Sam groaned, as if he were crushed by her weight.
“Watch it, buddy.”
He snuck a peek down her shirt. “Oh, I’m watching it.”
“Well, then let me make it easier for you.” She smiled as she removed her top.
His eyebrows rose with pleasure. “I need to schedule time away more often, if this is the kind of homecoming I can look forward to.”
“No need.” She ran her fingers through his wavy hair. “Didn’t you know that my infatuation with you has brought out my inner horndog?” Uh oh. She was beginning to lose that filter she tried so hard to maintain. “You can ask any of my old beaus; this is not characteristic behavior for me.”
“Infatuation? I hope it’s more than infatuation. Besides, I’d rather not consider your other boyfriends. The thought of someone else touching you is disturbing.”
They were silent for a few still moments, and her fingertips tingled as they brushed his lips. Adrenaline rushed at the anticipation of being his, that little squiggly sensation running through her insides. She hung her head in melodramatic fashion and sighed. “Why can’t things just stay like this?”
Sam stroked her cheek. “Because we’d kill each other off, that’s why. We’re not rabbits.”
Sophie cracked up. “Maybe I like being a rabbit.”
“And I like how your laugh comes so easily.” He pushed her hair away from her face as he gazed up at her. “No laughing in bed, though. It’s not allowed.”
She smiled softly, and his expression grew intent. “God, Sophie.” He exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath. “When you look at me like that. . .”
“Like what?”
“Do you have any idea?” He searched her eyes, his voice husky. “Do you?”
His hands began to roam her flesh, awakening every nerve. For a moment, her words caught in her throat. “More than you know,” she whispered. She rested her cheek on his chest, its thrumming inside giving her a welcome exhilaration.
“I know to say this is unoriginal.” His fingers traced over her shoulder blades. “But when I touch you . . . I’m home.”
Damn him and his beautiful words! Sophie squeezed him as hard as she could before taking his face in her hands and kissing him with a passion she never knew she possessed.
Later that afternoon, Sophie lay tucked inside Sam’s arm. With his hand draped across her, he buried his face into her hair. “So, what would you like to do for New Year’s Eve?”
“You’re lookin’ at it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mmm hmm.” She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
She sat up, holding the blankets close to her body; the room was a little too chilly for her liking. She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you keep asking that?”
“Well,” he said as he got out of bed, reaching for his pants and taking out his wallet. “I thought, since you said Disneyland is your favorite place in the world. . . .” He pulled out two tickets and held them up, before handing them to her.
“Awww!” She held them to her chest. “This will be so wonderful! And Disneyland is so gorgeous at Christmas time.” He joined her in bed, and she drew him in for a smooch. “Thank you. I love it.”
“Thank you, for being a woman who prefers Disneyland to expensive jewelry.”
“What do you mean? Disneyland isn’t cheap, so we’re going in halves on—”
Sam placed his hand over her mouth so that she couldn’t finish.
“Whum?” she mumbled.
“Just shut up,” he ordered.
“Um uh uying!”
“Shh!”
Finally, she stopped trying to talk and lay still. He slowly removed his hand, and she remained silent for a few more seconds. “I’m just sayin’, we’re splitting the—”
He planted his palm on her mouth again. “My God, woman! Don’t you ever stop?”
She shook her head, her eyes smiling, before starting to giggle.
“Read my lips,” he said, his face inches from hers. “We are not talking about this anymore.”
She took his hand and pulled it from her face. “Okay! But can I at least buy you a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt? Maybe some ears?”
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
“Sheesh, so bossy!”
“So,” he said, running his fingers along her shoulder. “Now that we’ve gotten our hellos out of the way, go ahead and give me the dirt on your sister.”
“Urgh.” Sophie made a disgruntled face. Since Sam had left the morning after Christmas, she hadn’t yet given him the details of Evie’s heartbreak. They had spoken briefly while he was gone, but she didn’t want to burden him with her family drama while he was on his trip.
“What was the fight about?” He referred to the palpable discord between Evie and Christian that night. “What did he do now?”
“Pisstian?”
Sam repressed a smirk; apparently he couldn’t help but be amused by her all-encompassing distaste for her brother-in-law.
“Oh, Pisstian cheated on her.”
“Wait a minute. So he really was cheating?”
“No, not when I talked to him. Well, who knows? Maybe he was. But apparently, this happened after I met him that day. With some woman who was at his gallery exhibition.”
“Geez.” Sam grimaced. “What a blow. How’s Evie?”
“Completely destroyed, of course.”
“How did she find out?”
“I guess he told her the night it happened. That’s why there was so much friction between them on Christmas.”
Sam nodded thoughtfully.
“So get this,” Sophie continued. “She’s trying to decide if she wants to work it out.”
“Uh huh . . . And?”
“And? And what?”
“So you think it should be a deal breaker.”
“And you don’t?”
“I think it’s a deal breaker if Evie feels it is. And it isn’t if she doesn’t.”
Sophie shook her head in disbelief. “How can you say that? It’s the ultimate betrayal! You mean to tell me that if I cheated on you, you could overlook it?”
