“I…” It’s time to be open and honest, not just with him, but with everyone. And with myself. I look around for my phone. “I need to text Rick.” It’s not the most wholesome way to break—
Tom’s face changes. Sadness rolls off his entire body. Anger creeps in, and his nostrils flare. He whispers, “He doesn’t love you, Sammie.”
I stop, frozen. Tom turns his back to me and takes a deep breath. Then he’s gone, vanishing around the corner into the kitchen.
Did he…? I can’t finish my own thought. I follow him into the kitchen.
He slaps a spatula onto the counter when I round the corner. “I didn’t fuck you last night because I don’t want it to be fucking. That’s what it will be if you go back to him. Straight-up side-action fucking.” He steps away from the counter, then back again. “Damn it, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? I wanted to be with you so badly I let last night happen even though I know you haven’t made up your mind. I wanted to wake up next to you.”
My mouth opens and closes. “You wanted to wake up next to me?”
He’s watching me from his spot next to the counter, his jaw tight and his hand clenching the spatula. “Yes.”
I realize this moment isn’t just a test, it’s the test. Am I going to be that woman he’s afraid I am? The one who does side-action fucking? The one who lives with a guy because I like the sex and won’t move out because…
And it’s there, finally, in the front on my mind, a label on my little issues: because I think my main worth is the fucking.
I gasp, holding in a sob. Oh my God, how can that be? I’m doing well in my career. I’m happy with my friends and my life except when I’m not.
But I’m lonely. And I finally understand why.
“Sammie.” Tom drops the spatula onto the counter and scoops me up into his big arms before I take another breath.
I can barely speak. How can I think such things? It’s stupid. Tom doesn’t see me that way. Though I am pretty sure Rick does.
And there’s my answer to what’s been feeding that stupid little thought.
“You’re…” I curl against Tom’s chest, my cheek pressed against his breastbone, over his heart. It beats strong and steady, like him. Strong, steady, and…
And accepting.
“What, Sammie?” His arms tighten around my waist, drawing me closer.
I don’t finish my thought. I can’t. I know what I’d say: You’re perfect. You’re wonderful. You’re better than I deserve.
And I think I’m falling in love with you.
I’m terrified by this new thought. Will I ever deserve this man?
“I know what you’re thinking.” He speaks softly, into my hair. “You’re thinking that you’re fucked up again, aren’t you?”
I nod against his chest, sniffling. My tears streak his skin but I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to move out of his embrace ever again.
“Then we take this one step at a time, okay?”
I nod again.
But I feel a small quake move through his body and his jaw tenses against my forehead. “What were you going to text to Rick?”
That I never want to see him again, I think. I so very much want to leave him—and the part of my life he represents—behind. “That I’m moving out. That I won’t be there when he gets home tonight.”
A quick, controlled sigh brushes against my hair. Tom’s arms tighten again and for a moment, it’s hard to breathe.
He’s not letting me go. Even with all my fucked-upped-ness, he’s holding on.
I kiss his jaw, holding on for dear life. He threw me a life preserver and I’m not going to lose it. I’m not going to ruin this. “Can I store my stuff here until I find a place to live? I don’t have a lot.”
A snort pops against the skin over my ear. “You can stay here as long as you want. Not just your stuff. You.” He backs away enough to look me in the eye. “If you need space, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I giggle as much from the release of tension as from his chivalrousness. “You don’t have a couch.”
“Then I will blow up the air mattress and sleep on the floor. I’m not letting you go. And I’m not letting you run away, either. I’m a Quidell. We fight for what we want.” He pulls me back into his arms.
I bury my face in his chest, even though my head’s spinning.
“Sammie.” A gentle kiss touches my temple. Another falls on my cheek. When I lift my chin, yet another brushes my lips. “We’ll take this slow, okay? So we’re both sure.”
I nod, not speaking. He’s right. Figuring this out will take some time.
Another warm, sweet kiss finds my mouth. “Let’s get your things.”
Tom takes my hand to help me into my future.
13
Thomas
“How did you live in this dungeon?” I ask Sammie. How someplace as architecturally interesting as her building could be rendered so deeply dark and soulless, I do not understand. Yet here I stand in the huge, open center space wondering if I’m about to hear bats flitting around the ceiling.
Sammie kisses my cheek as she sets another box next to the door. She’s filled storage containers, laundry baskets, even plastic grocery bags and I’ve been hauling them down to the truck. All that’s left is an antique table lamp from her grandmother and a wide assortment of frozen dinners.
“No you don’t.” I scowl at the bag holding the contents of the freezer. “You don’t need this crap. I’m going to feed you well.” Looking her up and down, I give her my best charming grin. “How can you be so blazing hot when you eat this stuff?”
She laughs, grinning back at me. “And how am I supposed to ‘take it slow’ when you’re always flirting with me?”
How am I supposed to not flirt with her? Running up and down in the elevator has kept my mind occupied, but my balls ache. The “taking it slow” is excruciating.
She laughs again when I don’t answer. My face must have given me away. But a hint of nervousness filters through with her chuckle. She must still feel uneasy about all this.
