15. Stan
Chapter fifteen
Stan
When a parent tells you, “Do not touch the cookie jar,” what is the first thing that comes to mind? If you were told, “Do not open this box. No matter what.” Would you understand Pandora’s craving? Or when you tell yourself you’re going to deprive yourself of doing something you’ll probably regret.
It might not be something as big as murder, theft, and so forth. It might be as simple as “Do not have the desire to fuck your best friend’s cousin.” What is the one thing your mind does?
Yep.
To me, the cookie jar is a well-curved woman in her late twenties with gray eyes. Pandora’s box is her lips that open and demand you touch them with your own lips. And she is none other than Samantha fucking Knight. My best friend’s cousin, who is practically his little sister.
I need to create a little distance. My train of thought constantly reorients to her, my eyes constantly search for her, and my body turns in her direction without me even thinking about it. What makes it worse is that we work in the same office and are practically neighbors in Rose Haven. I’m attuned to her no matter what I do.
But I’m both thrilled and devastated when I walk into Ruth in the house, who announces she and Sam are playing a game of Scrabble. I try to leave them to it, but according to Ruth, my participation isn’t optional. Now I’m stuck spending my downtime trying not to stare at Samantha Knight.
“Seriously, can your big idiot brain not think of better words?” Sam scoffs as I play the word “IT” on the board.
I’m losing badly. Sam’s leading the points, followed by my thirteen-year-old daughter, and now I don’t know if I can stand the humiliation of losing to these two gremlins.
“Shut up, I keep getting bad tiles,” I defend as I search the bag, only to get a Q and another I.
Basically, my set looks like this: QITSOOL.
“The farmer blames his tools,” Sam jeers as she completes the word JET to the T I placed earlier, earning a triple word score.
I throw up my hands in defeat like a spoiled child. “Well, this whole farm is stupid.”
“You’re stupid,” Sam shoots back.
“No, you.”
“Jealous because you can’t win?”
I snort. “Scrabble is a game of luck. Pull out a chessboard right here, right now.” I point to the floor.
“Ha, you’ve never beaten me in chess, either. ‘Knight’ is literally my name.” Then she tilts her head to the side. “ Holt.”
“Triple letter score,” Ruth’s even voice diffuses the situation.
I had completely forgotten about her and gave in to my frustration. It’s not my fault. Rather, it’s Samantha’s fault.
“Are you two always fighting over board games?” Ruth asks, exasperated.
“Only because someone keeps egging me on,” I murmur.
“Only because someone is a sore loser,” Sam counters.
“Tch, like I don’t let you win.” I cross my arms.
“I hate you so much, Stan.”
“Well, I’m not particularly fond of you, either.” My eye twitches a little, and I feel like I’ve crossed a line. I sounded too serious when I told her that.
“Christ, enough.” Ruth gets to her feet. “Since I’m babysitting both of you, maybe I should go get you two a snack. I’ll be in the pantry.” She leaves us both and heads back to get the snacks.
“Now look what you did. Do you have to be a jerk all the time?” Sam whispers.
“I don’t have to be anything you don’t force me to be,” I respond.
“Do I force you to do stuff?”
Her voice sounds pained, and I’m thrown off a bit. I may have been frustrated, but I didn’t mean to upset her.
“Is that why you do stuff for me? Because you feel I’m forcing you?” she goes on.
“No,” I say. “Never. You know–”
“Sam? I can’t reach the snack. Could you come get it?” Ruth calls.
“I’ll be right there,” Sam replies, but stares at me even as she stands up.
As she makes her way to the kitchen, I find it difficult to get my eyes off her curvy frame as she moves her hips from side to side. Fuck. I rub my face, slightly frustrated. Still, it’s satisfying having her here in my house, walking around bare feet like she’s at home.
“Stan?” Ruth pops out of the pantry, innocent eyes meeting mine. “Sammie can’t reach it, either. Can you help?”
I sigh heavily and get to my feet. I round the island and see Sammie up on her tiptoes, reaching for the very top shelf. A sliver of her bare back peeks out from where her t-shirt has ridden up. My eyes take in her narrow waist, the curve of her ass in her jean shorts.
Calm down, Stan. There’s no need to drool. You’ve seen her a lot already.
“Here. Let me,” I bite out more harshly than intended and step up behind Sam. As I reach above her, I will myself not to press too close.
