Chapter 29
Sam should have just let loose and told Ian what a bastard he was, but he didn’t have the energy. Or the balls. Maybe both.
They rode silently back to Ian’s place. Sam got out as soon as Ian had parked, before he even shut off the engine, just wanting to get away from him. He stalked over and waited at Ian’s door. Yeah, he had a key, but he wasn’t going to use it now.
When Ian let him in, Sam went straight for his backpack on one of the living room chairs. He clutched the straps of his bag tightly in his fist and walked into the bedroom, finding scattered clothes and shoving them in without folding them first.
Not that he would have folded them even if he weren’t so mad he was shaking.
“What are you doing?” Ian asked quietly from behind him.
Ha! As if he didn’t know. Sam snatched up a sock and said, as calmly as possible, “I’m going back to my place.” He marched into the bathroom, catching sight of Ian’s confused expression out of the corner of his eye.
Ian followed him to the door and stood there. Sam swore he heard him swallow. “Do you have to go?”
“Yes.”
“Because you have to work tonight?”
“That too,” Sam snapped.
“I thought maybe I could pick you up after work . . .”
Sam sighed, annoyed, and dropped his pack on the bathroom floor. Where had he left his dumb toothbrush? “Why would you want me to come back? You made it clear you think I’m a loser. I thought you’d be happy to get rid of me.”
Okay, fine, annoyed and incredibly hurt. And maybe ashamed of himself. He glanced up and saw Ian’s reflection gaping at him in the mirror. What, he didn’t expect Sam to call him on it?
“I didn’t say that,” Ian sputtered. “I said he’s a loser, not you!”
“Yeah, and I lived with him. So I’m a loser too.
” Suddenly Sam was exhausted. He wished he could lie down on Ian’s bed.
Maybe he’d get lucky on the bus home and have two seats to himself, so he could stretch out.
He turned to Ian, ready to get this over with.
“It’s not like I’m surprised, Ian. I mean, I knew I wasn’t your kind before this started.
I just sort of forgot for a bit.” Sam looked away, cringing inside but trying to hide it.
“It was nice, pretending you’d want to be with a guy—”
“Would you stop that shit?” Ian yelled. He took a deep breath and continued in a more controlled voice. “Yes, fine, I’m a shallow bastard who couldn’t see you for what you were when we met. I’m sorry, okay? Things are different now.”
“But you told me I wasn’t—”
“I was wrong. You are my type.”
Sam swallowed and tried again. “But you aren’t attracted to me, not really, Ian.”
Ian stared at him. “I am too, Sam. I’m crazy attracted to you, can’t you see that?”
“Well, you think my mouth—”
“All of you.” Ian moved toward him, reaching out for him, but Sam stepped back with a sneak attack of nausea.
“I just . . . I see you now.” Ian came forward again, trying to trap him against the sink, but Sam slipped off to the side.
He couldn’t let Ian catch him and convince him he meant what he was saying.
But maybe we’d like to know what he thinks. Sam tried to shove the questioning part of himself back into its little room and slam the door.
It didn’t work. “How . . . how do you see me?” He wanted to hit himself in the forehead as soon as the words were out. Did he really want to know how Ian saw him? His digestive system felt like it had worms in it already. Sam closed his eyes and hung his head. God, he was pathetic.
He felt Ian’s breath on his face and Ian’s body heat, suddenly too close.
He opened his eyes to see Ian’s jaw and his arms reaching for Sam.
When Sam took another step back, he realized Ian had trapped him against the wall.
“Will you let me show you instead of telling you?” Ian ducked his head, attempting to meet Sam’s eyes.
Sam’s stomach lurched. “Right now?” he squeaked.
“You have to go to work soon, right?”
Sam nodded slowly, risking a glance up. Ian was inches from him, all the anger and disgust from earlier gone from his face. Had it really all been about Marley? His green eyes looked so sincere.
“After work,” Ian said.
Hesitantly, Sam shrugged. Could he actually do that?
“Do you want me to take you home so you can think about it? You could call me from work, and I’ll come get you. Or you could wait awhile if you need to.” Ian paused, then added, “But Sam, I need you to trust me.” He gripped Sam’s shoulder, squeezing once but not letting go.
“My safeword is grapefruit,” Sam responded. If this was just about that kind of trust, then he could—
“Not like that. I mean, that’s good, but I want you to believe me when I show you how I see you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not blowing smoke up your ass.”
Maybe that was supposed to be a joke, but Sam didn’t feel like smiling yet. When Ian promised not to hurt him, they weren’t talking about physical pain; they were talking about Sam’s biggest weakness. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
Ian stroked hair off Sam’s forehead. “Are you scared?”
“Yeah.” And close to puking.
Ian breathed out slowly, a controlled sigh. “But you’ll think about it?”
Sam swallowed with difficulty. “Okay.”
The ride to Sam’s apartment was silent again, but in a different way.
The air was still tense, but not angrily so.
More like expectantly. As if Ian was waiting for him to say something.
Sam couldn’t think of anything, not until they parked in a visitor spot at his complex and Ian reached across the console, taking Sam’s hand in his and stroking it with his thumb.
“Sam . . .”
“Why were you so mad?”
He felt Ian staring at the side of his face, but kept watching Ian’s thumb caressing his skin. Ian shifted in his seat. “You mean so mad about Marley?”
“Yeah.”
“Because . . . you think you aren’t worth more than him. That prick wanted you to think that, and he used your self-image against you. And you let him.”