I jam my hands into my pockets. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—”
A kiss silences my apology. It’s quick—she’s out of reach before I can wrap my arms around her—but it’s still a kiss. I grin again, watching her put the frozen dinners back in the freezer.
“I’ll leave the bad food, how’s that sound?” She slams the door and looks around the kitchen one last time.
Leave the bad food here. And all the bad memories, I think. She needs to leave it all behind, especially Rick the dick.
The cat—Mickles, she calls him—rubs against my shin. He’s a sweet fluffy animal and every time I come in, he meows a greeting.
“Is Mr. Pickles coming too?” I pick him up, stroking his back. “He likes me. See?” The cat headbutts my chin and I scratch his ears, doing my best to make her some new, good memories.
Sammie watches for a long second. Her face softens and she smiles a sweet, wonderful smile. “He was wandering outside shortly after I moved in. Rick brought him in, so I’ve always thought of him as Rick’s cat. But I’m the one who takes care of him.”
“She calls you Mickles, did you know that?” I rub under the kitty’s chin. “You let her get away with that? Have you no dignity, man?”
Mickles meows his answer and headbutts me again.
Sammie laughs. “And here I thought he was aloof and standoffish. He’s never like that with Rick.”
“Well then, I shall liberate the woman and the cat.” Bowing, I look around. “Got a carrier for him?”
I get a thrill from stealing the douchebag’s cat. Juvenile, I know. But I’m not leaving the kitty here to have him end up on the street again.
“It’s in the hall closet.” She points down the dark corridor.
This place really is a cave.
Sammie opens the cabinet door next to her head. “I’ll get his food and dishes. There’s a bag of litter in the closet. Grab it too, please.”
Nodding, I set down Mickles and walk away, toward the kitty’s carrier. We’ll be out of here in a minute or so, and then she’s mine. She can take as long as she wants to ease into it, but it’s going to happen. Her key to this place and a note are already on the kitchen table.
I have a couple of sleepless nights ahead of me, knowing she’s nearly naked in my bed, by herself. Maybe touching herself as she thinks about me. God knows I’m going to be touching myself. I shift as I walk, hoping she doesn’t take too long.
I hear the front door open. Sammie must be taking another load down to the—
“Rick!”
I stop, my hand inches from the closet doorknob. The son of a bitch is back. Early.
Every inch of my body screams to march in there right now and punch the douchebag. But acting like some uncivilized freak will just chase Sammie away. So I don’t. My arm tightens, wanting that punch, but I won’t.
“What are you doing?” I hear a male voice. He sounds more annoyed than angry.
“You texted me, not your booty call last week, Rick.” Sammie sounds strong, not frightened.
“So?”
I turn around. I can’t be in the hallway, with her alone with him.
“What did you think I was going to do?” But her voice is strong and she’s holding it together. I feel a rush of pride, though I know I don’t have a right to.
Rick drops something onto the floor and a boom reverberates through the loft. “I don’t know. Ask to join us?”
I stomp down the hall. Even if I don’t punch him, he needs to know I’m here.
“Who’d you bring in here?”
“None of your business, Rick.” Fear is creeping into her voice.
“It’s my business who you bring into my place, you little bitch.”
“Little bitch?” Sammie sounds shocked. “Have I always been a little bitch to you?”
“You’re surprised? And here I thought you liked it.”
When I round the corner, he’s standing over her, his posture dominant and threatening. He’s muscular like an athlete, but I’m bigger.
“Leave her alone,” I growl.
Rick looks up, his eyes narrow. “I’m not the only one with some side action, huh?” He steps away from Sammie.
She’s shaking. I walk to her, my gaze not leaving Rick, and pull her against my side.
The need to punch him—punch anything—makes my shoulders tense.
Sammie steps in front of me, her back against my chest, like she’s protecting me.
When she speaks, her voice is low. “He’s a million times a better man than you, Rick.”
She’s against me and I feel her shaking grow. She can’t be here anymore. I curl my arms around her waist. She doesn’t need him cutting her down.
“Let’s go,” I whisper.
Her arms fold over mine. “He’s a million times a better person than me.”
Rick snorts. “Everyone is a better person than you, sweetheart.”
He’s glaring at her, not looking at me, and I think that if she’d come here alone, he would have hit her. Her breath hitches.
“Don’t listen to him.” I want to tell her the truth—that she has a beautiful heart and wonderful mind and that I’m falling in love with her. That she’s worth so much more than how this asshole makes her feel. “You’re my muse,” I whisper.
Sammie turns in my arms, her eyes huge, but she doesn’t speak. A tear appears on her lashes and all I want to do is to kiss it away. All I want right now is to pick her up and take her out of here.
I look over her shoulder, right at the son of a bitch. I’m trying not to yell, but it comes out loud anyway. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
I pull Sammie closer.
Rick laughs. “Sure thing, bro.”
If she hadn’t been between us, I would have hit him. But she holds onto me and she’s more important. Much more important.
She doesn’t turn around. “Do not contact me again, Rick.”
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and tosses it onto the table. “Get out, you little skank. If I find anything of yours left behind, I’m burning it.”
He flips us off and walks away, into the living room.
And I all but carry Sammie out of there.
