Chapter Fourteen #3
You're the one with friends who have your back here. Not her. She
has no one but Chelsea, and Chelsea just lost most of her own
friends, I promise you that."
Rory stares up at me,
chewing the inside of her cheek, but she says nothing.
"I'm sorry I asked you to
forgive her. God,
and I'm sorry I just ranted your private business out in the middle
of the street—"
She starts shaking her
head fervently and it cuts me off. "No, Sam. Just no."
I blink at her, my brow
furrowed in confusion.
"You don't get to
apologize for defending me. Again. For anything. Just…
no."
I sigh, my arms wrapping
around her of their own accord and pulling her tightly to my chest.
She doesn't hesitate; she slides her arms around my waist and grips
me just as tightly. She doesn't cry, she just lets me hold her,
clinging to me as if I'm some kind of rock for her, and it's all
I've ever wanted to be.
Minutes pass like that and
neither of us says a word until she pulls away.
"Do you want to go back
inside? You were having such a good time…" I ask her.
She shrugs. "I was," she
admits. "But I just… Honestly, Sam? I just want to go home. It's
already late and I… I don't want to put on a mask and force smiles.
I'm okay, really. I just… she just jarred me, you know?"
I nod. "I know. She jarred
me too, Ror. I recognized her the second I saw her, even though I'd
never seen her before. She looks just like him."
I realize my mistake as
Rory's gaze flees from mine the moment I bring up
that motherfucking
bastard. I'm so goddamn stupid
sometimes.
"Let me take you home," I
plead.
"You should stay," she
whispers.
It's like Miami all over
again. It's like every time she's upset and won't accept my help
all over again. "I don't want to stay, Ror." I tell her the truth.
"I just want to fucking take you home. Will you let me do that?
Please. You make me feel so helpless."
Her eyes go wide. "I make
you feel helpless?"
I nod. "I'm not asking for
you. I'm asking for me. Let me take you home." No more bullshit, no
more holding back. Whatever she decides on Monday, I'm not playing
any more games.
I realize of course that
seeing Lacey probably didn't help my chances. If she ended it in
Miami because she couldn't handle everything, then even if she
might have been coming around, this incident may have set her right
back to that place where she realizes she has enough on her plate
without a boyfriend with issues of his own. But I try not to think
about it for now.
"Okay," she says, and I
exhale the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been
holding.
"I'll text Tuck, make up
an excuse." I take her hand and start leading her to the corner to
catch a cab.
Her footsteps falter.
"They'll think… they're all gonna think we left to go… you know,
hook up," she murmurs, blushing softly. It's beautiful. Everything
about her is beautiful.
I want to set her at ease,
but she's right of course. "They probably are," I admit. The truth
is I don't mind letting them think that. Reminding them that even
if we're not together, Rory's still taken. "I could say you're sick
or something. But people will think what they think. I—" I push my
hand through my hair again. I hate the thought of making her
uncomfortable.
Her fingers clasp around
my bicep. "It's okay," she says. "I guess it doesn't really matter
what anyone thinks. Anyway, they could say worse things about me
than that I'm hookin' up with the
Cap," she teases.
God, this girl is amazing.
She's fucking teasing me right now. I think maybe the Forbes girl
pissed me off more than she did her. I didn't think a smile would
mark my lips right now for anything, but here it is, and I let it
lift my spirits as I take her hand and lead her into a
cab.
She lets me comfort her,
and even though I know we're just friends, with my arm around her
and her head resting on my shoulder, I let myself pretend she's
mine again. It's a beautiful kind of torture.
We get back uptown pretty
quickly thanks to the late hour, and we're in my car heading
through the Midtown Tunnel by one a.m.
Rory tunes the radio to a
classic rock station, and neither of us says much for the duration
of the ride. There's nothing to say. Or there's too much to
say.
The last real conversation
we had she was asking me to give us another shot, and though I was
sure—am sure—that
it was a reaction to my abhorrent decision to push her away, and
then my flirting with that girl right in front of her the night
before, I can't help but wonder if maybe it was real. If maybe
it is real.
