19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Addie
“ T he one and only McDonalds, of course. A milkshake is calling my name.” It’s a silly question. Drunk girls and McDonalds go together like macaroni and cheese. Though, the better part of my buzz was killed from the adrenaline, and the adrenaline was replaced by a bit of hot and bothered.
I’m not supposed to like Sam, I know this. But hot damn, he came in like a knight in shining armor. I knew Caden was trouble, but I ignored my gut. I didn’t think he was a complete and total psycho. He deserves endless kicks straight to the balls.
“I’m a professional chef, and you are making me buy you a milkshake from freaking McDonalds.” He shakes his head in mock disgust.
My head whips back to him. “What, are you too good for McDonalds’ milkshakes?”
“It’s been a while. Maybe they will shock me.”
“A good milkshake and fries can knock the socks off anyone.” Dipping fries in a milkshake could be a delicacy across the globe.
It dawns on me that I should probably let the girls know I went home before the cavalry comes for me. So, I shoot off a text that it was getting too hot and I had to get out of there. They’re all a little drunk and will run with it for now. In the morning, they might have questions, but that's a tomorrow and more sober me problem.
Isla sends back a thumbs up, and I look up just in time for us to pull through the drive-through.
He pulls his car up just before the speaker and looks over to me. “Okay, what all do you want?”
“I would like a hot and spicy, a large fry, and a large chocolate milkshake. I swear, if they try to say their ice cream machine is down, I will riot.”
“Well, since it’s about fifteen minutes from them closing, you might be shit out of luck on the milkshake, shortcake. But we can cross our fingers.” He holds up his hand not on the steering wheel and crosses his fingers.
The intercom static clears. “Welcome to McDonalds. What can we make for you tonight?”
“Can we get a hot and spicy, large fry, and large chocolate milkshake?” Sam orders.
“I’m sorry, sir. Our ice cream machine is currently being cleaned and is shut down for the night.”
“Ugh, this whole night is a fucking disaster.” Groaning, I rub my hands down my face. Ugh. My girls’ night out was ruined by a psycho, and now I can’t have a milkshake. Why does life hate me?
“One second, please,” Sam says, calmer than I would have. Who the fuck starts cleaning machines before you close? There should be research done on how much sales fast food restaurants lose from cleaning machines. The built-up fury has me angrily crossing my arms.
“Okay, hear me out. I have all the fixings for milkshakes, and I can make you homemade fries. What do you say we ditch this place and head to mine instead?”
Homemade fries? My heart could cry tears of joy.
Squinting my eyes at him, I have an inner debate with myself. “So long as you promise you are not a serial killer trying to lure me into your lair with fresh fries and ice cream.”
“I solemnly swear.” He holds his right hand up and I can’t help but laugh as he speeds out of the drive-through lane, the McDonalds’ brick building blurring past us.
The ride to his apartment isn’t long, but enough that my head clears even more. Now, I can’t blame my wanting to be around him more on being drunk. His presence is calming, and after tonight's excitement, I can’t help but cling to that. The conversation is steady, and he has me laughing the whole way.
When we pull up to Sam’s apartment, I see the outside is well-lit and looks pretty clean. As we drive past buildings, my eye catches on their outdoor recreation center, a good-sized pool, and tennis courts. This is actually a nice complex.
Neither Cal nor Liv have ever mentioned his place, or if they even come here. It makes me sad for him, being isolated and alone. I was raised in a house of laughter and siblings who would go to war with me. Shit, since I’ve moved here, I have at least one of them checking on me, making sure I’m still alive and that people are being nice to me.
When he puts the car in park, I lose the internal battle with the question that’s been burning through my mind. But I want to tread lightly here. “Sam, can I ask you a question?”
“Always.” A smile tugs on my lips. Always . I like that.
“You probably won’t want to talk about it, but why don’t you talk to Cal and Liv? Your dad, I totally understand. I, too, will be avoiding him as much as possible. But, I doubt I’m allowed back in his house.”
“You aren’t missing much.” He shakes his head and stares blankly in front of him for a second, as if gathering his thoughts. “Uh, I don’t really have an answer. To me, it always felt like they were on my dad’s side. No one was in my corner when I decided to do my own thing.” He starts fidgeting with his hands and drops his head, and my heart restricts a bit. I have to fight the urge to reach out and console him.
“They weren’t embarrassed, but no one but my mom said anything. Cal ended up following in Dad’s steps. So, I just assumed he is an extension of him.” His head pops back up and he adjusts his neck. “Liv is the hardest for me. Cal and I were close growing up, but Liv was always the caretaker. I guess we just drifted apart once I stopped coming over. It’s easier having the distance than being shamed for doing what I love, I guess.” He shrugs and my heart breaks for him a little more in this moment.
