Always Was
Page 16
Oh. My. God! Pivoting her head on the pillow, she eyed the long oval of the dessert stick discarded in her glass, a diagonal of a memory.
Now I’ll never be able to eat a popsicle without getting turned on.
Chapter Sixteen
Adam had expected something to change after he gave Sammy what was probably her first orgasm. He’d bet she would be even shyer, timid, hell, he didn’t know—maybe skittish after the reality of how intense coming could be. Or maybe she’d be charged and wired for more, like he’d flipped a switch and turned her into a starved sex-maniac.
For better or worse, he’d thought she’d react a bit more. After he’d jerked off in the shower and stalled for as long as he could under the water, he’d prepped himself to be considerate of how odd she might behave around him. They’d crossed another line from being just friends, and he had to wait for her to show him how their rules would shift accordingly.
But when he’d gotten out of the bathroom, she took her turn to clean up, passing him with a single, sweet kiss to his lips. After, they’d ordered room service and fell into a mini-marathon of movies, catching the end of the best film ever, Terminator II, and then a sobering show of Saving Private Ryan. Slumped next to each other in the bed, with some clothes, plates of mostly unhealthy but oh-so-good food scattered around them, they couldn’t have been more at peace with each other. Like friends, chatting and arguing about the movies, and also like lovers, succumbing to kisses that led too deep too fast, even some groping. But by the end of the night, both refrained from falling into a bliss of sex again.
Watching Sammy throw a mini tennis ball for Ink in the pet area at the motel the next morning, he guessed he was more out of whack—mentally—than she was. Logically, the next step would be to claim her virginity and do the deed. Something he felt like he’d been waiting for too many years to welcome.
His reservation pricked at his conscience, though, at the reminder of how much more could be altered between them. They had two days left together before reaching “his” cabin in Vermont. Would their natural conversations become stilted after the fact? Would they be able to somewhat remain friends?
Having Sammy back in his life, even for the rush of a week, inserted some honest and hard-to-find happiness in his life. He might have been weighed down with the anxiety of figuring out what else to do with his future, whether to reenlist or not, but having Sammy with him, those festering worries seemed lighter, duller, as though she was a living reminder of things always winding up all right.
“Ready?” she asked, carrying Ink to the Honda.
“Always,” he said.
He drove the morning shift again, the first half of the day’s driving, and she took the latter.
Too soon it was time to call it a day after the longest bout of driving they’d done yet, a little over ten hours with the foot to the pedal. In those long days of the summer, they were lucky to have ample daylight, and as she steered towards a motel off the highway around Buffalo, New York, the sun was only completing its bunkering down to the horizon.
Registering and checking in were routine and simple habits of theirs by then. They took Ink for a short walk down the sidewalks, Adam searching on his phone for a place to eat, and Sammy managing the leash.
“How about we do something different tonight?” he asked, brightened by the coincidence of stumbling on an ad on his phone.
“I’m game,” she said.
No hesitation. No asking questions. His Sammy was a sure thing. He liked it.
“There’s a summer festival deal downtown. How about we head there for food and check out whatever’s going on?”
Her smile was answer enough.
They fed Ink and secured her in the motel room, then searched for the community fest. Typical of any summertime gathering, tents lined up in a chain, trailer kitchens offered carnival-quality food, and vendors displayed products and pimped their services. Cardboard cubes overflowed with plates and trash, evidence of many having spent their money and time through the festival during the day. Folksy classic rock was provided from a cover band on a makeshift stage, tucked within the orange snow-fence designating the standard beer area.
Hand-in-hand, they ambled among the crowds, choosing some edibles to call a meal. Sammy regretted her purchase of a lemonade, something he agreed was more like watered-down lemon juice with at least two cups of sugar mixed in. Bypassing the busier groups of festival-goers, they ended up near a museum in the heart of Buffalo. As part of the celebrations and general activities of the community block party, most of the exhibits were open, allowing visitors free entrance for a rare nighttime appreciation of the artwork.
Throughout his … travels, for lack of a better term—what he called his adventures as he delayed settling down in any fashion or reenlisting—Adam had visited plenty of facilities, certainly larger museums with more impressive buildings and expensive and rare collections. New York, L.A., Chicago, Miami. And those were only the domestic ones. When he’d had spare time overseas, he made sure to at least step into some foreign exhibits.
He’d always assumed his hard-to-explain draw to viewing art was due to Sammy, a slight pull and familiarity he could sense when he’d take a solo stroll through mostly quiet hallways housing paintings, sculptures, and demos.
Beside her as they stepped down marble floors, browsing the collections the museum had to offer, he couldn’t stop the idea from taking shape in his mind, that he’d been waiting for this opportunity. To simply enjoy the essence of the artist holding his hand as she pointed at works and offered explanations and opinions. Surrounded by her world, her medium, he felt included, like he belonged with her. Cocooned by representations, all the artwork nothing more than products of imagination, he floated high on the escapist concept offered. Holding her hand, listening to her soft words, studying the colors, lines, shapes, and styles, it didn’t matter what and if he’d figured anything out about himself or what he was supposed to be doing. His lack of direction in life, edging away from the normalcy of settling into any commitment with a partner, an employer, or a house, or the military again, didn’t matter. He could be anyone, anywhere, doing anything through the powers of imagination—he could do it all. Rooted to reality by Sammy’s touch, it was as though he was freed through the magic of illusion.