I feel the rush of air before I hear the door click as it shuts. Then the small lock handle turning makes a soft clicking noise .
My body freezes. I’m sprawled over Sam’s back in the darkened closet. The only source of light is what peeks in from around the door.
“Ruth?” I call out angrily before Sam’s soft breasts brush my arm and my chest as she turns to face me.
“Ruth, you did not just lock us in here!” Sam shouts.
I grip the shelf above Sam’s head to keep myself from touching her.
“I’ll let you two out when you quit bickering about dumb shit,” Ruth says on the other side of the door. “Listening to you two is exhausting. You both like each other. Start acting like it.”
“I don’t—” Sam starts to shout something, but then she stops. She steadies herself with one hand on the center of my chest as Ruth’s footsteps recede.
“Ruth! Get back here right now and let us out!” I yell.
“She’s gone,” Sam exhales, shaking her head.
The warmth of her breath burns against my throat. She smells sweet, almost like honey. It makes me want to kiss her. Taste her. Lick her all over like a dog in heat. Here in the dark, where no one would know.
A heavy silence descends between us. All I can feel is the awkward tension emanating from the woman pressed up against me, until she finally comes up with something to say. “This giving you a serious case of déjà vu, Movie Boy? Or is it just me?”
I swallow, thinking back to that night. A dumb teenage game at a friend’s house. Seven minutes in heaven. And of course, as some sort of cruel cosmic joke, I get shoved into a dark closet with Sam again.
My laugh is a low rumble. It feels like the surrounding shelves vibrate with it as I drop my head in defeat. “It’s not just you, Samantha.”
Yes, use her professional name. This pantry is too fucking small, and she’s too fucking close. Calling her my pet name right now feels too risky. Especially considering how things have been going between us every time we’re alone.
“I really had to work the next day to convince Lucas nothing happened in that closet.” She laughs, quieter this time as she recalls the story .
I swallow. “Nothing did happen. I recognized you right away.” It was her scent, that heady perfume she wore back then—borderline overpowering—as sweet as black licorice.
She says nothing, only nods in approval.
As I stare down at her, I realize how small she is. My hands are still above her head, gripping the shelf like my life depends on it. If anything makes my hands come down, I’d have to hold her. Nevertheless, I can’t stay like this without saying anything.
“I’m sorry I lost my cool at the game earlier.” It’s an embarrassing apology, especially as it wouldn’t have occurred if I’d just enjoyed the game like an adult.
“It’s not fun if we aren’t bickering,” she chuckles. “Also,” she says, her voice turning somber, “do I force you to do anything?”
I don’t even hesitate to answer. “No. I’m not forced by you to do anything. Everything I’ve done for you is what I think you deserve. I’m sorry if it came off like that.”
She sighs. “I’m glad you didn’t mean it.”
Another stretch of silence. We’re both staring at each other, neither of us able to break eye contact.
“Do you sometimes wish we kissed in that closet?” she asks. “We practically lied that we did. But did you ever wish we did it for real?”
Dangerous question she’s asking there. In this situation?
“I went home and punched the air,” is my response. “So, yes. I do wish that we did it for real.”
She grins like I just gave her something sweet. “Funny. Me too.”
“I thought you hated me.”
“And I thought you weren’t particularly fond of me?” But she inches closer, placing both hands on my chest.
This is bad… really bad. No one is going to stop her. “You confuse me,” I whisper.
She chuckles dryly and runs a hand over my jaw. “The feeling is very mutual.” Her thumb rubs against my lower lip before pulling it down a little, toying with me like a cat with its prey. “Do you think…” She trails off, and I wait. “Do you think under different circumstances, you and I might have been —”
A click and a flood of light cut Sam off, causing her to let go of me as Ruth yanks the door open. My daughter crosses her arms with a smug look on her face. “So? Did we work out our differences?”
I can’t believe I’m being scolded by a thirteen-year-old. And I can’t believe I’m wishing that she’d lock us back in the dark closet together. When I turn my attention back to Sam, I’m struck by her wide eyes and perfect cherry lips. God, I so desperately want to know what was on the tip of her tongue.
Might we have been more? I wonder if that was her question. It’s one I’ve asked myself many times over the years, but it was never the right time to ask. There was always too much at stake, and this moment is no different.
I don’t look back at Ruth. “Yeah, we called a truce.”
Then I leave the pantry before I can spend too long analyzing the confusion painted on Sam’s face.