My hand finds his arm and I give him a comforting rub. “If it’s any consolation, I think they miss you. And Cal is nothing like your dad. If you need someone in your corner, you’ve got me.”
He clenches his jaw and brushes his lips together. “Thank you. That means a lot. Now, let’s get you fed.” He reaches his hand over and taps my thigh a couple times. Having his hand that close to my lady bits sends a bit of a zing through me. Apparently, she doesn’t know that we’re trying to have a heart-to-heart conversation here.
Catching the hint that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, I drop it. In the time it takes me to gather my thoughts, he’s already around the car and opening my door. Leading me to the exposed staircase, his arm brushes mine, and I feel a little rush. I wonder if he feels the electricity. Or maybe I am more buzzed than I originally thought.
The open air nips at my bare legs through the outdoor stairway as he walks me to the third door on this floor. “This is the one.”
One step in, and my jaw drops. Moonlight is reflecting off the dark floors, but even with the little amount of light, I can still see this place is gorgeous. It has stained, concrete floors, giving it a masculine vibe, and higher ceilings than I would have guessed from the outside. But my favorite part of all is the large, glass window across the space in the living room. It takes up the whole wall, allowing the moonlight to pour through it.
His arm wraps around the back of my body to scoot me out of the way, but I stay rooted in place, half from my gawking, half from not knowing where anything is here. He takes a step forward and flicks on the light. The kitchen sprawls over the majority of the space, the living room just past the large island.
“I love these counter tops,” I say, mindlessly running my hand over the smooth and sealed wood. The countertops bring light into the space with their blonde wood color.
The whole space is filled with black and wood finishes. His one, lone accent wall is the only pop of color: a muted cream. Not really a color, but it’s something. While it isn’t me, it is beautifully put together. It screams bachelor, but in a classy way. The only thing it needs is some character. Maybe pictures on the wall, or a throw pillow or two to break up all the shades of gray. Even without all those things, it’s cozy.
He reaches his hand behind him and nervously scratches the back of his head. “It isn’t much. Everyone tells me it looks like a dungeon.”
Raising my hand to place it on my chest, I say, “In my humble opinion, it is not a dungeon.” My head moves from side to side. “A bit dark and moody, but it’s beautiful. You have good taste. You could use a pop or two of color, but it is very you.” Smiling, I look over at him, hoping to ease the tension that’s all too visible in his shoulders. It makes me wonder who the last girl he brought here was. And that makes me feel things I shouldn’t. Like raging jealousy.
He looks taken aback. “You think I’m moody?”
Pointing to him, I say, “You might be the sassiest human being I’ve ever met in my life.” Turning my finger around, I pop my index finger back at myself. “And that’s coming from me.”
He lets out a half laugh. “I don’t think I have ever been called sassy.”
“Well, I’m glad to have the honors.” I pretend to bow. “Trust me, if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else.”
Sam starts pulling things out of the cupboards: a pot, I’m guessing for frying; oil; potatoes; and all sorts of fancy kitchen gadgets. Waiting to be assigned a job, I hop up on the island. The stove, fridge, and most of his workspace seem to be on the other side. So, this seems to be the most out of the way option while he gets everything ready.
Standing in front of his fridge, he pauses and turns to me. “Do you want your milkshake before fries or with fries?”
“During, for sure. I like to dunk them in it.” His eyes linger on me as I sit on his counter, and the look in them sets my body aflame. His eyes make their way back to mine and he gives me a soft smile before getting back to the task.
He seems to get lost for a while, between rinsing the potatoes, drying them off, and getting the oil heated. I watch his back as he cooks. He’s about the height of Cal, but has a little more width to his shoulders. He moves so gracefully around the kitchen. I noticed it before at Flambé, but here, I’m much more comfortable and I get to be a spectator.
As he chops the potatoes, I get lost in a trance to the point that, when he finally does speak, I all but fall off the counter from being startled.
“I never asked the other day, what do you like to bake?”
“Um, I really like it all. Anything sweet, just don’t expect it to be pretty. But I would say my specialty is cinnamon rolls.”
He pauses for a second and the look on his face seems too serious for what we’re talking about. I can’t figure out why.
He fixes his features and laughs to himself. “Cinnamon rolls, damn. I should have made this a trade deal—cinnamon roll for french fries.”
“I make them all the time. I will bring you some next time I whip them up.” Starting to feel a bit bad that he is doing all the work, I look around the kitchen, trying to find myself a job. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
He points to me with his knife and waves it. “I’m not letting you anywhere near sharp objects until I know every lick of alcohol is out of your system.”