“Excuse me, sir?”
A man’s voice pulled Adam from his relaxed haze. He and Sammy had been sitting on a bench in the middle of a gallery, taking in the blue hues of a watercolor on the wall across from them. “Yes?”
The curator smiled kindly, cuffing his jacket sleeve up a bit to reveal his watch. “We’re closing in about fifteen minutes,” he said, pointing to the time.
For an evening visit to the museum, Adam gathered it had to be considerably late, at least later than they’d planned to stay out with another full day of driving ahead.
Hustling out and back to the motel, they detoured to get ice cream.
A date. That was what this was. He’d gone on a date. With Sammy.
Not just a random pick-up to treat to a dinner and a movie before they mutually moved on to the next.
He’d spent time with Sammy, outside all the driving in the car.
While it should have stunned him, triggering all kinds of retreat at the suggestion of commitment, he could only appreciate it and wonder one thing.
When will we do this again?
****
Their plan of driving from seven in the morning to nightfall would bring Adam to the doorsteps of the cabin in Lincoln, Vermont. One last full day together before Sammy would depart for the last small leg of her road trip, solo, to her grandfather’s office in Concord.
Despondent at the blunt fact he’d be saying goodbye to her irritated him.
Was he dependent on her? No, he wouldn’t admit so much. He could survive on his own, had been forever. But he didn’t want to when he knew he might be able to be with her instead.
Was he clinging to her? Eh… Nope, he couldn’t a
llow himself to forfeit all his prejudices to relying on someone else to render himself complete. But he anticipated a hell of a yawning void in his chest when she walked away.
Battling his brain, his heart was stabbing him with the premonition of a loss.
“So after you talk to him,” he said as she drove, “you’re heading straight back to San Fran?”
Sammy tilted her head side to side, suggesting she hadn’t made her mind up. “Lotta driving. Straight out here and then the rebound trip back.”
“I bet Jake would want to hang out, catch up,” he said. Lucky bastard. As her brother, he’d lay claim to being near her.
“Yeah, he would. And I do have to get back for classes, and work. And of course helping Clare tolerate recovery. She better be listening to her therapists.”
Adam couldn’t bring himself to glance her way, his stomach too acidic for the discussion of them parting ways.
“I did kind of think about staying a couple days to relax and rest before driving again.”
In the car for the return trip, she’d have to do it all. Worry entered his mind, stressing she might be too tired to drive it all. He shook his head to snap himself out of it. That, that was exactly why he couldn’t handle permanence, having to fret about another individual, the gnawing fear and dread something could happen to her. Get a girlfriend, he’d have to concentrate on making her happy. Buy a house, Jesus, all the obligated upkeep. Find a good job, he’d need to deal with company politics and all that crap. Re-enlist in a month, and he’d have plenty of duties to shoulder, not the least of which, the possible dangers of combat. And what if all those ties were the wrong ones anyway, not meant for him for the rest of his days?
“Jake would love that. I know he hates you being so far away,” he said.
“Eh… If he wanted to hang out away from home, sure, I’ll see him. But I was kinda hoping…”
He spun to face her. “Yeah?”
“I could loop back and check out your cabin with you. For a couple days. Nothing much. Of course you’ll be busy, and stuff.” She shook her head, shrugging at the same time. “Just an idea. Forget it.”
Her nerves soothed him. She had to have been pondering it for a while. He took her hand. “Please.”
She threaded her fingers between his, strengthening their grasp on each other.
“I’m not looking forward to saying goodbye,” he said. I don’t know if I can.
“Then don’t.”
He scoffed. “How would that work?”
Her reply wasn’t immediate. “Maybe we could try ‘see you later.’”
The idea that she was willing to continue what they had, whatever it was, calmed the anxiety in his chest. But did she really realize the difference? He could email as often as he could from Kuwait, but it wouldn’t have the tenderness of a kiss. He could seek her out in his allowed breaks from the military, but it wouldn’t be the same. Could she honestly handle that sacrifice of proximity?
More sobering though, was the conviction he might not be able to tolerate distance from her.
Chapter Seventeen
According to the crisp robotic intonation of the navigation on the dashboard, Sammy had an hour left. One single trip around the clock to savor the fun, the charm, the warmth, the seduction, and the comfort Adam gave her. Pinks and magentas began to streak the atmosphere, premature vows of a gorgeous sunset. But with nightfall, no matter how aesthetically breathtaking, her time was running out with Adam.
She had sixty minutes to absorb the end of this road trip with him. He’d grown quieter, while at the same time, he’d gotten more touchy-feely, needing to rest his hand on her thigh or hold her hand. It was as though he feared letting her go.
Farewells always stunk, other than hers when she fled Concord almost two years ago. That goodbye was full of spite and angry energy, not that she’d actually told her parents or Edgar, “Buh-bye.” She’d simply left.
