The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  This was not the same picture of him Rashae had presented to Sam or her friends.

  What did she remember of Rashae’s account of last night’s meeting? Rashae hadn’t been too keen on Declan. Something had changed. And Sam could totally see his appeal. He wasn’t Oliver, but he was good looking in that rugged, Gerard Butler kind of way.

  When was the last time Rashae had stopped working long enough to go on a date? To flirt with a guy?

  Yeah, Sam was well aware that her sister was charismatic and well-liked, but she didn’t let people in very often. Which made Rashae’s circle of friends so very important. She’d insulated herself from other people that weren’t part of her circle, using even Sam as a buffer. Was it something Rashae was aware of?

  Whatever was going on, Sam was not about to point out the very clear and obvious chemistry between the two. Rashae could poke her finger into Sam’s business all she liked, but that was because Sam knew herself, and what she wanted to do. Unless Oliver was involved. If Sam pointed out that Rashae was actively flirting and familiar with a guy who wasn’t just buying her a drink, she’d bolt.

  It was the holidays.

  Everyone deserved a little cheer.

  Who knew?

  Maybe Rashae would even get some. There was a thought.

  Sam’s cheeks heated with vivid memories of how the yesterday had gone. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, it just had. That’s how it was with Oliver. She’d had hopes for some post-dinner time, but not anymore. Now she just wanted to curl up in bed and fret. What if this was how she lost Oliver?

  Declan pulled the car up into the drive, and in the blink of an eye the Secret Service was closing in. Sam didn’t see the head of her father’s security, which was a good thing. Now, if she could just stage a distraction while she changed clothes…

  “Ah, I suppose I’ll let you ladies out here.” Declan twisted in his seat. “Sam, it was lovely to meet you.”

  “You have to come inside.” Her eyes were wide. “What are we going to tell them?”

  Rashae stared at her for a moment. Yes, Sam was well aware that she was being selfish. She didn’t much like herself tonight, but things would go so much worse if the rest of the family knew the truth.

  “Sam can’t tell our dad she was on a date with Oliver because he works for our dad,” Rashae explained. She twisted to look at her sister. “We…were out shopping?”

  “Where’s our bags?” Sam shot back. Didn’t Rashae get it? They needed a human distraction.

  “We went out to dinner?”

  “Then why am I in a cocktail dress and you’re in jeans?”

  “Fuck—I don’t know, Sam.”

  Sam stared at Declan. Did she dare ask? Her family was…unpredictable right now.

  “Can you come in for a minute?” she asked.

  “Sam—”

  “Why? Would that help?” Declan asked.

  Rashae sighed heavily. Sam was going to get it later from her sister, but at least Rashae would tear into her in private. Not with an audience.

  “If you come in, the Secret Service drones have to do a security thing. Dad will come over and make conversation, while she runs upstairs to put on jeans and pretend all is well. If we’re lucky, head drone in charge won’t say anything.”

  “Davis isn’t on shift tonight. Or this week,” Sam offered that tidbit. “Do you mind? Please?”

  “All right, I need to use the toilet anyway I guess.” He cut the engine and popped his seatbelt.

  Rashae was out of the car first, her laughter forced, but the bodyguard detail wouldn’t know that. They’d hardly met, much less seen, Rashae.

  “Thank you, really,” Sam said. She slid out of the car and darted past the men into the house before anyone noticed her.

  She made it upstairs and into the guest room serving as her bedroom without anyone seeing her. Sam quickly stripped out of her cocktail dress, as well as the sexy panties and bra she’d worn in hopes of more later tonight. Now they felt…wrong. She pulled on jeans, a gray thermal top and shoved her feet into her charcoal, fuzzy snow boots.

  Ah—warmth! At last.

  She glanced at her clutch.

  Her phone was in there.

  Last she’d looked, Oliver had called her at least a dozen times. He was probably worried sick about her, and she couldn’t bring herself to at least tell him she was okay.

  She’d run from him.

  Oliver.

  The one person who got her.

  She loved him.

  So why…why couldn’t she tell him that?

  Tell him she was scared?

  If she said yes, something bad was going to happen. She knew it.

  23.

  Samantha sucked in a breath. She could hear voices downstairs now, which meant that Dad was probably engaged with Declan. She had to make an appearance. Lily would be around, no doubt, so she’d have to soldier through that as well.

  She patted her face try swiped a little eyeliner back on and headed downstairs. Sure enough, Dad, Rashae and Declan were standing in the entry.

  Declan was a lot…bigger…than she’d realized in the car. He had a good five inches on dad and shoulders wider than—what would Oliver call it? A linebacker?

  “Oh, you met Declan already.” Sam smiled. A spark of an idea struck. Dad would love it. “Did you tell Daddy?”

  “Uh…” Rashae glanced at Declan then Sam.

  “Declan’s immigrating. Isn’t that awesome, Dad?” Sam screwed her smile on a bit tighter.

  “Is that so?” Dad turned toward Declan again.

  “Sam, that’s rude.” Rashae tossed her sister a glare, then pushed at her father’s shoulder. “If Declan wanted to talk about it, I’m sure he’s capable of mentioning it himself. Dad, out of the doorway, I’m cold, and the whole reason Declan is coming in is to use the bathroom.”

