13. Chelsea
CHELSEA
Iready myself for the next meeting.
That last one was a disaster, but this one will be different. I refuse to be led around by my hormones anymore. I'm going to be firm, insist we meet in a public space–which I already arranged–and get through the presentation as quickly as possible.
I walk into the coffee shop, confident, although some of that dips when I see them sitting there.
God, they have the attention of everyone in the room, even as they recline in their seats, seemingly oblivious to it.
Adam sits straight, his eyes scanning the room watchfully. He always seems to be on the alert, and I wonder if he ever fully relaxes anywhere.
Jake seems the most relaxed out of all of them, with a careless confidence that speaks to a lifetime of getting this type of attention. It's like he doesn't notice it anymore. His head bobs smoothly, and he drums his fingers to the rhythm of the gentle jazz music playing in the air.
And then there's Sam, the most unreadable of the trio. The one with harsh features whose touch was so gentle I wanted to weep.
The din of the coffee shop fades into the background as I stare at them, my heart pounding in my own ears.
You can do this, Chelsea. Just be firm.
I swallow and walk to them now, and the minute they spot me, they all react.
Jake grins, mischief and genuine pleasure melding in his gaze.
Sam's eyes darken, smoldering.
Adam gives me a gentle smile as he rises to his feet in welcome.
All of which has my nerve endings singing, my heart skipping a beat.
God, can I really do this?
Yes. Yes, I can. I have to.
"Hey," I greet, my voice a little breathless. "Have you been waiting long?"
"Not long," Jake replies, as Sam rises to pull the seat out for me.
"Thank you," I say as I sit down.
"I got you coffee," Sam says. "Just how you like it."
"Oh." It's hard to hide my lack of enthusiasm. "Great."
"Try it," he suggests, and I reluctantly bring the cup to my lips, ready for the bite of bitterness once more.
Except it doesn't come. It's appropriately sweet, with all the sugar and hazelnut cream I like.
I blink in surprise. "How did you know?"
"I have my ways," he says and winks at me. It's a little awkward, like he's not used to it, but adorable in a way, too. I smile.
The meeting, to my surprise, goes smoothly.
Jake restrains the flirting, and Sam is more conversational than before.
I've made all the revisions that Adam suggested at the last meeting, and they don't have much to say during this one, so we talk a lot about casual things, some recent projects they're working on, vacation plans, and small talk that I would make with any other client.
I almost start to relax around them, even laughing when Jake tells the story of their last building, where the owner wanted the roof shaped like an L.
"It's the stupidest thing you've ever seen," he says. "Seriously, I almost told him to fuck off with that bullshit, but Sam saw it as a challenge, and he's the one who ended up making it work."
"Really?" I glance at Sam as he looks away from me.
"Yeah," Jake answers. "Sam's a real genius when it comes to things like that, although we have a bet that it will fall apart within a few years."
"It won't," Sam says.
"Wow," I say. "I'd love to see it."
"Would you?" Jake's eyes light in interest, and I instantly know it's a mistake. "It's just ten minutes from here. We can drive if you want."
"Oh." That's when the humor dims as reality smacks me in the face. "No, I mean I don't have to see it–"
"It'll give you a good idea of our work too," he says. "For your campaign. I mean, you haven't actually seen any of our buildings."
"Yeah, but I'm sure I can check it out another time."
"Why not now? We're pretty much done with the meeting, and this way you don't have to waste your time coming out again...."
"That's true." The fewer times I have to meet with them, the better. "I guess I can check it out."
"Great. Sam can drive you there. I'll take care of the tab, and Adam and I will follow."
"Oh...okay." Adam shoots him a curious look that I almost don't catch as Sam rises. He helps me pull back my seat as I get up and then gestures to his car.
"It's the green truck."
I remember it from that night. It had sat next to Adam's car, the one we ended up driving back to their house.
I climb into the passenger seat, feeling tiny in the huge expanse. "Lots of space in here," I say.
"Yes," he says. "I got it for that reason."
"Well, I get it. You're a big guy, so of course you must need more room." God, why did I refer to his bigness? It just drew my attention to the way his flannel shirt pulls on his muscles, and the jeans mold over his powerful thighs.
Hunger rumbles at the base of my belly, but I ignore it.
He starts the car, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot.
