Chapter Thirty Sam
CHAPTER THIRTY
SAM
Agreeing to meet Mountain at the house he shares with Alex and Kane is probably a bad idea. Because being in the same house, alone, with the three guys I clearly have complicated relationships with can’t lead to anything good.
Right? Surely, this will all blow up in my face, a recipe for disaster if I’ve ever seen one.
It’s even more awkward considering I haven’t spoken to Alex or Kane in a few days. After Alex called himself propositioning me and running into Kane while investigating at Wyndmoor, I needed space to clear my mind.
And then there’s whatever this is with Mountain.
He’s so different from the others, and with everything that’s been going on lately, I can use his brand of simple.
He’s peace and stability packed into a burly six-foot, two-hundred-something frame.
It’s easy with him, and that’s something I haven’t had in a long time.
He settles my nervous system, while the others have done nothing but wreak havoc on it.
So here I am, in his room, staring at pictures from his childhood and taking in just how methodical his space is.
Everything in its place, and there’s not a speck of dust in sight.
Shoes are perfectly shelved on the wall.
Hockey gear is stacked neatly in the corner behind the door.
His bed is made to perfection, the corners tucked and pillows fluffed.
I stroll over to the books arranged by trim size on his bookshelf. It’s an array of topics from textbooks to sports magazines and a handful of fiction titles.
The bathroom door flies open, and Mountain steps into the room. I peer at him as his eyes roam over my frame. There’s a softness in his gaze that I haven’t seen him give anyone else.
Lately, the air seems to still when he looks at me.
At first, it caught me off guard, made me feel vulnerable.
Now I welcome his attention. I’m sure it has a lot to do with the fact that with him, I never feel judged or mocked.
When the world is so busy telling me who I am, Bryden sees me for me, every broken inch.
Yes, I’ve crossed a line I can’t come back from with both Alex and Kane, but Mountain? He’s the one I’m not sure about. He’s always kind, always respectful. But he never makes a move, never slips, and never relents.
“Come on. Let’s knock out this project.” He crosses the space while his eyes remain fixed on me, and for a moment I freeze. He towers close, peering down at me as I stand there like a deer in headlights. I lean in, our chests only a hair apart. When I breathe deep, so does he.
“Sam,” he utters my name. It’s low, and if I didn’t know better, it’s sensual.
“Yes?” I whisper.
“I need you to move so I can get into the closet.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” I stammer and move to the side and suck in a breath.
The sound of the closet door fills the space, followed by the ruffling of a plastic bag.
He closes the door and gestures for me to follow him over to the desk.
After setting the bag of supplies down, Mountain walks over to the left corner of the room to grab another chair, holding it out for me to sit.
We briefly make eye contact again as I settle into the chair and allow him to push me closer to the desk.
Mountain claims his spot, his leg brushing against mine, and I squirm.
As he settles and removes things from the bag, his legs spread ever so slightly.
I can’t help but take in his thickness. Ever since walking in on him that night, it’s hard not to let my mind wander.
And right now, in his room alone with him, my eyes find their way to that bulge, and I have to force myself to look away.
He lays everything out in front of us. I should be paying attention, mentally preparing myself to work on the project. Instead, I’m busy watching the veins in his forearm every single time he reaches in front of me.
For the next hour, we work through our notes and piece our structure together. Working alongside Mountain is easy. He listens intently, never tries to control the narrative, and truly values my input. He’s always on time and actually puts in as much effort as me.
Mountain puts the final screw into place then sits back, his hands out at his side as if it’ll come crashing down if he moves too quickly.
“Done,” he says proudly.
“Oh we’re definitely getting an A.”
Mountain looks at me. “I’m glad you think so.”
“And you don’t? The calculations are solid, we’ve tested and proved our theory, and it’s sturdy. We’ve got this in the bag.”
“I love your confidence.”
I smile at that, throwing my gaze around to mask the heat I feel rushing to my cheeks. He moves to clean up the leftover supplies, tossing scraps into the plastic bag.
I stand and go back to browsing his books.
He glances at me between each piece he picks up. “What?”
Holding up one, a popular graphic novel about a superhero kid, I smirk, my brow cocked.