But I meant it when I said
that she needed to be completely sure about what she wants before
we can even consider a relationship again. We have too much to
lose. It was an incredible realization. That even as I felt as if
life couldn't get any worse, that it could. That we could hurt each
other even more. That she could utterly destroy me.
Would I take the chance?
Hell yes I would. But only if she meant it. Only if she was sure.
Because if I'm going to risk losing our friendship—which is exactly
what another breakup could mean—then it's going to be for a real
shot at the something more I'd thought we had in Miami.
So I told her to take
until Monday. And here we are, on Saturday night, in some kind of
limbo of hope and fear. But I'll take it, because I'm pretty damn
sure that Monday will bring with it a hell full of renewed
heartbreak and disappointment.
We reach her house too
quickly and neither of us moves when I pull up in front of it. I'm
not ready to let her go. I'm still shaken from the way the night
turned, and though Rory is being her badass, tough-girl self, the
way she fidgets with the threads from the rip in her jeans and the
subtle tremor of her fingers gives her away.
I just want to fucking
hold her. But what I don't want? I don't want to pretend like
everything is fine. I don't want her to feel like she has to wear
her mask—the one she didn't want to put on to go back into the
club—for me.
"That was fucked up
tonight, Ror. I—" I cut myself off from apologizing again, knowing
she'd only reject it. "I hate that you have to go through shit like
that," I say instead.
Rory offers me a small
smile. "Thanks, Sam. But I'm okay. It was just a shock, I guess,"
she admits. Her smile fades as she watches me. "Looks like you've
been put through it, too," she hedges.
Nothing gets past her with
me. Nothing ever did. I don't bother denying it. I nod. "I… care
about you. You know that. Makes me crazy to see you under attack
like that."
She reaches over and takes
my hand. I hold on for dear life. "Thank you for that," she says
meaningfully.
My free hand finds it's
way back to her cheek in a soft caress. A loving caress. I just
can’t stop touching her.
I care about
you. It's the understatement of the
century. But what else could I say right now? The truth?
I fucking love you more than my own
life?
I can't help letting my
gaze fall to her perfect pink lips. I want to kiss her more than
anything, but, of course, I can't. I meant it when I told her I
wanted her to be sure about what she wants from us, and the ball is
solely in her court. And the last thing I want is to cloud her
judgment with the lust I know I can stir in her—much to my
satisfaction.
Rory's lips part and her
eyes close in a yawn. She's still not getting enough sleep. Fuck,
and how will she sleep tonight? After seeing that bitch who
tormented her for months?
"You need to sleep, baby
girl," I tell her, letting the endearment slip from my lips for the
second time tonight.
Again, she lets it go, or
perhaps, she even revels in it. Or maybe I'm fooling
myself.
She slips on another
small, ironic smile. "Not likely, Sam. But I should get to bed
anyway."
She makes to pull her hand
from mine, but I tighten my grip. "Let me hold you." The words fly
from my mouth without a thought. But I don't take them back. She
needs to sleep and I can keep her nightmares away. I know I
can.
Her brows pinch together
again, as if she doesn't understand what I'm asking.
"What—"
"Let me come inside, and
just hold you. Just so you can sleep." I'm practically begging her,
but I don't care. That's how desperate I am for her to give me
this.
"Sam, I…" She looks at me
with such emotion that I know she wants this too. That she knows
I'm right. But then she deflates, and her eyes trail down to our
joined hands. "My mom's home. How can you… you can't just sleep
over." But her tone tells me she wishes I could. And I
can.
"Just sneak me in. It's
late. She won't wake up. I'll leave before dawn. She'll never know.
And I mean it—I just want to hold you. No funny business, I
promise, Ror."
That small smile plays
back upon her lips. "Funny
business?"
I bite my lip.
Yeah, funny
business. Like the last time we slept in
the same bed. But I don't say it, because
I have no intention of letting it happen again. No casual sex for
us. I meant what I said. It's got to be all or nothing.