“Overlook it—no. Get past it—Maybe? Honestly, I don’t know what I would do.” He scratched his temple. “Sometimes we’re sure how we would deal with something, and then when it actually happens, we discover we were wrong.”
“But how can she ever trust him again?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But people work through it.”
“Wow.” There was an edge to her voice. “I gotta say I’m shocked.”
“People work through it,” he reasserted firmly.
Sophie gaped at him.
Sam went silent for a moment. “My own parents did.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Who was the guilty one?” Sophie asked.
“Both of them.”
“Both of them?” Her eyes grew large. “And how do you even know this? Did they tell you?”
“Oh, God no.” He winced and briefly closed his eyes. “But I overheard the fights when I was a teenager. I don’t know when it happened, if it was years before, or during that timeframe. I don’t know the details, who wronged who first, and I really don’t want to. Actually I would sort of like to know the details, simply because I find people so interesting. But as their son—no. I don’t need to know.”
He got out of bed to look out the window as the threatening gray sky now unleashed its showers. Thunder faintly boomed in the distance. “Nice.” He pulled on his boxers. “I was hoping it would rain.”
Still absorbing Sam’s surprising bit of info about his parents, Sophie thought about when he had spoken of them before, how they were devoted to one another, yet diametric as fire and water. “Huh.” Sophie pondered.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Evie told me that even after what he’s done, she still can’t help feeling they belong together. Like he’s her soul mate or something. How can he be her soul ma
te?”
“Easy,” Sam answered, still gazing outside. “But I have a different definition of soul mate than most people.”
“And what’s that?”
“Do you care if I open the window so we can smell the rain? Or will you be too cold?”
She smiled inwardly. “Go for it.”
He unlocked the latches and pulled the window all the way open before taking a deep, satisfied breath, inhaling the scent from outdoors.
She watched him standing there and wished she could steal but an ounce of his placidity. Of course she possessed her own moments of calm, but why did it seem as if Sam’s were far more potent? “So, I’m still waiting for you to enlighten me,” she reminded.
“Oh.” He tapped his forehead in self-admonition, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in a most endearing way. He climbed back into the covers and pulled her close, as the thunder rumbled once again. “Shit! It is kinda cold in here with that window open, isn’t it?”
Instead of telling him she’d already been chilly, she buried herself into the warmth of his chest, enjoying the sound and smell of the drizzle outdoors.
“Okay,” he continued. “My take on a soul mate.”
Sophie propped her head on her elbow so that she could look at him.
He chuckled. “You’re starting to make me feel like a Master of the Jedi, and you’re my young Padawan.”
She responded by opening her palm to the ceiling, indicating she still awaited an answer.
He shook his head and offered a bemused smile. “It’s someone who complements you. Someone who helps you grow, not just through joy, but sometimes through pain. Maybe tests your patience, your ability to forgive. Why do you think so many married couples, ones that have been together forever, are complete opposites?” He turned to her briefly before staring ahead, rubbing his jaw. “And you watch them sniping at each other in their later years and think to yourself, What the hell? A Viagra commercial they are not. But something real has kept them together for that long, otherwise everyone would get divorced the minute their kids were grown.”
Sophie stared at his profile long and hard, taking pleasure in the deep contemplation affirmed in his brow. “You really are a romantic, aren’t you,” she said softly.
“Whatever. Laugh at me all you want.”
“I’m not laughing at you.”
He rolled onto his side so that they were face to face. “You’re black and white. I’m gray,” he said plainly. “That’s why we’re together.”
Twenty
Sophie usually looked forward to school on Fridays because it was a “catch up” day for students after they took their weekly quiz. This meant it was an opportunity for her to catch up on some grading. However, this particular Friday was not one of her best.
In third period, Nina sat a few feet from Sophie’s desk. She rarely did anything productive. Most of the time, she picked at her nails or played with her long blonde hair. She was on a behavior plan, which meant Sophie had to fill out a card each day, rating how well she worked on a scale from one to six. Nina would take the card to her next class, and that teacher would do the same.
After several attempts at trying to get her to do her work, Sophie finally asked, “Nina, are you going to do anything today?”
“No,” Nina answered quite plainly.
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t want to.” She didn’t say it defiantly, simply matter-of-fact. Nina had earned herself a one on her card.
In rushed those flames on the side of Sophie’s face, along with the spiel she had given many a student over the years, about how we all have to do things in life that we don’t want to do. And how did they think that attitude was going to go over when they had a job someday? Did they think they were going to be able to say to their boss, Sorry, I just don’t want to do that? Although she attempted an air of detachment, Sophie’s blood often boiled every time she gave this speech because she knew very well it went in one ear and out the other.
How many times had she had this internal war, between vowing to no longer waste her time and energy battling with students who didn’t give a rat’s ass, and being so stubborn that she refused to let them win? Why couldn’t she just let it go for good? They would never change. In the last five years, she could not think of one student she had turned. Sure, there were students who already cared, who worked hard and understood the importance of their education. However, it seemed there were far too many who didn’t, who were beyond reach.