With a roll of my eyes, I reply, “I can promise, I have done much more dangerous things while slightly intoxicated than cooking french fries.” I lift my arms in an exaggerated shrug. “But if you want to put all the work in, be my guest.”
“You can make the milkshakes.” He nods his head to the fridge. “There’s ice cream in the freezer. Milk in the fridge.”
Hopping off the counter, I take a few short steps to the refrigerator and grab the milk. Opening the bottom shelf drawer in the freezer, I quickly find the ice cream. His whole fridge and freezer are stocked to the nines. I would think that, if you cooked all day, you wouldn’t want to come home and cook more, but what do I know? Mr. Becker tried to call me once on a weekend and I told him I’d charge double time if he did it again. He didn’t. Smart man, he is. We’ve developed a good working relationship the last couple of months.
We get the rest of the food whipped up in record time. He fries the potatoes in the pot, while I blend up our milkshakes. I’m probably making way too much, but I’d rather have too much milkshake than not enough. Grabbing the glass Sam got out for me, I pour the ice-cold milkshake into the glass.
Walking back to my spot on the counter, I set my shake down and hop back up on the counter. Sam makes his way over to me, sits the fries down next to me, and takes a bite of the fries. Following suit, I grab one and toss it down the hatch.
“Better than McDonalds?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, dunking my fries in my milkshake.
He gives me a quizzical look. “Can’t believe I’ve never thought to try that,” he says while watching me dunk my fry in my milkshake, then tilt my head back and drop it down the hatch.
“Here, try some.” I dunk my fry and hold it out for him. Expecting him to take it from my hands, it kind of takes me by surprise when his hands land next to my thighs, as he stands between them and lets me feed him the fry.
Never in my fucking life did I think feeding a man a french fry would be a borderline erotic experience, but here we are. His arms brush my bare thighs, and it makes my breath catch just a little. My gaze locks on his as he swallows the fry. With me on the counter, we are eye to eye. He feels this, too, right? I am not losing my ever-loving mind?
Now, this is the chemistry I was looking for with Shaun. That’s the thing with chemistry—it’s either there, or it isn’t. And here, in this room? It’s on freaking fire.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob and he leans in. Like a magnet, I can’t help but lean in, too. When his lips meet mine, I forget every reason why I thought I should stay away from him. My legs spread wider as he takes a step between them. He deepens the kiss and his hand wraps around the back of my neck, the other landing on my thigh. His grip on my thigh tightens, and a small moan slips before I can hold it back. Never have I ever experienced a first kiss like this. Usually, they freak me out a little, but kissing Sam feels like the most natural thing I’ve ever done.
Wanting to pull him closer, my hand slides through his curly hair. When we finally come up for air, I realize how totally screwed I am.
“Best fry I’ve ever tasted,” he says, leaning his forehead against mine. “Do you want to watch a movie with me?” It’s late and I should go home, but leaving now would feel like a crime.
Unable to speak without giving myself away, I nod. He holds my hand, like I can’t handle jumping off a counter. But the gesture is cute all the same.
“Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He turns to walk down the hallway, and I can see him step into his room. If someone had told me I would end up in Sam’s apartment tonight, I would have told them that they’re batshit crazy. But here we are.
He walks back out of the hallway. “Here. While I enjoy the view of you in that dress, I don’t think it’ll be very warm or comfortable on my leather couch.” In my hands are a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.
“That was…” I have to pause to clear my voice. Damn, this man has my brain all messed up. “Really thoughtful. Thank you.”
“Bathroom is right down that hallway I came out of; first door on the left.” Nodding, I turn on my heels and head down the hallway.
The bathroom is clean, and just as dark and moody as the rest of the apartment. Not a single thing looks out of place. Sheesh, and I thought I was a freak about organization.
I pop back out to see Sam is already on the couch. He has a blanket stretched over his legs and his feet rest on the ottoman. He sees me come out of the bathroom, and a smile spreads across his face. He pats the spot next to him, making it clear that he still wants me close. I’m quickly finding I want him close, too.
When I cross the room, he pulls the covers back, and I slide in next to him. He drags my legs to rest across his and drapes his arm across my back. It feels so natural. How is it possible to feel this at home with someone I’ve never done this with before?
Unable to resist, I snuggle closer into his side as he hits play on the movie. The warmth and comfort make my eyes feel heavy, and his presence makes my heart feel safe. I feel his lips press against my forehead as I begin to drift off, feeling more at peace than I have in months.