It was dark out and already cooling down when I got home later that night. I was sore and exhausted, but it was a feeling I cherished—a sense of accomplishment.
“Hi, Aunt Sam!” Piper called from the kitchen. “We're making spaghetti.”
Laughing, I shrugged off my jacket and joined them in the kitchen. I was amused to find Piper and Nick in matching cooking aprons. Nick was hovering over the sink rinsing off a dish, and Piper was standing on a chair near the counter, stirring the sauce in a bowl.
“Love the get-up, guys,” I said. I reached into the fridge for my wine and poured a glass. “Is the circus in town?”
“Muahahaha! The circus has nothing on us, sister.”
“Because we rock,” Piper added. “We rock hard.”
“You sure do.” I took a seat at the dining table and sipped my drink, feeling the alcohol hit my bloodstream as I allowed an air of calm to wash over me.
“You look tired,” Nick noted, and I wondered why or if he cared.
“Long shift,” I said with a shrug. “The Seattle ER is crazy. We barely had time to sit down.” In my pocket, my phone vibrated. I flipped it open and looked at the text message that Tasha had sent.
Update on Nick?
Turning the phone off before he could read it over my shoulder, I slid the device aside and flushed, hoping neither of them would notice the red flush in my cheeks.
“Richard?” Nick asked after a moment.
I cleared my throat. “No. Just, um, Tasha. Checking in.”
“Has your boyfriend even called you?” Nick asked, and for some reason, I was annoyed that he asked.
“Yes, he has,” I said. “And I'll be calling him tonight. Not that it's any of your business.”
“Well, don't mind me,” Nick said, putting his hands in the air as if to surrender. “I'm just the roommate.” I was about to respond when there was a knock on the front door, yanking me away from my petty problems. Glass of wine still in my hand, I answered it, surprised to see Lindsay standing on the doorstep with a small bag of groceries.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Nick asked me to bring some French bread. Can I come in?”
“Of course you can.” Flustered, I opened the door wider, allowing Lindsay to come through and head toward the kitchen.
“Dinner is almost ready now,” Nick called. “Are you eating, Sam?”
“I ate dinner at work,” I lied. I closed the front door and tossed back the rest of my wine before setting it down on the coffee table. “I appreciate the offer, though. I think I'll just turn in tonight.”
“Are you sure?” From the kitchen, Nick poked his head out, a loaf of bread in one hand and a dry dishtowel in the other as he stared at me. From where I stood, I could hear Lindsay trying to make small talk with Piper, to no avail.
“Positive,” I said. “I'm exhausted.” I said nothing more as I turned to head up the stairs, relieved when Lindsay's voice faded into the distance. Moments ago, I had been eager to eat with Nick and Piper, happy to finally have a meal just the three of us. But with Lindsay there, my comfort zone had shifted, and I would not force myself through an excruciating dinner while Nick and Lindsay tongued each other.
“Hey, Chica,” Tasha said after the third ring. “I was hoping you'd call.”
“Yeah, well, Nick's weird lover showed up, so I came up to my room. What's up?”
“I want an update,” Tasha said. “You know, on you and Nick. The last text I got from you seemed pretty—intense.”
“It's nothing,” I said. I lay down on the bed, propped up on the pillow. “I don't know why I even sent that, Tash. I don't have feelings for Nick.”
“Mmmm,” Tasha said. She sounded pensive, ready to call me out on it. “I don't know, Sam. I don't think it works like that.”
“Works like what?” I sat up, supporting myself on the mattress with my elbows. “Nothing is happening between Nick and me, and nothing ever will happen. Besides, didn't you hear me a minute ago? He has a girlfriend.”
“So? People break up all of the time.”
“Jesus, Tash, I'm not a homewrecker.” I closed my eyes, envisioning Richard. “Besides, I'm spoken for, too.”
“By Richard?” Tasha asked. She didn't sound impressed. “The guy's a douche. Drop him and ask Nick out.”
“Knock it off.” I put the back of my hand over my eyes, wishing this wasn't a conversation we had stumbled into. “Nick and I are sworn, mortal enemies. We always have been. Being together would be dangerous.”