He scratches his nape. “Yeah. I’ve been doing a buddy read with my little brother.”
“So?” Smiling, I return it to its place next to the others.
When I turn to face him again, Mountain is already at my side, not so subtly fixing the pile to his liking. He’s not rude about it, and if I had to bet, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“So what?” He quizzes, awkwardly turning toward me.
“What did you think?”
Mountain stares at me, confusion written across his handsome features.
“The book.” I nod to the red cover on his desk. “I read it with my little brother, too.”
“Oh.” He scratches his head again. “It was good.”
“I liked the villain,” I admit while picking up his hockey stick.
“Really?” Mountain narrows his eyes at me, amusement beaming in them.
“Yeah. I personally feel like he’s misunderstood. Besides, I usually go for the villain of the story anyway.”
“Why the villain?”
I avert my gaze and put the stick back where I got it. “They have the most to gain, and most of the time, they were antagonized themselves. Not to mention, villains are more fun.”
“And more dangerous.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“So that’s your thing? The bad boy?”
“Let’s just say walking red flags are hot when they’re fictional.”
“It’s fiction. Where are you seeing this hotness?”
I snap my gaze to him. “We’re judging now?”
Mountain smirks, the hint of a smile attempting to show, but he holds it in. He always does. One of these days, I’ll get through to him, get him to cave.
“No. No. I just never get how you ladies get over book characters.”
“I don’t know if I should be offended.”
He laughs, and I can’t help but do the same. There it is—a smile. It’s barely there, the smallest of tugs, but I see it.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “You know what, I believe in letting people love what they love. And if that’s supervillains for you, then love away.”
I smirk. “I’m definitely feeling judged.”
We laugh.
“I may be surprised by some of the books on your shelf, but what isn’t a surprise to me is your room. I’ve actually pictured that it would look something like this.”
His brows pull tight in confusion. “You pictured it? But you’ve seen my room before… the night of the party.”
“I mean, yeah, but I was looking for the bathroom, and there you were damn near naked. Remembering what your room actually looked like was the last thing on my mind.”
Mountain meets my eyes at that, another slight smile fighting to peek through. “Fair enough. Expand on that then.”
“You can tell a lot about what a person’s space might look like based on how they carry themselves.”
He glances around. “I’ll bite.”
He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, the thin fabric of his T-shirt stretching over his muscles. And he’s not even flexing.
“This is technically your first time in my room.”
First? Will there be a second? I utter inwardly.
“Does my personality accurately represent my room?”
I wet my lips, more out of habit than anything else. “Yeah.”
I pause and return to my seat next to his, taking another look around. “It’s very military-like. Everything has its place. There’s nothing personal left out in the open aside from the family pictures on your mirror. Your bed is made with tight corners and the surfaces are spotless.”
He raises a brow, and I can tell he’s waiting for the punchline.
“You like order and have scary good control over every aspect of your life. You don’t get upset, don’t curse, always on time, constantly watching.
Even down to only communicating through texts.
It allows you to control what emotions you show.
You can tell me everything is fine, while falling apart on the inside. ”
His face gives nothing away, but he’s listening.
“Predictability makes you feel safe. You don’t hoard, and from what I can tell you don’t collect either. You are ritualistic about the game. Your locker is bare save for the essentials, and I’d bet if I walked into your private bathroom right now, there are just the staples.”
I tilt my head, meeting his stare.
“You’re disciplined. Because if things are airtight, then nothing can fall apart. Right?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he finally speaks, throwing my words back at me.
“Not bad, per se. But it can’t be all good either.” I peer at him. “Having that kind of control, it’s fine—safe. But then you’re not really living. And trust me, I’ve had my fair share of wanting to give up living because God knows life fucking sucks. But I’m living and feeling.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move or breathe, and then just barely his jaw flexes. Bull’s-eye.
“Sorry if that came off as offensive.”
“No.” His features soften as he shifts. “I’m actually just impressed really. No one’s ever really noticed me before. So it’s just a little strange to hear. I’m not ashamed of who I am, so hearing how you view me doesn’t offend me.”
My muscles soothe at that. “I like who you are. It drives me crazy how perfectly intact you are emotionally, but I like it.”