As we start the drive, I scramble and search in my head for topics, but it's hard to know if he even wants to talk to me. What if I end up annoying him? Isn't it better to stay quiet? But the silence will be so awkward, though.
What to do, what to do...
The silence stretches into eternity until we eventually arrive at our location, a huge complex with a geometric roof.
Sam turns off the engine but makes no move to get out of the car, so I guess we're waiting for the other two in here.
The silence feels even worse now, without the accompanying hum of the truck.
He looks at me, and I almost flinch from the intensity of his regard.
"I'm sorry."
Those aren't words I expect him to say. I turn to him. "What?"
"I'm sorry," he repeats.
"For what?"
"For how I am," he says. "I make you uncomfortable, don't I?"
"No," I lie, even nervously laughing. "I'm just nervous because...well, I don't really want to make small talk."
"You seemed to manage it with Jake."
"Well, Jake is Jake."
"Yeah," he says with a wistful sigh. "I'm not like Jake. I'm not good with women, and I don't know how to put people at ease just by talking to them. In fact, talking is usually the wrong choice for me."
My heart melts, and empathy arises. "Yeah, I know how you feel."
"You do?"
I nod. "Talking is often the wrong choice for me, too. I mean, I learned how to do it, essentially mimicking others so that I could pretend to be like them, but most of the time, when I'm by myself, I overthink every single thing I just said and think about how it could be misinterpreted."
He nods. "Precisely. It's extra complicated because I was mute for the first seven years of my life."
"Really?"
"Yeah. And then for years after that, I didn't make a single friend. So I was just silent for the most part. I was okay with it sometimes, and less okay with it other times. But in moments like this, I wish I had been more proactive."
"Why?"
"Because then I wouldn't make you uncomfortable," he says, and his gaze softens and darkens all at once.
"I like you, Chelsea. A lot. It's not just physical for me, and because of that, it makes it hard for me to even know what to say.
I had a whole plan coming in about how I was going to charm you and make you laugh and sweep you off your feet.
Not just with the coffee thing, but also just with making jokes and being the cool guy.
But I can't play it cool with you. I look at your eyes and forget my own name. "
Shock renders me silent.
Oh God.
Did he just say that?
Did he mean it?
"That first night," he says. "I saw you standing there. I thought...maybe you were like me too. I wanted to talk to you, but I needed to build the nerve first, so I just watched you until I did."
"Oh, Sam..." I don't know what to say. How can he say it with a straight face? How can he look so gentle and kind and so fucking sweet? I want to hold him.
And now his face is getting closer.
I shouldn't.
Kissing him is a bad idea.
But I just can't help myself. He was just being so sweet.
I’ve never seen a man open up like that, show such vulnerability so quickly, and it was one that I related to.
I, too, have often felt on the outside looking in, watching and trying to figure out how to behave in public.
Trying to mimic other, more popular kids so that I would be more liked.
It took me a while, too, to get comfortable in my skin.
The fact that such a gorgeous man has the same feelings is quite unbelievable, but I can’t doubt the look in his eyes when he told me that he did, and that he really likes me, and that was causing him to fumble around and retreat to silence because of his crippling awkwardness.
And he was watching me that first night, noting my awkwardness...
I didn't think anyone had noticed me.
But apparently he had. And he'd liked me enough to overthink his approach and decide against talking to me in the first place because he didn't think I would speak to him.
This is an odd situation for me.
Usually it’s the other way round. With all the men I’ve dated, not that there have been that many, but usually with the guys that I've been with, I always felt like I liked them just a little more than they liked me.
Even with Eric, I was the one who made constant effort in our relationship, and even though I thought he liked me in his own way, I always just assumed I was the more affectionate one and that I was aiming out of my league with him.
Part of that was confirmed when he cheated on me.
And now...
The desire in Sam's eyes, the blatant wanting. It soothes years of hurt that had been building up over a lifetime.
It soothes the distinct pang caused by the infidelity.
And when his lips touch mine, I can’t stop.
And apparently neither can he.
He devours my mouth, shifting closer to me, his hand on the back of my head. Yet, while commanding, his touch is gentle, giving me every space to pull away, his tongue coaxing as much as it demands.
I don't need much persuasion. I'm as lost in the kiss as he is, desire reverberating through my body, my skin flushing hot, desperately wanting more.
Before I know it, I'm being lifted out of my seat and over the console, onto his lap.