23. Ruby
“Sam, Sam, help,” I yell in my best panicky voice, loud enough that I know it reaches him. He’s currently in the kitchen, I smell it, disobeying the kitchen ban I put on him. But since we had no fire alarm incidents in the past week, I let him.
I really expected things between us to be weird again after what happened at the country club, and on the couch two days ago, but somehow, things aren’t weird.
Samuel is still, well, Samuel, but other than that, he doesn’t go out of my way or anything. He even allows me to touch him from time to time.
He insists on putting on a timer for my cuddle sessions with him on the couch, but I happily take whatever little scrap of attention he gives me. It’s not a given that he even cuddles with me, or realistically put, lets me cuddle with him.
The approach of treating this as a dirty little game that can be won is going really well.
I hear his heavy footsteps in the hallway and a second later, he stands in my doorway, looking at me like he wants to ram me into the ground upon seeing that I’m not in any kind of danger.
He sighs, and it’s just now that I see the fork in his hand.
“What is it?”
I feel a bit bad for interrupting his meal, but he ate without me, which also isn’t very polite.
“I need your help with my hair,” I say, holding my still bandaged hand out to him, pointing at my straightening iron with the other one.
“Are you fucking serious, Ruby? I thought you hurt yourself again,” he says, coming closer.
I’d prefer it if he put the fork away. In his hands, everything could be a dangerous weapon. I’m pretty sure that Samuel could fatally injure someone with a hair tie if he’s angry enough.
“And I’m still a bodyguard, not your stylist,” he points out as I take the fork out of his hand.
With uncertainty in his eyes, he looks at my straightening iron and I have to bite down on my cheek to keep me from bursting out laughing.
“Why do you even need to do your hair? Don’t think I’ll let you go anywhere.” He picks it up, flinching slightly as he realizes that it’s already hot.
“Maybe I just want to look pretty for you.” I smile as I tilt my head back towards up, looking up at him through my eyelashes.
“You’ll need more than a different hairstyle for that,” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.
“Ah, someone’s extra lovely today.”
I laugh as I sit back up straight, hoping that he doesn’t see the slight flush on my cheeks. He’s holding the straightening iron like a machine gun, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen something more adorable.
“I don’t know how this shit is supposed to work.”
“I’ll teach you.” I take the straightening iron out of his hand, wrapping a strand of hair around it slowly. “The ladies will love it if you can do their hair.”
“I don’t need to be liked by the ladies,” he scoffs while he focuses on watching how I hold my hand as I twist the curl around my finger and hold it for a few seconds.
He grabs the straightening iron with scrunched brows and reluctantly separates a strand of my hair. I had expected him to be a bit more rough, expected it to hurt at least a bit, but he’s really gentle and careful.
“Why, is there already a special lady waiting for you back at home?”
I sincerely doubt it, but there’s still this nagging voice in the back of my head telling me he’s keeping something from me.
“No.” He rolls his eyes while he keeps on working on my hair. “And my private life is none of your business.”
I decide to ignore his snide remark, playing around with the fork I took from him. “I would be really jealous if there was another woman in your life.”
“Dipshit, do you really think someone would have the nerve to tolerate any other person while having to keep up with your shenanigans 24/7?”
“You should stop calling me that unless you want me to fall in love.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror and I swallow thickly upon realizing what I just said. We just stare at each other for what feels horribly long until a hissed “fuck” behind me drags Sam’s attention back to the straightening iron that I assume just burned a few of his fingers.
He’s shockingly good at doing my hair and before I can replay my words for the hundredth time in my head, he’s done.
“Pretty?” I ask, expecting him to say something mean.
Deep down, I hope he says something mean because dealing with the opposite makes all of this even more complicated. Not that him being mean helped with not falling for him so far.
“Pretty,” he answers while I get up.
I let my forehead rest against his chest for a second, breathing in the scent that’s just Samuel, the scent I’ve grown horribly accustomed to over the past weeks. Especially after I basically held his sweater hostage after he gave it to me two days ago.
This isn’t going to end well. It had never been like this, not even with Brian. And that was an actual relationship.
The worst thing is that I can’t shove the responsibility for this onto anyone else. I’m an idiot for continuously breaking my own rules.
“We should go out and do something,” I propose as I look up at him. “We could go shopping again, or we could go out and eat somewhere?” Bribing Sam with food usually works pretty well.
“You are not supposed to go out. Don’t know why that won’t stick in that little head.”
He puts his big hand on top of my head, ruffling my hair slightly before he unplugs the straightening iron. At least he’s capable of keeping potentially flammable things under control as long as they aren’t in the kitchen.
“And apart from that, you are aware of the fact that I’m not your boyfriend, right?”
He groans as I’m back on him, my hands wandering all over his chest, and I feel his resolve weakening with every passing second.
“Come on, please. You owe me, because I didn’t make a scene at the country club. There’s this cute little Italian restaurant not far from here.” I play with the chain around his neck, flipping his dog tags over in my hand.
“My father knows the owner. They have a special table in the back for him. That’s basically as if we’re eating in the living room, doesn’t even count as going out.”
“You won’t stop annoying me if I say no, am I right?”
“Mhm.” I smile up at him.
“This isn’t a date, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He breathes in deeply before he shoves me away. He shakes his head as he walks out of the room while I’m already busy rummaging through my drawers. I want to pick out a nice outfit for our not-a-date date.
In the end, I decide on jeans and a white shirt which is probably not the best idea since I plan on ordering pasta, but it’s too hot for another outfit change. On the way out, I grab my favorite pair of Louboutins, running right into Samuel as I come out of my room.
