by Jenna Payne
“You made me stab myself you asshole!” His voice was choked, as if he was fighting back tears.
“You brought this on yourself. Get out of here before I call the cops.”
The voice floated out of the shadows, but Samantha was more focused on her attacker, and the breath he’d knocked out of her.
“I’m trying, man. But I can’t. The knife is in my leg. Oh God, it’s in my leg, help me.”
Samantha heard a loud sigh, and saw the light from a cellphone as her rescuer pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. When he pulled the phone to his face and the light caught it, Samantha gasped.
Was it possible, or had she hit her head on the pavement when she fell?
But she knew she hadn’t. Her hero was none other than Blake Stemmons. A man too into his cellphone to sign her poster, but apparently willing to take a moment to throw a street thug around like a rag doll.
“Hello? Yes, I’m at the Peachtree stadium, in the parking lot. There’s a man here who stabbed himself in the leg with a knife.”
“I didn’t stab myself, man. You threw me.”
The mugger’s voice was high-pitched now, just short of a childish whine. Blake stepped a little further away, ignoring the man while he continued his conversation with the 9-1-1 operator.
“No, he’s not mortally injured,” he covered the phone with his hand and looked at Samantha. “Miss, are you injured?”
“I don’t think so,” she managed, wishing she could crawl into a hole and hide from this night. Could it get any worse?
“I think you should probably send someone to look at the woman he attacked as well.”
He hung up with the operator and knelt beside Samantha. She let him help her sit up, wincing when he placed his hand on her elbow and waving him off when he offered to help her stand.
Apparently she had hit her head because it was throbbing inside her skull.
“Are you alright?”
His voice was soft, and he sounded genuinely concerned.
“I am, no thanks to you,” she spat out.
He was taken aback and Samantha instantly felt badly.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault the guy attacked me. Though, if I hadn’t waited so long for you to not sign my poster, I would have been home and safe in my own bed long before now.”
Blake reached out, gently cupping her chin and tilting her head so that the dim light of a distant lamp illuminated it.
“I remember you. You’re the one that was in line behind the crazy woman who wanted me to sign her chest.”
“Yes. I was the woman who foolishly waited over an hour for you so I could watch you text on your phone and then walk out when it was finally my turn. This has turned into to the worse night of my life, and I wish you’d just go away.”
*****
Blake took his jacket off, wrapping it around Samantha’s tiny frame while the mugger writhed on the ground, moaning in pain. They could hear the sirens in the distance, but it was a Friday night in Atlanta; those sirens could be for anyone.
When Blake looked away to see if the ambulances were headed for the entrance to the parking lot, Samantha took a long whiff of his jacket. It smelled exactly as she’d envisioned it. Fresh and clean, with just a hint Aqua da Gio cologne.
It was her favorite.
Blake turned back to her.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“The concern on your face looks almost genuine.”
Samantha’s tone was snippy, but she didn’t care. Leave it to the football star to snub his fans for a phone call but turn around and play super hero for publicity.
“Look. I’m sorry about the phone call. It couldn’t wait.”
“She must be another of the blonde bombshells falling all over themselves to get your signature.”
“What? No. It’s nothing like that. It’s not important.”
“It was important enough to walk out on your fans.”
“It really wasn’t like that, and I’m sorry you waited so long to see me. But you’re seeing me now. That’s got to count for something, right?”
“No. I’m bruised and battered, my head hurts and my favorite shirt is ruined.”
She threw her keys at her assailant to prove her point, her anger getting the best of her. The heavy set smacked him in the side of the head, making a loud clanking sound before skidding across the pavement.
“Ow! What the hell? Can’t you see I’m injured enough, you crazy witch!”
Blake jumped up, retrieving her keys and handing them back to her.
“I won’t tell anyone if you feel like bouncing them off his head again. He deserves it.”
“Says the man who wears shoulder pads and runs after a little ball for a living. I work for my money, man.”
Blake raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond to the man. He’d landed on his own knife and the ambulances were pulling in, followed closely by the cops. His day was going badly enough.
“Look,” Blake leaned in close, locking eyes with Samantha, “I want to make it up to you. How about dinner tomorrow night?”
Samantha scoffed.
“Why would I want to go out to dinner with a guy like you? You’re nothing like I thought you were, so I’ll pass, thanks. I don’t want to get stood up for a text message.”
The ambulances were getting closer, their sirens blaring loudly across the empty space. Blake stood and waved at them, then squatted down beside Samantha.
“I’m sorry. I feel awful and you’ve really misjudged me. I’m a good guy, and I’d really like the opportunity to show you. Just friends, no strings. At the end of the night, I’ll drive you home and we’ll say our goodbyes with no expectations.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a jerk and I just don’t want to. I’m not into pity dates.”