“It would be toxic for sure,” Tasha agreed. “And really, really hot. And steamy.”
“Tasha.”
“What? I'm just saying.” There was a pause, and then, “That boy is fine.”
“And arrogant. And cocky. And a great, big pain in my ass.”
“Yes, but he's just so—charming. And cute,” Tasha said. “I mean, come on, Sam. You could do worse than Nick.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But I've done better with Richard.”
“According to you, maybe,” Tasha muttered. Irritated, I brushed the comment aside, trying not to listen too intently to Lindsay's high-pitched giggles from the kitchen.
“All right, I'm off to bed,” I said, wishing I had another glass—or eight—of wine.
“Talk later,” Tasha said. I hung up the phone and plugged it into the charger as I washed my face and slipped into my pajamas. As I climbed into bed and under the covers, I thought of Nick again—envisioned his handsome face and eyes that seemed to sparkle. I cuddled up close to his body pillow, inhaling the familiar scent of his Axe body spray, and the thought occurred to me before I could push it away—Nick, in bed with me, his smooth fingers running up and down my body.
Nick
I woke from the couch the next morning to the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan in the kitchen. Piper's backpack was missing from the hook by the door, so I knew she was already at school. Lindsay had gone home late last night, which left one person—Sam.
“Something smells good,” I called. I rolled off the couch and got to my feet, stretching the kinks out of my back and neck. God, I missed my bed. The sofa was wreaking havoc on my old man bones.
“I'm making breakfast,” Sam said as I met her in the kitchen. She was dressed down today in navy blue sweats, slippers, and a fluffy pink robe that I thought looked pretty cozy. “I'm sorry if I woke you.” She stopped stirring the pancake batter in the bowl long enough to turn and scope me out.
“No problem, I slept late,” I said. Yawning, I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table, watching Sam flutter around the kitchen like a little bird. There was silence between us, but it was comfortable—easy. As she slid bacon onto the plate near the griddle, I watched her shrug the pink robe off unconsciously, revealing a white tank top that accentuated the curves and the smoothness of her skin. I felt the hot coffee get stuck in my windpipe as I stared at her, surprised. Such flawless skin—so smooth, freckled, and pretty.
“Nick?” she said, turning toward me. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah, I uh—” I lowered my head toward the table and took another sip, wondering if I had seriously just been gawking at her like a kid at prom. “I'm good,” I said. I watched her cook eggs and pancakes, her hands working flawlessly with the food. She was quiet as she dispersed a breakfast plate in front of me and then sat down across from me with her own breakfast.
“I lost some shell in one of the eggs,” she said, poking at her plate. “So sorry if you get a crunchy one.”
I laughed but shoveled eggs into my mouth anyway. “Thanks for this,” I said. “It's nice to have someone else cook.”
“Lindsay doesn't cook for you?” she asked. Her voice was innocent—in fact, she wasn't even looking at me—but I sensed an underlying bitterness in her tone.
“Lindsay burns water,” I said instead and took another drink of my coffee. Thinking of Lindsay made me feel guilty, like I was doing some unspeakable act I would hear about. But I wasn't. I was simply havi
ng breakfast at the table with my roommate, which was not against the rules. “Have you heard much from Richard?” I asked. I didn't much care about Richard—the guy was an arrogant asshole. But if she stayed with him, I would try and play nice. Being on the redhead's shit list was not what I wanted.
“Here and there,” Sam said with a weak shrug. She still wouldn't meet my gaze, and I wondered why. Had I said or done something stupid and had no idea about it?
“Sam, is everything okay?” I asked, pushing my half-eaten breakfast aside. “You've seemed kind of quiet recently.”
“What? No. I've just got a lot on my mind.” She sounded like she was trying too hard to convince me—or to convince herself.
“Seattle isn't that bad, is it?” I joked, but I wondered that with uncertainty. Did she hate it here? Was she miserable? I realized then that she hadn't had a choice—she'd uprooted her entire life to move to Seattle and raise a kid—Sam was probably a basket-case, and I hadn't even seen it.