As I take a step back to properly look at him, I almost have to pick my jaw up from the floor.
He’s hot and built like a goddamn tank, that’s nothing new, but the way he looks in this white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, showing the countless tattoos on his muscular forearms, is bordering on illegal.
If he also wants to order pasta, we’re both going to look like toddlers.
The fabric stretches tight around his torso and I make a mental note to beg him to make one of those Hulk moves for me. I’d even buy him a few shirts, just so that I can watch him rip them apart.
As we walk past the big mirror in the hallway, I hear Richard”s voice in the back of my head. “New boyfriend?” We sure look the part right now, involuntarily matching. Maybe I should also get a few tattoos so that we can really match.
He insists on driving, again, and I’m not sure if his driving skills got better or if I’m just used to his interesting driving style by now.
Whenever I look at him during the short drive, I have to physically keep myself from asking him to turn into an empty parking lot and fuck me right there in the backseat.
Somehow, we make it to the restaurant without me provoking an accident because I couldn”t keep my hands to myself, even though we had to take a minor detour because Samuel turned left after I told him to turn right.
I’m pretty sure I said right.
As we walk towards the entrance, my good mood gets a punch to the gut. I know the hostess in front of the restaurant. She’s a friend of Sarah, Maddy, Madison, or something like that. She was at the club with Sarah, one of the girls who tried to calm her down in the bathroom.
Judging from the look on her face, she’s not happy to see me, but I still put a friendly smile on. I came here to have a nice evening with Samuel, and I won’t let any ridiculous drama come between me and my meatballs.
“Hi, Maddy right? What a surprise to see you here.” She smiles back at me, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Mine neither.
“Ruby.” She says my name as if it’s venomous. “Hi.”
“We’d like to eat something. Is the table in the back free?”
“No, sorry, we’re fully booked,” she replies, looking me up and down. “You should have made a reservation.”
My smile is unfaltering as I search my purse for my wallet, ready to bribe my way to my goddamn dinner if I need to.
“I forgot that you’re new here. Please ask Mr. Giordano, tell him Jay Barron sends his regards.”
Her smile falters as she rushes inside without another word, and this time it’s me who rubs over their temples.
“What was that?” Samuel asks from behind me, but I just dismiss him with a flick of my wrist.
I don’t want to explain the whole situation right now. I’m hungry and annoyed, not the best time for small talk. Apart from that, I don’t know where I should start explaining all of this. Do I start with the Sarah fiasco or do I go straight back to my childhood?
A few minutes pass until Maddy comes back. The smug grin on her face can’t mean anything good and the only thing that’s keeping me calm is the smell of freshly made truffle risotto that follows her out of the glass double doors.
“We’re full, sorry.”
If I was on my own, I would stomp in there and demand an explanation from Mr. Giordano himself. The last time we were here, he personally greeted us, paid for all of our food, and even introduced me to his son in an attempt to play matchmaker.
But again, there’s too much I would have to explain to Samuel, and he isn’t supposed to know half of this shit either way.
“Fine,” I tell her, my smile unfaltering. If they don’t want my money, I’m fucking fine with it.
I turn around, gesturing to Samuel to go back to the car and this unfortunate exchange would have been over if Maddy had kept her mouth shut.
“Fine,” she repeats in a mocking tone and that alone wouldn’t have been a problem, but the hissed “stupid bitch and her weird guard dog” is very much one.
Slowly, I walk back towards her. My hand hurts a little as I ball it into a fist, but this time, the pain feels almost grounding.
I’m used to people talking shit about me and I’ve grown a pretty thick skin over the years. But that she dared to insult Samuel makes my blood boil.
I’m the only one who gets to call him names.
“What did you just say?” I ask calmly, looking at her with a waiting expression. Maybe I just misheard her.
“I said stupid bitch and her weird guard dog.”
Something about the way she’s not even trying to play it down fucks me up. I wonder what Sarah told her about me, because I don’t remember having any kind of falling out with her.
There is no reason for her to act like this, but I have a lot of anger stashed away inside of me, and if she wants to be one on the receiving end of it, I’m fine with it.
“What are you gonna do now? Call your daddy?” She spits out the words and traces of her literal spit land on my face.
With a laugh, I shake my head. “No, don’t worry. I can deal with a piece of shit like you on my own.”
Something inside me snaps. It was only a matter of time until I had a proper freakout, especially after Sam moved in and I tried to adhere to my no-more-yelling resolution.
With my good, non-injured hand, I pull off one of my shoes. I decide to take it into the other hand, because what I’m about to do is a task for the strong hand. It hurts to hold it, but I don’t care. It will be worth it.
The heel of my shoe pierces through the glass pane behind Maddy, only a few inches away from her head.
“The next time I hear you saying shit like that, I’m gonna rip your fucking tongue out and make you eat it,” I whisper in her ear while I pull my shoe out of the glass pane.
I pull a few hundred-dollar bills out of my wallet and slam them on the hostess station.
“For the window,” I say, and she gulps.
She opens her mouth to say something and I act like I’m going to smash my shoe into the glass a second time, so she quickly shuts her mouth again.
I could have aimed for her eye, or her hand, at least, but physical assault would have resulted in the local chief of police calling my father, which would cause him to come back, and then me and Samuel would have a bit of explaining to do.
So I settled on almost-physical assault.
It seems to be enough to make Maddy shut up, because she just looks at me with eyes wide as saucers before she picks up the dollar-bills with shaky hands and runs back inside the restaurant.