“It’s not a pity date. I noticed you a long time before the first text message. Trust me, I was much more disappointed when I had to step away than you were. I’d been waiting forever to talk to you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“My answer is still no. I have enough to deal with right now, and I don’t need a new romance. Especially not one that’s doomed from the start.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“It’s just not going to happen.”
The ambulances pulled up, one next to the man writhing on the ground dramatically and the other next to Samantha.
Blake stood, walking over to the policeman to give him his statement after they cuffed the assailant. A paramedic crouched down beside Samantha, shining a light into her eyes and looking at her head.
“You have a pretty nasty bump there. How are you feeling?” the paramedic asked.
“I feel like some jackass assaulted me in the parking lot and tried to take my keys.”
Blake walked over, concern etched across his face. The paramedic turned to him.
“Sir, is your girlfriend always belligerent or is this a drastic change in behavior?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Samantha ground out through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry. Is your wife typically hostile and have you noticed any other changes since she hit her head?”
“I don’t even know this man, he just came out of the shadows and saved my life-”
Samantha stopped, looking at Blake when it all sank in. A man had had a knife to her throat, ready to do who knows what to her and Blake had saved her life.
She looked at the man being loaded onto a stretcher, his hands cuffed and an excessive amount of gauze wrapped around his leg and the knife to hold it steady for the ride to the hospital. She looked at the ground beside her, where the blood from her head wound had made a tiny dark spot in the asphalt. Then she looked at Blake, standing there in the chilly night without his jacket.
She pulled the jacket closer, her voice barely above a whisper when she said, “You saved my life.”
His voice held no hint of boasting, the statement more matter-of-fact than anything.
“Wow. Thank you.”
“Now will you go out with me? For dinner. And maybe dancing?”
She looked him square in the eye, her voice calm and steady.
“No.”
*****
Samantha walked into work Monday morning, her head still a little tender, with three tiny pink stitches hidden by a wisp of brown hair on her forehead.
“Hey Sammy, how are you feeling?” Jen ask when she walked in and sat down at her cubicle.
“Like crap but better than yesterday and much better than Saturday. Hey thanks for picking me up Saturday morning. I didn’t want to call my parents and have to explain what happened.”
“Sure thing.”
She hung over the low wall between the desks, looking around to make sure no one else in the call center was listening.
“So, you never talked about what happened with Blake.”
She arched one red eyebrow and gave Samantha a sheepish grin.
“Nothing happened, I told you. He asked for my number and I shut him down.”
“So you don’t want to go on a date with him?”
She bit her lip, her face suddenly reddening.
“No. Why Jen. What did you do?”
“I didn’t know, I swear. I thought you were messing with me.”
“What did you do?”
“I private messaged him on Facebook, thanking him for saving my friend. One thing led to another and I may have given him-”
Jen trailed off, looking up as the main door opened and a man stopped at the reception desk for directions.
“Oops,” Jen said, and quickly changed her phone to available, picking it up and answering a call. When Samantha shot her a dirty look, she shrugged her shoulders.
The delivery man walked up to Samantha’s cubicle, one arm wrapped around a large vase of yellow orchids and a box of fancy chocolates tucked under his other arm.
“Are you Samantha Banks?”
A room full of heads whipped around, many still on the phone, but all eyes on Samantha and the magnificent floral arrangement being placed on her desk. She wanted to wanted duck and hide, but the short-walled cubicles offered little privacy.
She could always go under her desk.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked and she cleared it and tried again. “Yes, I’m Samantha Banks.”
“Good. I need you to sign here and here and I’ll leave these here.”
Samantha took his PDA and signed, her signature shaky and illegible. The man walked away, passing one of the call center employees.
Ugh, not Marta, Samantha thought. No sooner had she thought the words than raven-haired Marta’s hand reached out and snatched the card that was buried in the delicate flowers.
“Jeez Marta. What are you, in high school?”
Marta smiled and spun out of Samantha’s grasp as she opened the envelope and slipped the tiny, hand-written card out. Samantha shot Jen another sour look, but it was too late. Half the office had put their calls on hold and were waiting with rapt attention to hear what was on the card.
“My dearest Samantha,” Marta read aloud. “I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I want to make it up to you, and I’m not going to take no for an answer.”
“Stalker,” a random voice called out and everyone chuckled.
Crawling under the desk was looking better and better.
“Would you please join me tonight,” Marta continued, “at Mr. A’s Bistro at the Palazzo Hotel…wait?” Marta stopped reading and looked up at Samantha, “is this dude for real?”
“Keep reading, Marta. We haven’t got all day,” someone called out, and Samantha’s mortification grew. Why was this happening?
“I’ll be there at six, waiting for you. I’ll be the man with his heart on his sleeve and his cellphone turned off. I hope to see you soon, always, Blake Stemmons.”
