27. Let’s Get Two Things Straight
Chapter 27
Let’s Get Two Things Straight
O n the day that the samples are supposed to be delivered, I rush home, reminding myself to breathe. But when I open the mailbox, there’s nothing inside. Smacking my forehead because the package would be too big for the mailbox, I rush to the front office. But they don’t have it either. I double-check the tracking information, and it confirms the package had been delivered earlier in the day. I look around the door before heading inside to tear the apartment apart, yet still can’t find it anywhere.
As a last resort, I text both Nick and Sam, asking if they’d seen a package. Nick responds right away that he hasn’t been home yet. And Sam, although he never responds, wouldn’t have been home yet either. So I slump onto the couch, disappointed.
It must have been a mistake, and I talk myself out of worrying about it for the time being. It might show up tomorrow, maybe even the day after that. If it doesn’t, I’ll contact the company and see if they’re able to send another without me having to fork over another eighty dollars. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. But I hate looking forward to something all day, only to have it not happen.
I get to work on social media sites for the diner and updating plugins for the blog. It’s a few hours before Sam walks in the door, carrying a medium-sized box.
“What did you order?” he asks, tossing it onto the bed before loosening his tie.
“Oh, thank God,” I exclaim, grabbing it to double-check the label. I look up at Sam, who stands with his hands on his hips waiting for his answer. “Umm, it’s just some coffee.”
“From a roaster?” He points to the sender on the label. “You’re skipping the supplier now?”
I guess it’s time to be honest. “I ordered some samples to see if I want to continue with this roaster, or find a different one.”
He blinks at me. “For what, exactly?”
“A side business I’m starting.”
Scratching his head, he seems to be contemplating different options for his response. “So, I don’t make you pay rent and I pay for your car problems so that you can save your money, and you waste it on this?”
I almost laugh. “Are you serious?” I don’t know why I bother asking. Of course, he’s serious. It’s the reason I didn’t tell him until now of my plan. Why I didn’t tell him about the blog.
The bed shakes as it bears his weight, and he grabs my hands in his. “Look, you’ve been depressed about not finding a job for a long time. You’ve doubted yourself and that’s made your self-worth crumble. I see it, Cori. I see you. But this is not worth your time. You’ll spend loads of money getting it off the ground, only for it to crash.”
I yank my hands back and level him with a glare. “Forgive me if I don’t listen to you, but I’ve done my homework. I know what I’m doing. And I’ve already set the groundwork for it to succeed. So kindly, fuck off.”
There’s just as much anger as there is amusement in his laugh. “Fine. Waste your money. But don’t come crying to me when it doesn’t work out. Don’t start moping around, hating yourself because you’ve failed once again.” He rises from the bed, yanking on his tie and throwing it on the dresser.
“Can you put your laptop away now?”
I narrow my eyes and ask, “Why?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a while since we had sex.”
“Yeah, let me just bend over. Because I’m really in the mood now.”
He scoffs. “You’re never in the fucking mood.”
“When have I ever turned you down?”
Rubbing his eyes, he sits back on the bed. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a rough day.” He looks up at me, his typically neat, hair disheveled. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
I don’t know why I do it, but every time he looks at me with those pleading eyes, I cave. Maybe it’s pity that his job is so stressful, maybe it’s love because I want to take his stress away. Maybe because it has been a while since we’ve had sex, and I know it would help his stress levels tremendously and improve the tension between us if he found release.
But if I know myself—and, honestly, I don’t very well—it’s because it’s easier. Just do it and get it over with so he’ll shut up and go to sleep.
I push him back onto the bed, straddling him, kissing him, running my hands through his hair. He pulls my shirt off, then my pants. He unbuttons his own and pulls them down just enough to slip on a condom that I don’t recall him grabbing, then I slide my walls down around his penis. But thoughts intrude. Did I leave the oven on? Can Nick hear us? Does Sam think I look fat from his angle? And I struggle to reach climax.
Sam’s tan, chiseled torso beneath me should be the only thing I can think of. I don’t know if it’s anxiety, the inability to quiet my brain, or what, but I need to relax and live in the moment. So I begin narrating every action with the voice inside my head, so there’s no room to think of anything else.
I’m running my hands down Sam’s chest through the opening of his shirt. I’m leaning down and kissing him. I’m sitting back up so I don’t squish him. Sam flips me over.
“You take too long to finish in this position.”
I’m face down on the pillow. I move my face so I can breathe. He nears my entrance from behind.
I let out a moan. Fake, but he buys it. A few more. He grunts. He stills.