  Rashae directed Declan to the powder room down the hall. She grabbed Sam by the arm and hauled her into the formal sitting room.

  “Why would you bring that up?” Rashae asked through clenched teeth.

  “What? I thought Dad would… I thought it was neat.” Sam blinked at her Dad and Rashae.

  “Look, both of you, don’t bring it up, okay? He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  Oh boy… If Declan had aroused Rashae’s protective instincts like this, things had progressed a lot farther than Sam realized. How had they gone from not liking each other to bosom buddies in less than twenty-four hours?

  “Calm down, Shae. We’ll talk about games. Sit, girls. I’ve barely seen you.” Dad rubbed Rashae’s shoulders and ushered them closer to the fire.

  Sam took up a spot on the loveseat, Dad settled into the wingback chairs he loved so much, and Rashae sprawled on the sofa.

  Was Dad including her in this? Did he want to see her? Sam wasn’t convinced.

  The powder room door creaked.

  Declan’s footsteps thumped on the hardwood floors. He walked like some sort of giant. Even the house seemed to be Declan-sized.

  Rashae patted the sofa next to her.

  “Are you allowed to tell me about this game you’re working on?” Dad folded his hands behind his head.

  “Dad, you can’t ask questions. It’s not ready yet.” Rashae wagged her finger at her father.

  “Can you blame me for asking?” Timothy grinned. “Where’s home, Declan?”

  “Near Dumbarton.”

  “No, I mean home. Where are you from?”

  “Ireland, sir, sorry.” Declan didn’t wince, but there was a tightening of his features. Damn. Rashae had hit that one on the head.

  “Beautiful country. Never been, but the pictures are always so majestic. You going home for Christmas?”

  “Do you want something to drink?” Rashae asked.

  “No, thanks.” Declan gave her a tight smile, the strain showing around the corners of his mouth. “And no, Mr. Grant, I’ll be here for Christmas.”

  Sam sat back, free to observe the game ba
nter without being pulled into it. Her sister liked this guy. It was obvious. Watching them together…Sam could see how they clicked. Rashae needed someone in her life with a drive to succeed that matched her own. Someone who could go toe to toe with her. Declan seemed like he had a pretty strong backbone. Their pieces fit.

  That’s what being with Oliver felt like.

  But feelings could be wrong, couldn’t they?

  She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

  Dozens of texts and missed calls lit up the screen.

  Oliver loved her.

  And he was worried about her.

  She opened her texts and bit her lip.

  I’m home. I freaked out. I’m sorry.

  Sam took a deep breath and started another message. By all rights, she should call him. Go to him. He deserved that, but then she’d cry more. No, before they spoke again, before she saw him, she had to make up her mind. Did she want to take the plunge and be with him? Or was she going to walk away?

  I need to sort things out. Can we talk? Tomorrow?

  Oliver paced the length of the apartment.

  Again.

  And again.

  She hadn’t said she was coming over now, but he’d assumed she was.

  So where was she?

  He wished she’d let him pick her up, but she’d been firm on that point.

  Why had he proposed? He’d gone with his head instead of his heart, and that’s when he fucked things up. All he wanted to do was show Samantha that he was in. Give her a logical solution to the problems. It wasn’t the heartfelt proposal he would have wished. Whatever she needed, however she needed him. He was there for her.

  The pizza would be here any minute, and he didn’t know where she was. Or if she would be here for lunch or not at all. She could always tell him she needed more time, and then what? They’d be on a plane to Atlanta for Christmas. She’d use family to avoid him. Before they knew it the holiday would be over and she’d be gone again.

  Fuck.

  A knock at the door brought him up short.

  Did he dare hope?

  Was it Sam?

  It was probably the pizza, but he still wanted it to be her.

  Oliver crossed to the door, his hands sweating.

  It was her.

  It had to be her.

  He opened the door—and stared at the long, narrow face of the delivery guy.

  Oliver signed for the pizza, made small talk his heart wasn’t in, and that was it. He set the boxes down on the kitchen counter, tapping the cardboard with a pen.

  He’d have pizza for days at this rate.

  Where’d the pen come from?

  Crap. He’d taken the delivery guy’s pen. Again.

  Another knock at the door didn’t bring the same kind of stomach knotting anxiety.

  “I know, I know.” Oliver had a whole cup of pens he’d accidentally stolen. They probably had his picture up as a known pen thief.

  He pulled the door open, pen in hand, and froze.

  Sam stared back at him.

  “Hey.” She lifted her shoulders.

  “Hi. Hey. Come in.”

  The same delivery guy leaned around the door.

  “Can I—”

  “Here.” Oliver shoved the pen at the kid and shut the door behind Sam.

  Sam shrugged out of her coat.

  She was wearing the same dress, shoes and jewelry from last night. Even her hair and make-up was the same. It was…surreal. Like they’d rewound time and were going to leave for the restaurant any moment.

  What he wouldn’t give for a do-over…

  “Did you go home?” He hung her coat up, not quite on the same game plan as her.