“Seattle is fine, Nick,” she said. I hated how doubtful her tone sounded. “And if it wasn't, do I have a choice?” A silence settled over us briefly as I took this in. Part of me wanted to yell at her, to pick a petty fight just so she would stop looking so depressed—but I didn't. Instead, I took my plate to the sink, washed it, and put it in the drainer to dry.
“Everyone has a choice, Sam,” I said. “It's just a matter of how badly you want it.”
Sam
He was right, and I knew it. I had a choice. I could have denied guardianship to Piper—I could have allowed the kid to go to her grandparents to live, but I hadn't let that happen. I had consciously decided to accept guardianship, and now I was facing the consequences.
I paid for the groceries as I pondered this—could I call them consequences? Was it a negative consequence to take care of my best friend's daughter? It had been a sacrifice, yes, but not a consequence.
“Have a wonderful day, dear,” the old woman behind the counter said. “The sun is supposed to be intense today, so don't forget to lather that fair skin up in sunscreen.”
“It doesn't do any good,” I said with a laugh as I backed out of the grocery store. “I burn anyway. Apparently not even Washington can save me from that.” I waved goodbye to the store clerk and headed for the apartment, wondering if Nick had made himself scarce. It was awkward for me to be alone with him, though I wasn't sure why. It was a losing battle, I realized—I couldn't stay far enough away from him, and yet he was the only person I wanted to be around.
“I'm home,” I called, pushing open the front door. The grocery store was conveniently close, within two blocks, and it had given me an excuse to get out of the house and away from Nick so I would stop fumbling over my words and actions.
“It's just not working anymore, Lindsay,” Nick was saying as I closed the door behind me. It was still early, so Piper wasn't home yet. “You and I want different things. I'm sorry.” There was a long moment of silence, a quiet so loud that I wasn't sure if Nick was on the phone or if Lindsay was here.
“It's that bitch, isn't it?” Lindsay asked, and I felt a ball of dread in the pit of my stomach. “Samantha?”
“Of course not,” Nick said. I glanced toward the stairs, wondering if I'd be able to slip past them unnoticed up to my bedroom. “This isn't about someone else—this is about the fact that you and I are not working, Lindsay.”
“We were fine before that redheaded bitch moved in,” I heard Lindsay say bitterly. I closed my eyes and took a calming breath, unsure if I could ignore the girl for much longer. I was being accused of something I was not guilty of, and that infuriated me.
“Things were falling apart before Sam moved in,” Nick said. “You just didn't want to see it.”
“You know what, Nick?” Lindsay asked loudly. There was silence and then, “I'm fucking done here.” Panicking, I let the bags of groceries drop from my hands and then turned to start up the stairs, but I was a moment too late as Lindsay stormed out of the kitchen, practically steaming from the ears. She spotted me, scowled, flipped her middle finger, and then stormed out the door, slamming it hard behind her. I stood at the bottom of the staircase for a moment, flabbergasted, trying to replay in my mind what had just happened.
“I didn't know you were here, Sam,” Nick said, coming out of the kitchen. I was relieved to see he seemed to be in one piece—no busted lip or black eye I could spot.
“I…I just got here,” I said awkwardly. Outside, I could hear the engine to Lindsay's car roar as the woman backed out of the carport and floored it. For a moment, there was silence, but I knew I couldn't leave it like that. “I'm sorry about you and Lindsay,” I said finally. “It didn't sound pleasant in there.”
“Nothing was or is very pleasant with Lindsay,” Nick said. He shrugged, nonchalant, and for some odd reason that irritated me. No one should look so careless after a breakup—not even Nick deserved peace of mind.
“Well, you look mighty torn up about it,” I said finally. “I hope you're okay.” There was no use trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice—I was annoyed as hell.
“What's up your ass?” Nick asked, catching me off guard. I glowered at him, debating on whether punching him in the face was the way to go.
“I'm going to take a nap,” I said instead. As I turned to head up the stairs, Nick reached out and took hold of my arm, keeping me there.
“What is it, Sam?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”
“Who says you did anything wrong?”
