– Sammy –
A Truce with Poot
On Monday morning, a full two days and nights after Sam passed out on his mother’s lawn and Angelo drove Meg and me home, we all walk into school with dark eyes and sluggish steps.
Sam walks in with dark sunglasses secured over his eyes, and his bag hanging low on his slack shoulders. I haven’t seen him since I watched Luc and Marc lift him from the cold grass, but we’ve texted, and he assured me he was alive, but my first images of him this morning leave me giggling. He looks miserable, and though Meg looks almost as ill, he looks way worse. I walk toward him and the guys, and I thread my arms around his waist. His hand comes up to my hair, pushing my face against his broad chest, even as his breathing is labored and he grunts in agony.
“Don’t you spew in my hair, Turner.”
“I feel like death,” he complains. “It’s been two days and I still feel half drunk.”
“Probably shouldn’t drink that much scotch ever again.” I snicker as his chest rumbles with exasperation.
“I’m never drinking scotch ever again, Ricci. Full stop. My kidneys would probably rip their way through my skin and run away if I even considered it.”
I kiss his chest softly, and as though my touch relaxes him, he lets out a deep cleansing breath. He drops his lips on the top of my head, breathing deeply then exhaling and warming my scalp. “I feel all better now, Ricci. You’re my antidote. You make everything better.”
“Aww,” Meg croons, standing in the center of our group with tired eyes but a genuine smile. “Hungover and miserable, he’s still adorable.”
“How you doing, Poot?”
Meg’s eyes flash wide, and her long hair whips around as she turns on Marc. “Don’t you dare!”
Marc’s eyes are mischievous, and his hands come up in defense. “What’s the matter, Poot? Why you so grumpy?”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Why not?” He smiles broadly. “I like it. I think it suits you, Poot.”
Meg storms forward angrily and jabs Marc with her finger. “Call me a whore, have at it, go back to being an asshole, but Poot is not an option.”
Marc smiles a smile I’ve never before seen him use in front of her, and pulls her quickly against his chest. He kisses the top of her head before she shoves him away. “We can be friends, Poot. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“No!”
Luc’s eyes narrow because he hates not being in on the joke. “What’s a poot?”
“It’s me deciding to play nice,” Marc answers cryptically. “I won’t call her a whore again. I promise.” He smiles down at her angry face. “Truce… Poot?”
“No!”
Marc’s smile doesn’t falter, he simply throws his arm over her shoulder with a wicked smile, hip bumps her and swings his bag over his shoulder again before leaving her alone. My attention is drawn back to Sam as his chest rumbles softly with laughter, then his lips come down to nibble on my earlobe. “You look beautiful today, Ricci. I missed you all weekend.”
I stretch my neck longer to give him space, and I groan as his teeth bite down gently. “I missed you too. But I thought up your new name.”
His face comes back quickly and his eyes search mine. “You did?”
I bite my lip and nod shyly. “Scotch… I think.”
“Scotch?” He barks out a laugh. “That’s a weird name.”
I shrug and press my face into his chest. “That’s what I pick.”
More pleasure filled rumbles vibrate through his chest, even as his hands come up into my hair. “Okay. Scotch. I’ll take it.”
“You will?”
“Yeah. You can call me anything you want, but as far as anyone else is concerned, I won’t answer to anything else for the rest of my life.”
I snicker. “You’re always so agreeable.”
He leans down and pecks the corner of my lips. “Only for you.”
“Hey, so if he’s Scotch, that must make you Soda, right?”
Sam and I both turn at Luc’s words, and my brows pinch in confusion. “Soda?”
He winks obnoxiously, then steps forward and hits me in the shoulder like I’m ‘one of the guys.’ “Don’t think we didn’t see the Coke bubbling out of your nose the other night, Sammy Soda.”
My hand comes up to my face. “It burned so bad,” I giggle. “But he was so funny.”
Sam squeezes me roughly. “What was funny?”
“You were!” I laugh. “You were fine, you piggybacked me for an hour, then you were throwing up everywhere.”
He squeezes me so hard, I squeal out a laugh. “You think my dying was funny?” He tickles my ribs until I squirm and almost fall over. “You should have been sad for me, not laughing!”
“I’m sorry!” I squeal out as he tickles me. “I’m sorry.”
“Was it funny?”
“No!”
“But you’re still laughing.” He continues to tickle me. “Was it funny, Ricci?”
“No! I’m sorry. Please stop tickling me.”
“But I love tickling you,” he whispers near my ear, even as his hands continue their torture. “I love touching you.”
“Sam--”
“I love you.”
I continue to giggle, but I swallow hard as my heart swells. I turn into him fully, turning my back on the rest of our friends, and I look up into Sam’s suddenly serious eyes.
“You love me too, don’t you Ricci? I know you do.”
I bite my lip, then I nod softly. “It’s just the stupid teenage hormonal emotions, so it probably doesn’t--”
“Sammy.” His fingers come back to my ribs in threat. “Tell me.”
“I probably love you too.”
His brows lift in expectation.
“I do love you too, and it’s probably not teenage hormones.”
He leans in closer, and his hands rub up and down along my ribs. “How do you know you love me, Sammy?”