  “Yes. I…I want to try this again. This…talk we need to have.” She wrung her hands together. Sam was rarely nervous when it came to speaking. She knew her mind. She was always so self-assured. So he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this.

  But he didn’t like it.

  “I’m…scared.” She took a deep breath.

  “No, no, no.” He couldn’t stay away from her. He crossed the floor and pulled her into his arms. “Hey. No reason to be scared, okay?”

  She sniffled and buried her face against his shoulder.

  Sam was so much stronger than people realized. But even the strongest players had a breaking point. Even if she was going to call it quits between them, he couldn’t have her second guessing herself. It’d suck, but if that’s what she needed—wanted—he’d do it. Because after what she’d been through he couldn’t ask more of her.

  “I keep thinking that…if we’re together, something bad is going to happen again.” She peered up at him. “Look what happened the last two times.”

  “That wasn’t our fault, Sam. The first time—they wanted at my dad. This time—they wanted at your dad. That’s not on us.”

  “I know, but…what if it is?”

  Oliver wanted to argue with her—but should he? Sam was notorious for digging in. That was how they’d wound up fake-engaged. She’d entrenched them in a defensive maneuver. A smart one. That’d even worked. But he didn’t like this line of reasoning. He wanted to fight for them, to show her how well they could work, that he loved her, but damn it what could he say that he hadn’t already said?

  She stared up at him, searching his face for something.

  Sam had made up her mind.

  He could see it in her eyes.

  And now…she was weighing him against her choices.

  It didn’t matter what he said now, because she’d already come to her conclusion.

  “I know what feels right,” he said, because he had to make some sort of argument, even if she didn’t hear it. “Being with you feels right. But if you don’t think so, I get it.”

  “That’s the problem,” she whispered.

  He didn’t know how to respond to that. She was building toward something, and he couldn’t stand in her way. He loved her. But he wouldn’t make her be with him. He couldn’t.

  Oliver braced himself, but he wasn’t ready. Not really.

  “I love you, Oliver.”

  Was he hearing her right?

  “That scares me,” she continued. “It scares me because what if something else happens?”

  Oliver had to tread carefully. These were possibly the most important decision making moments of his life, and he had to say the exact, right thing.

  “If something else happens, we’d have each other. You know I’ll do anything to keep you safe?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Sam, I love you, and I want to be with you—however that looks. I don’t care what label we put on it, the rules or what. What’s the real reason you left last night?”

  Her gaze lowered to his shoulder.

  “Rashae’s met someone,” she said.

  What the hell did that have to do with anything?

  “I don’t think she’s realized yet that she likes him, but watching them together?” Her gaze slid back up to his. There was emotion there, deep, true feelings. “I want that. With you. I can’t imagine my life without you, and that scares me. There’s a lot of what I feel that doesn’t make sense and I panicked. I’m sorry, but I panicked because…because I just can’t help but think that it can’t be this easy. After everything, we can’t just…be in love and happy, can we?”

  “Sure we can. We can be.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Statistically speaking, what’s happened to us is about as probable as lighting hitting the same person twice. Three times is highly unlikely.”

  Okay, so he didn’t really know the numbers, but Sam needed something concrete. Facts. Evidence. And he’d make up whatever he had to if it gave her enough information to regain the lost control in her life. He was good like that.

  “I don’t want to be hit by lightning at all.” She chuckled.

  “Yeah, me neither.” He smiled at her. “So what do you want to do?”

  “I want to try last night over again.”

>   He blinked at her. Wasn’t that what they were doing?

  “Do…you want to sit down and have lunch while we talk?” he asked.

  “No, I mean…” She took a deep breath, lower lip pinched between her teeth. “Where’s the ring?”

  “Oh. Oh! Shit.” He patted his pockets, but this wasn’t last night. He wasn’t ready for that. “Hold on. Wait right there.”

  Oliver sprinted into the bedroom. He’d come home and chunked the box—where? Across the room. He pulled the curtains aside, shoved the armchair over, and—there! The outside was a little dusty, courtesy of his shoddy housekeeping skills, but that wasn’t important.

  They were doing this. Again.

  She wouldn’t run out of the apartment on him, would she?

  Maybe he needed to stand between her and the door.

  But he had to kneel.

  He hadn’t knelt last time. That was probably his mistake.

  Because kneeling would have made all the difference.

  Christ, he was going crazy.

  His hands were sweating.

  His stomach in knots.

  God, it was worse now.

  She wouldn’t tell him to ask her just to say no, would she?

  Sam wasn’t cruel.

  Oliver swallowed and made himself walk calmly back into the living room. Sam had crossed to stand near the windows and his tiny tree.

  She pressed her hands to her stomach. Was she as nervous as he was?

  They locked eyes and he blew out a breath.

  One last try…

  Who was he kidding?

  He’d try again and again when it came to her.

  Oliver knelt, wobbling a little from the light headed rush of adrenaline.

  “Sam—Samantha—I love you. I…had a Doctor Who quote memorized last night, but I can’t remember it…”

  “Oh, my God, you did not…”

  “I love you enough to watch Doctor Who at least once a…timey-wimey year? Did I get that right?”

  “No.” Sam covered her mouth, laughing and happy.