“Your face says it,” he said. “Now tell me.” When he fell silent, my irritation seemed to grow. “I can't win with you,” he said. “You act like you hate Lindsay, but when I finally break up with her, you're—what—angry that I'm not crying about it?”
“I didn't say you had to cry,” I said. I narrowed my eyes, trying not to scream at him. “It would have been nice to see some 'woe is me' emotion from you, though.”
“Why?”
“Because, Nick, other people have emotions!” I spat. I wheeled on him, furious. I did not understand why I was so worked up—Nick's personal life aside from Piper was none of my business, and I didn't care what he did or didn't do.
“I have emotions, Sam,” Nick said calmly. He was refusing to tangle with me, which only irritated me more. “I just don't have your emotions.”
“Or anyone else's, apparently.” I turned back around and headed up the stairs, surprised when I heard Nick's footsteps behind me. I refused to turn around and face him, instead reaching for the doorknob so I could hide in peace. As I pushed on the door, Nick stepped up behind me, pulling the knob back to click the door into place. I froze, feeling his breath on my neck. His arm was directly over my shoulder, but he didn't lower it, only stood behind me, inches away, silent.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice steady. I was tempted to turn around and face him, but he was close to me—too close.
“Can't you and I just have a civilized conversation?” he asked. His tone was quiet, his breath warm on my bare skin. I felt myself shivering, unsure of where to go from here. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to turn around and face him.
“I need to make a phone call,” I said, clearing my throat. Neither of us had changed our positions from the door. “Move your arm, please.”
“We need to talk about this, Sam.”
“Talk about what?” I spun on him then, fuming all over again, his face meeting mine, only inches away. I froze in my spot, meeting Nick's eyes, feeling a tremor of surprise slither down my spine.
“Talk about—us,” he said. His mouth was close to mine, our noses almost touching. I could smell the Axe aftershave on his skin—so intoxicating and overwhelming.
“There's nothing to say,” I murmured. Nick’s eyes bore into mine, intense and mesmerizing—eyes that I found herself getting lost in.
“Nothing?”
I closed my eyes, calming myself, shivering as his warm breath caressed my skin again. His face
was so close now that I could see the five o’clock shadow appearing on his chin. His breath, I noticed, smelled like peppermint and beer—a scent I couldn't even try to find dissatisfying.
“Nothing,” I whispered.
Downstairs, the front door opened, and Piper called out. Nick and I froze, listening, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, less than a minute later—he was already gone.
Nick
“I don't know what Sam wants from me.” I hunched over the bar counter as I sipped my whiskey, feeling the buzz from the liquor go straight to my head. “I break up with Lindsay, and she yells at me.”
“Don't try to understand,” Jake, my best friend, said, signaling to the bartender for another drink. “Women are impossible.”
“I’m fucking lost, dude.” I tossed back the rest of my drink and leaned back, shaking my head. “I've started to feel something for this girl that is new and totally—totally—bizarre.”
“Who is Sam to you?” Jake asked. “I've never seen you this distraught over a chick.”
“She's a family friend, I guess,” I said. “She was Emily's best friend. I mean, we all grew up together, but I've never had these kinds of feelings for her—until now.”
“Have you told her?”
“Hell no.” I put my head in my hands and rubbed my face briskly, wondering if I had shot myself in the foot by bringing this up to Jake. I didn't even know what I was trying to say—how in the hell should anyone else?
“I suggest you tell her, bro,” Jake said after a moment of silence. “Lay it out on the table and see how she reacts.”
“She has a boyfriend. That would make me a home-wrecker.”
“Well, do you think this Samantha woman shares your feelings?” Jake asked. I frowned, my eyes trailing over the calluses on my hands as I avoided my friend's gaze.
“I don't know,” I admitted finally. “Sometimes I think so, but then other times she completely withdraws, and she's back to being bitter and mean.”
“Seduce her,” Jake said with a shrug. I watched him throw back the third mug of beer. He set the empty glass back down on the table and belched loudly. “You won't know anything until you sleep with her.”
Nearing September Page 11