14
Samantha
Tom slams the back of his truck. On my lap, Mickles circles inside his carrier and lets out a frightened little whimper.
I don’t blame the kitty. I want to whimper, too.
Tom’s taking me to his place. He refused to let me go back up to the loft after putting Mickles in the carrier. He went in by himself to get my grandmother’s lamp. I sat in the truck for an agonizing fifteen minutes, terrified that he and Rick would get into a fight and Tom would end up in jail because of me. But he appeared again, the lamp in one hand and the bag of cat litter in the other, and finished packing the truck.
He opens the driver’s side door and stands there, looking at me with more concern on his face than I’ve ever seen from a boyfriend. “Are you going to be alright?”
My own thought buzzes in my head. Boyfriend. I obviously mean more to him than just a fuck buddy. A lot more. A million times more.
“Honey, are you okay?” He crawls in but doesn’t start the truck.
I nod yes. “Thank you.”
Tom leans across the shift and gently kisses my cheek. “You are my muse. Please believe that.”
My mouth opens and I suck in my breath. What’s going to happen when he realizes I’m not as good a person as he is? Will he kick me out, too?
The truck starts and he pulls out onto the street. We head back to his place, silent except for Mickles’s meowing.
“Everything he said is bullshit, Sammie.” He’s watching traffic and not me. “I am not a million times better than you. Him? Fuck, yeah. But you? No.” Tom throws me one of his disarming grins.
This handsome man wants me to be his muse. He wants me to live with him and be his friend and his lover. But mostly he wants me to be happy.
My breath hitches but I hold in the tears. I’m a fucking mess.
“Tell you what. I’ll stop and we’ll get a pint of that extra thick, extra chocolaty ice cream and call it dinner, okay?” Another disarming grin comes my way.
I laugh. I can’t help myself. “You said no bad food.” He’s trying so hard to make everything better. It’s working, too.
“Since when is chocolate bad food? It’s therapy.” He winks. “At least that’s what I see all my female relatives say on social media.”
I laugh again. How can he make me feel so much better so fast? It’s like he’s magic.
Which, I’m beginning to suspect, he is. If I found some sort of supernatural being when I first saw him as a freshman. “Did you put a spell on me all those years ago when you drew that first picture?”
Now Tom laughs. “Why yes, m’lady, I did. And the only way to break it is to eat ice cream with me.” He glances over again as he pulls into the grocery store parking lot. “You, my beautiful Sammie, are about to be treated to a good meal. One I cook special for you.”
“Oh?” He has that happy look to him again, like when he gave me the first drawing. He’s put what happened with Rick behind him, even if I haven’t yet.
“Your new life awaits and I intend to celebrate.” He rolls down the windows. “So that neither you nor Mickles become uncomfortable while I’m inside purchasing secret ingredients for our special meal.” Opening the door, he hops out. “I shall return to you momentarily, my sweet.”
As I watch him walk into the store, I breathe deep for the first time since we left the loft, and I realize Tom rescued me. Not during the altercation with Rick—that, he let me handle myself. I needed to handle it myself. I needed to see just how much Rick didn’t care.
But Tom does. And just now, here, in his truck, he offered me another a life preserver so I don’t drown in the residue of the hell I just left behind. The hell of my own making that I’ve bee
n wallowing in.
I scratch Mickles’s fur through the door of his carrier. “What do you think, my fluffy friend?”
The cat answers with a questioning meow.
“Yeah, I think you’re right. I think I better not screw this up.” I sit up straight in the seat. I’m leaving the fucked-up me behind, in the loft, with Rick. Tom’s right—I need to own not just my libido but all my wants and desires. And right now, I want my lover to also be my friend.
I want intimacy with my sex. I want to wake up with the sun.
I want Tom.
* * *
Tom went all out. The whole meal smelled as good as it looked. The steak was the best I’ve tasted in a long time, as were the potatoes and the salad and the wine. He even managed to coax Mickles out from under the bed for his dinner.
We ate on the floor again, next to his easel, with one of my boxes between us acting as a table.
I sit back, watching him. I feel relaxed, floating in a warm wine buzz. I hold up the tumbler for a bit more. “We need to get you some proper stemware.”
“Hmm…” He takes another sip.
I tap the box. “And you need a table.”
“Sounds like we need to go shopping.” The we rolls off his tongue, accented lightly by his baritone, and he smiles.
He’s beyond handsome. My body has been responding to his gaze and his touch all evening and it’s been driving me insane. Everything tightens. My mouth waters and I feel new moisture between my thighs.
It’s different this time. My desire for him feels deeper, as if it’s coming from everywhere and not just from my erogenous zones.
But if I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit that it isn’t different. I’m just admitting it for the first time. He’s caused this reaction from me since the first moment I met him and up until now, I didn’t want to think about it.
Because I didn’t think it was real. No man who saw only my tits would laugh and smile with me, or comfort me the way he has, or would have rescued my cat, too. Or want to take me shopping for housewares.
He helped me unpack, made dinner, even served the ice cream first. We talked about work and our favorite movies and how we’re going to get him into a gallery.
Thomas's Muse: A Quidell Brothers Novella Page 7
