Chandler
CHANDLER
F uck me. Working with Sam for the rest of this trip might be harder than I thought. I stared at her shut hotel door for longer than I should’ve. I don’t feel an ounce of regret about our kiss last night. It’s all I thought about when I finally went back into my hotel room, and it’s all I can think about now while I get ready to go down to the cafe to work with Sam for a few hours. She was a knockout wearing that dress; her lips were painted her signature shade of maroon. She looked fucking gorgeous. And apparently, the frat boy she was chatting up took notice, too. I didn’t like the way he was looking at her and tried to remind myself that it's none of my business what Sam does. I tried hanging back. I even thought about trying to flirt with the bartender, but something about the way she was smiling at him made my heart lurch. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her, no matter how hard I tried. That, coupled with the fact that I knew her goal was to have a one-night stand, and when that image popped into my mind, it made my blood run cold. I wasn't actually planning on cockblocking her, but my presence may have made the guy uncomfortable. Oh, well. It was probably for the best. That guy can go fuck himself. God, the way she was looking at me in the elevator, that fire in her eyes. I know she felt something when we kissed. My phone rings, and my sister's name lights up on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Do you still want to come to dinner with us tonight? Gramps really needs to get out of this house.”
That’s Cheyenne, straight to the point.
“Good morning to you," I say.
“Oh, yeah. Morning," she says with nonchalance. “We’re all going to dinner tonight, and you should come.”
I should go, but I don’t know if I want to. I miss my family, but I’ve also enjoyed the distance far, much more than I thought I would. I was always the one to take care of things. Gramps and I were a team, and my being the only other man in the house meant that I had to grow up fast and get a job at 16 to help out with the bills after my grandmother got sick. Being away from them was hard at first, but then I realized I didn’t have the constant feeling of anxiety anymore. There was no more worrying about if the electricity would get shut off in the middle of the night in the winter. Or how we would afford new ballet slippers for Cheyenne before her recital. No more worrying about how they would survive without me. One of the good things about growing up quickly was it made me smart. I was able to start my own masonry business, and I did really well for myself in that department. But I gave it all up to move to Florida so I could create some distance between us.
“Um, I don’t know," I say.
“Why? Don’t you want us to meet your girlfriend?”
“Jesus," I mutter. "Co-worker!”
“I don’t know. The way you talk about her sometimes makes it sound like you two argue like an old married couple.” She pauses. “Why don’t you want us to meet her? It’s not like you come to town often, and I doubt she’ll be coming back to North Carolina any time soon. We miss you.”
She’s not completely wrong about the bickering part, but that’s always been my dynamic with Sam. It would be pretty fucked up if I didn’t see my family while in town.
“Fine. I’ll go," I say reluctantly. “And I’ll ask Sam if she wants to come, but no promises.”
“Cool. Meet us at Folksies at 6!”
I groan. “You know I hate that place.”
“Yeah, but that’s why I love it! See you soon!”
She hangs up, and I let out a sigh. I really fucking hope my sister doesn’t say anything that will make the entire dinner fucking weird. But that’s highly unlikely.
I make my way to the elevator so we can go to the cafe and get to work. I haven’t seen Sam since last night, and I’m not sure what to expect when I do see her. I wonder if she’ll act like it never happened, as she said we should. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe all we needed was to kiss and get out whatever tension has been building between us since we met. How hard can it be? I walk into the open elevator, and when I turn, my jaw almost drops. Sam is standing in front of the elevator, wearing a gray dress and red shoes, and her hair is down and slightly curled. My heart races at the sight of her, but she avoids eye contact with me and says nothing. She presses the button on the elevator to take us to the lobby. I steal glances at her, but she doesn't pay any attention to me. Apparently, it is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
She seems pretty hellbent on avoiding the elephant in the room. Should I bring it up to her? No, she'll just roll her eyes, or glare, or tell me to shut up. Now would probably be a good time to tell her that my family invited her to have dinner with us tonight, but the awkward silence is taunting me. I should just go for it.
“So," I say. “My family lives about an hour outside of Raleigh, and my sister called this morning. She wants to go to dinner.” I look at her, but she doesn’t budge. “And to meet you.”
That seems to get her attention because she looks up at me with a confused expression.
“She wants to meet me? Why?”
For some reason, her tone sets me off, almost like she’s offended that my family is curious about the person I work with. Or maybe she doesn’t like the fact that I’ve mentioned her to my family a few times. Either way, I don’t like it.
“Hell, if I know Sam, maybe it’s because you’re the only woman I’ve spent time with in the last six months.”
“Now I know that’s not true," she says, and again, her accusatory tone is irritating.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re… Well, you’re you. You’re always flirting with anyone with boobs at work, and you talk a lot about the gym. I figured you had a different chick with you at least every other week.”
I shake my head. I’m not entirely sure why she thinks that. Well, she’s not exactly wrong. I do have a different girl over a few times a month, and I do have a tendency to flirt. But the sad truth is that Sam is the only constant female in my life. We share an office together for 8 to 12 hours a day. Of course, I’m going to mention her to my family. I think it's funny that she's spent time thinking about what I might be doing outside of work. Her fantasy is, no doubt, a lot more exciting than my reality. I place my hand over my chest with a fake hurt expression.
“You think I’m a man-whore?”
Her eyes widen, and her face turns bright pink .
“No! I’m not calling you a man-whore, I’m just saying that you seemed… Comfortable with yourself and comfortable doing… it.”
My mouth ticks up in amusement. This is fun. “ It?”
“You know what I mean! Don’t be a pain in the ass.”
I chuckle a little. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”