Adam’s sour mood surprised her, though, because he’d been on board with the concept of coming and going, passing miles in the process. He’d made it clear he wasn’t one to strategize tying himself to anyone or anything, including her. Yeah, it was his decision to call her out and announce they wanted each other. As a friends-with-benefits fling, of course. So, why he was down about her leaving, she couldn’t guess. Because if it wasn’t her leaving him, he’d be doing the same to her. Maybe to another country again.
Impossible as it seemed, Sammy ventured to wonder if maybe he had developed something more somewhere between the glitz of Vegas and the woody hills of Vermont. As quickly as she started down that path of reasoning, it felt too similar to her daydreams, her wishful thoughts of Adam desiring to be her man. Not fooling herself, she knew Adam was still just as unreachable and out of her league as he’d ever been. He’d explained as much. No commitment.
What was she suggesting? He wanted her, a virgin with no experience? The skittish, too-quiet introvert who spoke better with her paintbrushes and pencils than with her words? Some sarcastic, younger “kid sister” type? And then what? He’d stake down his residence with her in her miniscule apartment next to Clare’s, in the touristy Haight?
Yeah, right.
“You doing okay?” Adam asked from the driver’s seat.
She offered a so-so noise of apprehension. Because when she wasn’t allowing herself to get her hopes up high with thinking Adam wanted her, really wanted her, as in more than just for sex, and when she wasn’t moping about the separation anxiety and ache of missing him that was rapidly approaching, she considered that the termination of her road trip brought her right back to her worst fears.
Facing Edgar. Negotiating to keep her trust fund. Staying firm and not weakening to the sharp judgment of the prestigious, pompous Millsons. Not her family—her enemy.
“How do you think I should do it? First thing in the morning? Just bam, knock on the door and let myself in?” she asked.
“Earlier would be better, I think. If you wait ’til afternoon, he could be out of the office or tied up.”
“Nip it in the bud, huh? Just go and get it over with?” she asked.
“Sammy, I’ll come with you if you want. Don’t forget my offer. You don’t have to face him alone.”
He was sweet, but how would that help? “I know. But I think I need to do this alone. Grow a pair and … just not let them bother me.” She sat straighter in her seat. “Just a business transaction. Nothing more.”
“Not to be an ass, but how many business transactions have you managed?”
She cocked her head to the side, watching the landscape blur by outside the windshield. She was young, but she’d gained way more life lessons and street smarts away from her family. “Actually, some. I mean, I’ve dealt with my agent. Clare and I had to research and negotiate terms. Neither of us had a clue what we were getting into, but we stayed afloat.”
“Fair point.”
Who was she kidding? He was right. She had absolutely no power. No gumption to counterbalance Edgar’s pissy attitude and money-minded deviousness.
“Sammy,” Adam said, “you’ve got this. It might not seem feasible, but you’re stronger than your deepest fears. You’re a fighter. A survivor.”
“I’m a runaway. A starving artist. A kid. A boring girl.”
“Bullshit. You running away took guts. You’re not a street painter, you’re a bestselling illustrator. You’re not a child, you’re a sexier-than-hell woman.”
Maybe he should come with me…
“I couldn’t even stand up for myself when I was at that party.” She ducked down, thumping her forehead to her knees. “I couldn’t even fight back to save myself.”
“Sammy!”
She winced at his harsh tone, still not lifting her face from her knees.
“You were drunk. I can’t name many people capable of controlling reality when they’re wasted. You. Are. Only. Human. Do not let that asshole win. Do not belittle yourself.”
“I’m scared.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t ever let fears hold you back, Sammy.”
She sat up, drained from the emotional mayhem in her head. “Have they ever stopped you?”
“Every day.”
Bullshit. Adam, afraid? Of what? He had the balls to take life in his hands and mold it into whatever he wanted.
Of course, she’d accomplished a smaller version of that feat when she turned off the engine and set foot in California.
Staring at Adam, his rugged profile slightly silhouetted with the slipping sun, she absorbed him, all the lean lines of his jaw she’d caressed, the sharp stubble that had burned her thighs, his disheveled hair she’d pulled on, his bold green eyes she’d gazed into. Trailing her attention lower, she sighed, wishing she could draw him, capture the essence of him to hang on to forever. Those firm lips she’d sucked, those solid arms that held her so gently.
Even if they could string along some contact in the future, to remain in touch enough to call and text, to keep up to date as friends, Sammy knew he’d already ruined her for any other man she would ever meet.
And the fear of never having loved him enough struck her cold, while escalating her desire to make their last night one she would truly never lose in her heart.
****
Lincoln, Vermont
Adam’s cabin was a small log structure, a sturdy, inviting one-story wooden house of paradise. And that was only the exterior. A porch graced the front, with a couple of Adirondack chairs beckoning weary bodies for a break in the mountain breeze. Like an idyllic stop for solace, peace, and quiet, as there were no other buildings in sight, no neighbors to mar the solitude, Sammy admired the location. Drawn to the single shelter nestled in the clearing of coniferous trees, she felt like Goldilocks stumbling on the fabled three bears’ cottage. Sunset was the backdrop for Adam’s temporary “home,” something expected for a glossy photograph in any edition of Country and Living’s country vacation hotspots.