But I can hold her. I can
help her get some sleep. I fucking need to.
"You know exactly what I'm
talking about," I say instead, smirking wryly at her, and she
flushes a gorgeous shade of pink.
She shakes her head.
"You're going to get me in so much trouble," she
grumbles.
Yeah. Right back at you,
baby girl.
But I take it as her
acquiescence and I turn off my engine and walk around to open the
passenger door, but she's already getting out. I take her hand
again, because I can, and I follow her lead as she lets us in and
tiptoes up the stairs.
Her mother's bedroom door
is shut tight and Rory sends her a text saying she's home
safe—their rule when she comes home after her mom goes to bed
apparently, and she grabs some pajamas from a drawer and creeps
across the hall to the bathroom.
She's back a few minutes
later, all washed up and fresh faced, in tiny little shorts and a
skin tight tank top. It's like she's torturing me on purpose. Like
she took my no funny business
promise and decided to test my
self-restraint.
Well that's just fine.
Because as much as I remember how mind-blowing hooking up with Rory
is, I can't forget how devastating it was to hear her call me
nothing more than a friend just minutes after we were done. And I
won't relive it. Ever.
But I can't stop myself
from raking her perfect form with my gaze, taking in every curve,
every visible inch of her flushed skin in the dim moonlight. She
notices, I know she does, because she flushes even more. But
there's no discomfort. Of course, she's probably used to the way I
look at her by now, friend or not.
"I, uh, left a new
toothbrush on the sink for you… if you want. Just, you know, take
it with you after. I don't want my mom seein' it," she murmurs.
Southern Rory's peeking out. She's nervous. But not in a bad way.
And I relish it.
My lips curl up into a
smile as I rise from the bed and make my way around her to head to
the bathroom. I wash up, and when I get back to her room, she's
already tucked into bed. I start unbuttoning my shirt and I take
note of the fact that she watches with sharp interest. I unbutton
the fly of my jeans, but then I hesitate.
"It's okay, Sam. I want
you to be comfortable," she whispers.
I exhale deeply. Me too.
But that isn't really possible. It's just a matter of choosing my
discomfort—sleeping in jeans, or losing a protective layer of
barrier between us. I sigh and shove down the jeans, flinging them
over the back of her desk chair to join my shirt, and I stand there
in just my boxer briefs. I hesitate as I look down at her, all
snuggled up under her comforter. This is all wrong and so right all
at the same time. I should
be in bed with her holding her at night. Every
night. But it shouldn't be platonic. There shouldn't be these
boundaries. But here they are nonetheless, at least for now, and
probably forever.
Rory senses my hesitation
and she flips open the comforter behind her in a silent invitation
to do what I asked for—just to hold her. And God do I want
that.
I slide in beside her and
we slip right into our natural position—Rory's head pillowed on my
chest, my arms wrapped tightly around her. I pretend it's all just
friendly. I pretend I'm not hard as steel beneath the cotton of my
underwear, and I ignore the way she breathes in the scent of my
skin.
"Goodnight, Sam," she
whispers.
It wasn't. A good night, I
mean. But it is now. It's a wonderful night. The best fucking
night.
"'Night, baby
girl."
She falls asleep almost
immediately, and though I could too, I don't let myself. I stay
awake as long as possible, just feeling her warm breath against the
skin of my chest, watching the rise and fall of her own. I stroke
her hair away from her face and just stare down at her. I am
overwhelmed by her beauty. She has such luminous skin, and the way
her thick lashes fan out over her cheeks casts small shadows upon
them… it's just captivating. So I watch her, staring. Staring and
watching. When she turns, repositioning herself, I turn with her,
covering her body like a spoon, my hand splayed over her flat
stomach, holding her tightly against me, torturing myself even
more, completely in heaven.
Eventually I drift off,
and when I wake around five in the morning, Rory is still fast
asleep. It's still dark as I slip out of her warm bed, forcibly
prying myself from the only place in the world I want to be. But I
made her a promise, and I keep my promises. Especially to
her.