He rises from the bed. The trash bag rustles as he throws the condom inside. A tear escapes, but I brush it away before he notices. He walks back into the room.
“Did you even enjoy that?”
“Yes, of course.” I know lying to him is wrong, but which is worse—being the cause of his stress or lying about enjoying sex with him? Maybe they’re equally wrong.
He goes back into the bathroom and starts the shower.
“You didn’t get soap today?” he calls out.
I turn, finding his head poking out of the door. “No, I didn’t know we were out.”
He sighs and closes his eyes as if praying for patience. “All I ask of you is to take care of the housework and shopping while I bust my ass all fucking day. And you can’t remember a tiny thing like soap?”
“I. Didn’t. Know. We. Were. Out.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to use, huh? Hand soap? Shampoo?”
I throw my clothes back on as quickly as I can, frustration getting the better of me.
“Can you see if Nick has an extra bar in his bathroom?”
I don’t answer as I stomp off to the guest bathroom. A soft sliver of light glows underneath his bedroom door, but I won’t bother him. Rummaging through the cabinet, I find a whole package and take a bar back to Sam. Neither of us says a word while I place it in his hand and escape to the kitchen. There’s a candy bar in my purse for emergencies such as these. I skipped dinner and need to eat something, to curb the rumbling in my stomach and the ache in my chest.
Leaning against the counter, one arm crossed against my chest, I nibble on the chocolate. At some point, my eyes fill with tears again. I will them away, but not before a shadow appears in the walkway, propping a shoulder against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen.
“I’m not in the mood for you tonight,” I announce without looking at him.
“Woah. Care to explain what I did wrong?”
“You’re so hot and cold. Just like Sam.”
I finish the candy bar and throw the wrapper in the trash can, but when I approach Nick, he doesn’t budge from where he blocks the walkway.
“Excuse me.”
“You’re not going anywhere until we discuss what you just said.” He crosses his arms now over his broad chest. After I roll my eyes I stare at the tattoo on his thick forearm.
“First, I apologize. I’ve been trying, but clearly failing, at hiding my feelings better than that. Second, what happened for you to not be in the mood for me?” I gnaw on my lip instead of answering, and he adds, voice soft and comforting, “Talk to me.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about, I’m just in a bad mood.” I’d love to share with him the details of the argument between Sam and me, but I think there’s a line somewhere of what I should and shouldn’t share with my boyfriend’s roommate. I’ve probably crossed it by now.
“Did I tell you I finished that book you were reading?”
Puzzled by the sudden change of topic, my eyes narrow and lift to his. “I bought an e-book copy.”
I snort. “You really liked that scene you read the other night, huh?”
I almost ask if he’d like to join our book club, but the reminder of my strained relationship with Hailey hits me like a punch to the gut. I clear my throat and ask instead, “Would you like to have a discussion about it?”
His lips quirk as he leans in, voice gravelly. “Just tell me when and where.”
There’s something in his tone and his expression, something more than just a joke. My smile starts to thin as he stands up straight and hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “I, uh, noticed a shopping bag from the bookstore in the living room yesterday, that wasn’t there before. I thought you were on a book-buying ban.”
I tap my chin and lower my brows. “Hmm. . . I’m not sure what you’re talking about?”
“Magical book fairies don’t exist, you know.”
“Okay, but I used a gift card, so I didn’t really buy anything.”
He raises an eyebrow. “But you don’t have any more room on your shelves.”
“With a little imagination and creative stacking, I can make them fit.”
He laughs and shakes his head.
I throw my hands up in the air. “Well, what was I supposed to do? They were having a sale!”
“Oh, so you’re a victim?”
“Yes! I’m not strong enough to resist the lure of a book sale.” A smile breaks through when I can no longer fake seriousness. “Want to see what I got?”
“Of course, I do.”
We go to the living room and I pull out book after book, explaining why I bought each one.
Afterward, Nick asks, “You bought eight books?”
“Did you not hear me about the sale?”
His deep chuckle reverberates throughout my body. But a veil of sobriety smothers the moment, killing my smile.
“What just happened?” he asks, taking a step towards me, face pinched in concern.
“How did… how am I… I mean, I was…” I take a deep breath and try again. “Why is it so easy with you?”
His shoulders fall as if he knows the answer, but doesn’t want to say it.
My eyes narrow. “And what did you mean earlier when you said you thought you were hiding your feelings better than that?”