She hated that she felt that way. It was downright depressing.
She had tried every angle—the sensitive angle, the firm angle, the I’m telling you this because I care about you, and I want you to have a good life angle. But often all she would get in return was a vacant stare, and she wondered if there was really anybody in there.
Because Sophie had always enjoyed school, she assumed that being a teacher was a reasonable choice as a profession. Unfortunately, this was an erroneous conclusion. Being the self-motivated, straight A student, she couldn’t relate to the child who hated school. How could they not try? Why didn’t they want to get the best grades they could? Why weren’t they devastated when they received a failing grade? Who were these creatures, and how could she ever cross the divide?
Some students had crappy home lives so she could understand their apathy, but the ones who didn’t would always be an enigma to Sophie. She was convinced the teacher who had been somewhat of a “screw-up” as a child would always have an edge with kids; they could see themselves in those students and establish some sort of alliance.
Once, she believed she had gotten through to one of the those kids. An eighth grade boy, a player with the young ladies, and always getting himself into trouble. Davaun was a foster child, so life at home wasn’t the best. Sophie had pulled him aside for a heart to heart. She didn’t remember exactly what she had said, but he gave her his full attention as she spoke, his dark eyes intent.
Hey, this kid is truly paying attention! she thought. Could he actually be absorbing what I’m saying? She felt pretty good. She didn’t expect his behavior to change, but had hopes that at least her words would stick with him, and maybe someday an incandescent flare would fire off in his brain.
However, that naiveté was short-lived when she had spoken with Lisa the following day in the workroom. They were discussing Davaun and his unsavory path, when Lisa said, “Yeah, I had a little chat with him about the poor choices he’s been making.” He often intimated at his love of weed. “He said that you tried to talk to him.”
“He did?” Sophie was slightly encouraged. “What did he say?”
“He mentioned your eyes.” There was irritation in Lisa’s voice.
Sophie was bewildered. “My eyes?”
“Uh huh. He said you have eyes he could fall into.”
Sophie slammed the drawer closed on the copy machine. “Are you shittin’ me?” He hadn’t heard a word she said. To him, she was the teacher on Peanuts, who never actually spoke in words. Wuahh wu wuah, whuaaaaah.
And now that she thought about it, she was sure that’s all Nina heard at the moment. Whuahh wuah wuaaaaaaah!
By the time afternoon rolled around, she’d sent two students to the dean—one for cheating, and one for throwing a chair.
After her last group of students had cleared, Sophie sat in the empty classroom during her sixth hour prep, staring numbly at her computer screen. Thank God the day was over and it was Friday. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the tiny dark bottle that contained a blend of essential oils purported to have calming properties. A couple of hours ago, she’d put some behind her ears and on her wrists. Now she opened the bottle and inhaled deeply; maybe she could just shove it right up her nose and leave it there. It was small enough. She attempted to read the tiny print to see if it was safe to apply to nasal passages, then sighed heavily before putting the lid back on.
Her phone rang, and she looked at the caller ID. No! It was Mr. Hopper. Sh
e’d never met anyone as technologically challenged as Mr. Hopper, and when they first met, she made the mistake of telling him to call on her whenever he had difficulties. She stared at the phone. If she didn’t pick up, he would hunt her down and she’d never break free, so she answered.
“Sophie, I’m having a bit of trouble with my gradebook. I need to change the category weights, but I can’t remember where to find them.”
“Okay, Marvin, just go to the upper left hand corner of the window and click on File. Do you see it?”
“Let’s see . . . there’s class lists, grading scale, seating charts, citizenship. . . .”
Sophie dropped her forehead into the palm of her hand. He did this every time she asked him to locate something. He proceeded to list everything he saw on his screen.
“Okay, okay,” she interrupted. “File. It’s the blue button. Upper left. Do you see it?”
“No, there’s preferences, special grades, comments, records. . . .”
Good Lord. Somebody shoot me now.
“Oh wait!” he exclaimed. “File. Right here. Blue button.”
Fifteen minutes later, she managed to get Mr. Hopper off the phone and was slathering on the essential oil.
Her thoughts drifted to Sam, lightening her disposition. On days like these, his easy, jovial manner managed to lift her out of a pissy mood. She decided she would drop in on his last class; most likely he would have some papers she could offer to help grade.
His voice had already reached her ears before she rounded the corner to his room, but it scarcely resembled him at all. It wasn’t loud—she couldn’t yet make out what was being said—but there was a steeliness to his tone that was unsettling.
“Why would you do that?” Sam demanded from a boy in the hallway. Sam’s back was turned toward Sophie, and an inexplicable chill warned her that this involved more than a thrown chair. “Are you really that miserable, you have to be so hateful and offensive to make yourself feel better? Is that it?”
The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unprepared for the anger coming from the usually tolerant Mr. Collins. “It was just a joke.” He blinked, his expression blank.
“Not that you would care, but do you know that his mom has cancer, that she’s fighting to stay alive? And now he has to find this garbage online, from the likes of you?”
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