“Because…” I take a deep breath. “Because I know what I know, and I know I love you.”
Smirking arrogantly, he leans forward and drops a long juicy kiss on my lips. “We know what we know. Don’t let anyone tell us any different.”
“Okay.”
He kisses me again, proudly, as though he just won an amazing prize. “Promise me.”
“I promise to not let anyone tell me any different.”
His hand snakes around my back, under my backpack and onto my ass. He squeezes it in a way we’d both get detention if a teacher saw. “Atta girl. I love you, Ricci. Forever and ever.”
Stupid hormonal teenage pounding heart. “Forever and ever.”
He leans forward, dropping kisses on the corners of my lips. “So, now that we have that sorted, you got a date for prom?”
“Actually, I was thinking of asking Luc.”
Luc hoots out a laugh, proving that his nosy ass was listening to everything we said, but Sam’s eyes flash and he leans down and bites my lip. “Forever and ever. Luc can find his own girl.”
***
Almost an entire month after that Monday at school, not only was Sam now known by almost everyone in the world as Scotch – although I continued to call him Sam – but he’d turned eighteen and he still hadn’t even brought up the topic of our relationship becoming more physical. We make out a lot, my morning swims are almost non-existent now, but we use the time in the dark to be together. He kisses me the way a man kisses a woman, and his hands roam in ways I know a man touches a woman, and though we separate each morning with him sporting what is surely a painful bulge in his shorts, he never once mentions it. He’s too much the gentleman.
Surprisingly, despite the fact my parents are jerks, they still agreed to my attending prom, on the condition that I’m staying with Meg for the night, or she was staying at my house with me. I don’t know what kind of magical voodoo she holds over these otherwise strict and intelligent adults, but anything she wants, she gets. Naturally, we’d made plans to sleep at her house prom night, when in reality, she had no clue where she’d end the night.
Virgins or not, we were both healthy seventeen-year olds, and we both had boyfriends. We had curiosities, needs… cravings. Chocolate cake or not, Meg has continued to see that guy she met at The Shed, and even though I think he’s a meathead of the worst variety, she says he’s charming, and smart, and has a nice smile. I can’t even blame her; I love Sam’s smile too.
“So, you’re telling me he hasn’t even asked for it?” Meg walks out of her walk-in closet with a beautiful gown in her arms. She lays it down on the bed and strips her sweat pants off without hesitation. In nothing more than a tiny thong and lacy bra, she struts around her room, collecting sexy shoes and her clutch, and I continue to curl my hair in the mirror.
“Nope. He hasn’t asked.”
“Girl, you need to just lie on the bed with your legs open. He won’t be able to help himself. Like a bull to a red flag…”
I snicker as I watch her shimmy into her dress in the mirror. “While I don’t think I’ll do it that way, I do think I’ll have to take things into my own hands.”
“Yeah. His dick. Your hands.”
I purse my lips as she snickers. “He asked me out every Friday for three years, Meg. Sam Turner has the willpower and patience of a saint.”
“You think he’s being a gentleman? Or maybe his ding-dong doesn’t work?”
I laugh, grab the hairbrush from beside my elbow, and toss it at her. “I’m pretty sure it works just fine. I think he’s scared of offending me.”
Meg rolls her eyes. “Sam Turner is fine as hell. And he’s such a sweetheart. And his singing.” She rolls her eyes back in mock ecstasy. “He’s offending me by not whipping it out for you.”
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes. She’s still a virgin and hardly has the right to talk, yet she sounds like a sexually frustrated thirty-year-old. I turn around to face her and change the subject. “Did Marc tell you why he calls you Poot yet? It’s such a strange thing to call someone.”
Meg’s eyes flash, but she turns away quickly and starts fussing with her shoes. “Nope. He’s just a strange guy, but I wish he’d stop. It sounds weird, and him having a special name for me sounds like we’re friends.”
“You are friends.”
“No,” she grumbles, “we are not. He’s friends with Scotch. And I’m friends with you. That’s it. That makes us nothing more to each other than, say, eighth cousins, six times removed.”
I laugh and turn back to continue with my hair. “I don’t know why you two hate each other so much--”
“We don’t hate each other. We’re just… strangers to each other. And I have no desire to get to know him. He’s grumpy, he’s two years below us, and I have a boyfriend who, unlike yours, does mention sex. I don’t need to get to know him.”
I purse my lips at her reflection in the mirror. “You know, besides Sam, Marc might be one of the sweetest guys I know. He’s truly a gentleman. He’s ‘just’ my boyfriend’s brother, but he’d drive to the ends of the earth if I called him and needed help. He’s so protective of his little sister, and Sam’s sister too.”
“Yeah, and he’s also fifteen, so he isn’t actually driving anywhere. He also has a habit of calling me a whore. I’m happy where our friendship is; that is, there is none.”
Shaking my head softly, I shrug my shoulders. “I think you’re missing out on a good friend, but whatever, this is your life.”
“Yup. It is. On a separate note, did you wax your vajayjay for tonight? Give that boy a clear landing strip. It’ll be his first time too, so you gotta help the guy out.”
“Jesus, Meg. Can you shut up?”