He runs his hand through his hair as he opens his mouth to answer. But he closes it and shakes his head. “I’ve told you before what I think about Sam, but I’ve been trying not to mention it anymore.”
A gentle touch of suspicion graces my skin, just enough that I wonder if he had a different answer the first time he tried to speak.
“I don’t understand why you’re with him. Can you finally answer that, please?”
My voice is barely a whisper. “Because I love him.”
“But, see, I have turned it over and taken it apart, looked at it from every angle, and I can’t come up with a single explanation other than you don’t understand what love is.”
“I do,” I say, my voice full of hurt from the sting of his words. “See? You’re just like him. We’re joking around one minute, and arguing the next.” But even I can see the differences.
He takes another step towards me, chest heaving and brows pinched as if he’s in pain, and I back up until I hit the wall behind me. He brings his arms up on either side of my head, bracing himself against the wall and caging me in.
It takes every ounce of strength not to grip his shirt in my fist and pull him closer. Because even though his hard chest is almost flush against mine, it’s not close enough.
He leans in, the smooth teakwood scent from his skin enveloping us both. His lips, just a breath away from mine, have every ounce of my attention. How easy it would be to grab his neck and pull his mouth down to mine. To wrap my legs around his waist and have his strong arms holding onto my thighs.
His voice, a gentle caress down my spine, awakens every nerve when he says, “Let’s get two things straight. One, I am nothing like Sam. And two, you can be sure you’ll never be in tears after I fuck you.”
Not if— a promise.
Before I can melt into the floor from the tension, he pushes off the wall and walks away, leaving me shaking with need.
I’d feel guilty if I thought for one second that Sam actually stayed late at the office to work.
* * *
A fter searching for guidance among the stars, I leave the peace of the patio to return to Sam’s room. He’s still awake, keeping his eyes on his phone as I close the door and climb underneath the covers.
His skin burns mine when he reaches over to hold my hand, but not in a good way. “About earlier. It’s just been a rough day-”
I yank my hand away. “You have a rough day every day. At some point, you’ve got to learn how to handle it better than taking it out on me.”
Through Hailey and Nick, through all of his rough days , through all the times I’ve felt lonely despite Sam sleeping a foot away, the world seemed to be telling me this isn’t right. Why do I hold on so tightly, ignoring every warning?
“In case you forgot, I have a job that puts more stress on me than you’ve ever dealt with in your life.”
“I know that, but you chose it. Isn’t that what you always tell me? You and Dad. I chose to work at the diner. I chose not to go back to school for my bachelor’s.”
“Were those not choices you made?”
“Obviously. But that’s the other thing you always tell me. If you’re that unhappy, if you’re that stressed, change it.” Maybe he’ll cut the cord, so I don’t have to. I don’t agree that I deserve better, but maybe it’s time to let go so that Sam can be happy. Maybe it’s not the job, but me causing him so much stress.
He sits up straight, a fighting stance, and I think, here it comes. “I make more money at twenty-four than you’ll be making at fifty. I’m on track to leading my team in less than a year. I’ll own the company when Dad hands it over. Why would I change any of that?”
“Because there’s more to life. Despite what you and Dad think, money and success are not everything. What is it going to get you in the end? If that’s how you want to spend your life, go for it. But you don’t get to take it out on others when it becomes too much for you to handle.”
But if he does end us, where would I go? Not just physically, but mentally. What do I do with all the memories of us? The scrapbook with Sam in almost every photo, my first kiss, my childhood best friend. Ending us means spoiling all of that. Don’t I owe it to myself, both current and younger versions, to hold on?
“Have I really treated you that badly?” His shoulders cave in, eyes shining with tears, and my defiance fizzles out.
And the guilt sets in.
I find myself sliding over to lay my head on his chest, wishing I could take his pain away with just my touch.
I’m supposed to be his peace, the one he can count on not to make his stress worse, yet I was planning my getaway, ready to file away our moments together.
“No, you haven’t. You’ve been wonderful.” Sam holds me tightly, his chin resting on the top of my head.
“I think we just need some quality time together. What do you think? Your birthday is coming up. How about you take my card and buy the closest seats you can find at a Stallions game?”
I jerk back to study his expression. “Who else will be coming with us?”
“No one. Just us. And tens of thousands of other fans, but I’ll only be talking to you.”
“And you’ll get off in time? No meetings or dinner with clients?”
“I promise.”
My head falls back onto his chest. Maybe we can be salvaged after all. But even here in his embrace, there’s a Nick-sized division between us in the form of his masculine soap drifting up from Sam’s skin.