick look through the window.
“I’m better looking,” he declared, then went back to his station.
Things got more awkward when Delilah insisted on Sam coming out to say hello.
I apologized as he made his way to the table, wiping his hands on his jeans and pushing his hair off his face.
He shook hands with Mason and Patel, but Delilah threw her arms around him, mouthing “holy shit” to me from over his shoulder.
“Come over after your shift tonight, Sam,” Delilah told him. “And bring that handsome brother of yours.” Sam raised his eyebrows and looked to Patel, who just grinned and shook his head in amusement.
“I think Charlie has plans with his . . . Anita later, but yeah, I’ll come over.
After washing off the sausage and sauerkraut,” he added, “unless you like that sort of thing.” He grinned at Delilah, who beamed back.
Mason watched the exchange with a smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The three of them were already drunk by the time I got home.
I could hear Mason and Patel arguing in slurred voices about whether beards or mustaches were the superior form of facial hair before I got inside.
Delilah was sprawled over Patel’s lap on the couch reading a Joan Didion memoir, her tank top riding up her stomach.
She was very clearly not wearing a bra. She lifted her head when I walked in, her eyes slow to focus on my face.
“Persephone!” she called, holding her arms outspread and waving me in for a hug. “We misssssed you!” I bent over to give her a squeeze.
“Looks like you survived without me.” Empty beer bottles were lined up in a row on the kitchen counter.
A few of Dad’s records were scattered on the floor, but someone had managed to put on Revolver.
There was a melting bowl of ice and a bottle of tequila open on the coffee table, and the guys each held glasses of the clear liquid.
“Come sit, babe,” Mason said, pulling me down onto him and planting a kiss below my jaw. “No offense, but you kind of smell.” I elbowed him in the stomach.
“I’ll go shower.” I moved to stand, but Mason held me tight, running his tongue up my neck.
“Mmm . . .” he murmured with a chuckle. “Tastes like pierogies.”
“Very funny. Now if you’ll allow me to excuse myself, I’ll go clean up.”
I lingered longer in the shower than I needed to.
I knew that Sam would be arriving any minute, and I was half dreading it and half excited.
It felt like this huge part of my life was closed off to him, and now I could introduce him to the people I spent time with when he and I weren’t together.
I wanted Delilah to see him. I wasn’t worried about Sam and Mason.
Mason wasn’t the jealous type, and Sam wasn’t the confrontational type.
And I thought maybe if I saw them in the same room together, I would be reminded that Sam was just a regular guy.
That maybe I had built him up as this mythical creature, a perfect friend and potential boyfriend who wouldn’t seem so precious and rare out in the real world.
When I came out of the bathroom, Sam was sitting at a dining chair he’d pulled up beside the couch, his still-wet hair combed neatly off his face.
He was wearing the dark denim jeans that I knew were his nice jeans and a white button-up, the sleeves rolled past his tanned forearms. His feet were bare.
He looked good. He looked grown-up. I, on the other hand, was wearing a pair of terry cloth shorts and a pink Barry’s Bay pullover.
Mason passed him a full tumbler of tequila, and they clinked their glasses together before tossing back a gulp.
I could see Sam struggling to keep a straight face; he wasn’t a drinker.
“Don’t you usually drink that stuff with limes and salt or something?” I asked, joining them.
“We neglected to bring limes,” Mason explained. “But this is really good shit, so it’s wasted on shots anyway.” He filled another tumbler and passed it to me. I took a small sip and coughed at the burn.
“Yeah, really good shit,” I rasped, still coughing. Mason pulled me toward him, and I froze, realizing he wanted me to sit on his lap.
“Come keep me company, babe,” he said, tugging harder.
I perched awkwardly on the end of his knee.
Delilah, who had made it to an upright position, threw me a questioning look.
I moved my eyes toward Sam, who was watching Mason’s hands trace curlicues on my bare thigh.
His brows drew together, then he downed the rest of his drink.
Delilah’s gaze swung between the two of us, her eyes widening with understanding, a drunken smile forming on her lips.
“Thatta boy,” Patel said to Sam, reaching for the bottle to pour him more.
“So, Sam,” Delilah purred, leaning toward him with her elbows on her knees and her face propped on her hands, “it’s been so long since I last saw you.
You’re like a big, juicy piece of man now.
Tell me all about this girlfriend of yours.
” Sam looked at me in confusion, but I had no idea where she was going with this.
“No girlfriend,” he said, tipping back more of his drink.
“That’s hard to believe,” Delilah went on.
“You know,” she said, looking at Patel and Mason, “Sam can be a real heartbreaker. He can play very hard to get.” I gave her a warning look, but she just smiled and shook her head slightly.
“He once flat-out refused to kiss Percy in a game of truth or dare.” Thank god.
“That’s harsh, man,” Patel said while Mason pulled me back against his chest.
“Poor baby.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his lips to the side of my neck. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.” I automatically looked to Sam, who was staring at us with a clenched jaw and dark eyes. He was bouncing his knee.
“Anyone want a snack?” I jumped off Mason’s lap and headed to the kitchen.
“I’ll help,” Sam offered and followed me while Patel and Mason reminisced over a particularly memorable childhood game of seven minutes in heaven.
I was on my tiptoes reaching for a serving bowl when Sam came up behind me.
“I can get that,” he said, grazing his fingers over mine.
“You smell nice,” he whispered as he brought the bowl down to the counter. A chill ran through me at the feel of his breath on my ear, and I shivered.