“Oh.” After another minute of staring at Ian’s thumb on the back of his hand, Sam pulled away to get out of the pickup.
“Call me,” Ian said.
Sam looked at him, then shut the door.
Sam walked in his door, dropped his pack on the floor, flopped on his unmade bed, and hit speed dial on his cell. Nik answered on the second ring. “Ian’s attracted to me,” Sam blurted as soon as he heard Nik’s breath.
Nik didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I would hope so, considering the time he’s devoted to getting into your pants.”
“That’s what he says, I mean, that he’s attracted to me. But . . .” Sam paused, wishing for the bad old days when he had a curly phone cord to twist around one finger. He twisted his hair instead, but it wasn’t the same. “Do you think he’s lying?” Sam whispered.
“He’s not lying. Why would he lie about that?”
“I don’t know,” Sam nearly wailed. He shot up from the bed and started pacing, kitchen counter to empty laundry basket (ringed by dirty clothes on the floor) and back.
“Why is this so hard to get through your head, Sam? Guys will and do find you attractive. Deal with it.”
Nik’s exasperation was a little bit comforting, just not quite enough. “But he didn’t find me attractive at first,” Sam pointed out.
Nik sighed loudly. “When I met Jurgen, I thought he was an asshole, and now he’s my big, dumb asshole. It’s a complete one-eighty. But I suppose you’re feeling emotionally needy, and I should be drawing from my carefully guarded sympathy reserves?”
Sam nodded vigorously, hoping it would translate over the phone line. “Yes, that. Pretend you’re being graded on it and give me your best caring friend impersonation.”
“Okay, give me a minute,” Nik grumbled. Sam heard him set down the phone.
It took several minutes, actually, during which Sam chewed his lip and paced some more.
Occasionally, he yanked on his hair for variety.
Then Nik came back on the line, sounding downright excited.
“I’ve got something, I think. Do you remember when Jurgen came up from Whitetail Rock after I returned to school in the fall and fucked me on my desk while I was wearing his handcuffs? ”
Wait a second. “I knew about the handcuffs, but on your desk? In your office? At school? Omigod, Nik, you never told me that! That’s kinda hot, isn’t it? Although I’m glad I didn’t inherit that desk because it doesn’t have a lot of clearance in the leg hole, and I wouldn’t want to hit my—”
“Sam! Don’t get distracted.”
“I can’t help it, you never told me about the desk part before.”
Sam could all but hear Nik’s hand land on his hip. “I never meant to, either. It’s a sign of how excited I am to successfully offer sympathy to my best friend.”
Dammit. He’d been distracted for a minute or so until Nik reminded him he had worries. “Sorry, go on.”
“When he left after that first time and I told you about it, do you remember what you said?”
Oh no, a pop quiz. “Umm, did I say it was hot? Because if I didn’t, I should have.”
“Yes, of course you said it was hot, but what else did you say?”
“Umm . . .”
Nik made a small, exasperated noise. “Sam! You asked me if I was still hung up on him being white and me not being white.”
“Oh, yeah . . .”
Silence stretched between them.
“Do you see what I mean?” Nik asked.
Sam cast his eyes around the room, hoping for some inspiration. Nothing. “No.”
“Oh my God. This is why I never do this sympathy thing. I’m not very good at it. It’s really not my forte and I’m all right with—”
“Maybe if you just told me more explicitly what you’re trying to say, instead of dropping hints, I might understand the point.”
Nik took what sounded like a deep, calming breath.
Very evenly, he said, “I had problems believing Jurgen was attracted to me for me, and you have problems believing Ian is attracted to you for you. Maybe if you give him a chance, he’ll show you that you can believe him, just like Jurgen showed me. ”
“Ooh,” Sam whispered, finally getting it.
Nik gave him a respectful few seconds before asking, “Okay, are we done? My well of sympathy is drying up.”
“Almost. But wait, I have a question . . .”
“Ask it! Like sand in an hourglass, my sympathy is running—”
“Why was it less scary to have Marley use my self-image to hurt me than it is to have Ian want me to think I’m attractive?”
“Oh,” Nik said thoughtfully. “That’s a tough one.”
“Yeah.”
“You want my advice?” Sam was about to decline, but Nik didn’t wait for him to answer. “Don’t think about it too much, just go with it.”
“Thanks,” Sam said uncertainly.
“Anytime. So we’re done, right?”
It wasn’t until his last break that Sam managed to phone Ian.
At first he’d still been waffling . . . or freaking out, more like.
Then Fatty’s had gotten busy, and he couldn’t take the time.
Plus he had to shake Tineke off his tail long enough to call—her eerie sixth sense for relationship milestones or troubles had kicked in again, and she suffered under the delusion that she was entitled to know about them.
Finally, at nine thirty, Sam took his break while Tineke was busy with a garrulous old lady taken out far past her bedtime by her lame-ass son.
The lady felt someone needed to share her displeasure, and Tineke was in the line of fire.
Was it wrong that Sam had purposely seated the old lady in Tineke’s section, hoping this would be the result? Did he care?
Ian answered on the first ring. “Yeah?” he said gruffly.
“Hi,” Sam said uncertainly.
“Hi, kiddo,” Ian responded, still gruff. Had he been waiting for Sam to call? He answered on the first ring.
“Um, would you still pick me up after work?”
“Yes,” Ian said immediately. His voice softened. “I want you to come over.”