Marta’s eyes grew wide and she looked at Samantha in shock.
“Is that the Blake Stemmons, the linebacker?”
She handed the card back to Samantha and Samantha yanked it out of her hand.
“Yes. Why do you care?”
“Holy shit. How did you get a football player to send you flowers and, oh my gosh, what happened to your head?”
“Let it go Marta. I had a rough weekend.”
“Looks like it,” her hand flew up to her face in mock-surprise but no one bought it. Marta was known to capitalize on her telenovela good looks and acted the part on a regular basis. “He didn’t, hit you, did he?”
“Of course he didn’t hit me you twit. I got attacked by a mugger and he rescued me.”
The office erupted with questions, the chatter enough to pull the office manager out of his computer games. He poked his head out of his office and addressed the room at large.
“Get back to work, people. We get paid by the call. I expect you all to be on the phone.” Frank looked at Samantha’s desk, “Sammy, if you can’t concentrate on your job, the boyfriend is going to have to stop sending you flowers. The rest of you, back to work.”
He closed his door and went back to his computer games, not even waiting to see if anyone was following orders.
“Yeah, Sammy. If you can’t concentrate, no more flowers for you,” Marta said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and storming off to her desk with a showy little pout on her full lips.
“Damn, she’s annoying,” Jen said.
“Ugh. I can’t believe what you did, Jen. Now everyone knows.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“Well it is, and now I have to go on a date.”
“To Mr. A’s, that’s pretty posh.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to wear?”
Samantha looked at the yellow orchids, sad that her little yellow shirt was ruined by the attack.
“I don’t know. Want to go shopping at lunch time?”
“Of course I do.”
“Excellent. Since you got me into this mess, you can help me pick something to wear so I don’t look completely out of place there.”
“Yeah, it’s not really a jeans, boots, and blouse type of place.”
Samantha’s hands trembled as she pushed the available button on her phone and jammed the headset on her head. It was going to be a long day, and a night she wasn’t sure she was ready for.
But at least she could get it over with and forget all of this had ever happened.
*****
Samantha stepped out of the elevator, dark green dress billowing around her calves, the neckline plunging just enough to show off her figure, but not enough to make her uncomfortable. The fabric felt light as air, and she marveled again at Jen’s taste in clothing. They’d been in the store exactly thirty seconds when her eyes had lit up and she’d all but dragged Samantha to the rack and shoved her into the fitting room.
Samantha had been tempted to leave the price tag on so she could return it after her date, but she felt spectacular in the dress. Surely that was worth the exorbitant price.
She looked around the room, spotting Blake almost instantly. He stood, the cut of his casual suit hiding his rippling muscles and accentuating his bright smile and brighter blue eyes.
He looked delicious.
Samantha chided herself. She wasn’t here to start a romance. She was here to get a date over with and go back to her life. She wasn’t a princess in a fairytale. Blake was taking her out because he pitied her. There was nothing more to it.
He pulled back the chair when she reached the table.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his mouth inches from her ear, hot breath dancing across her bare shoulders.
“Thank you.”
“Have you been here before?”
Was he serious? The place was so expensive that the prices weren’t listed on the menus.
“No. I think this
is more of a millionaire’s type restaurant.”
He smiled at her joke, choosing not to take offense to her tone.
“I just thought, a pretty woman like you,” he shrugged. “Their loss. I don’t know how any man could be with you and not want to treat you to the finer things.”
“If I go on another date in the next few years I’ll try to remember to ask.”
Blake arched his eyebrow, but he didn’t take the bait. Samantha admitted to herself that she might be exaggerating, but her nerves were shot. He’d looked amazing in the parking lot, but the stress of her attack and the attacker writhing on the ground in his own blood had distracted her from the full force of Blake’s magnetism.
If she’d realized how striking he was up close, she probably would have stood him up. Already, her body was reacting to his presence, making it hard for Samantha to focus on his words.
“Did you like the flowers?”
“I did, and so did the entire office.”
“Don’t you have a cubicle?”
“We have the short one. I can look over my cubicle at my neighbor simply by sitting up a little taller.”
“That’s awful. Sounds like one of those obnoxious call centers.”
“It is one of those obnoxious call centers.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“It’s alright. I hate my job. We all do. Jen and I want to start our own business, but no bank wants to fund a bakery.”
“Are y’all any good?”
“We think so, and we have quite a few online customers that keep coming back for more. But we can only meet so much demand out of my house. Plus, we’re baking in our spare time, which we don’t have a lot of with full time jobs.”
“That’s tough. I could loan you the money.”
“What? No. That would be too weird.”
“Why? I like cake, and I have money. It sounds like a great idea.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“So?”
“So? That’s important. You can’t just go around throwing your money at people.”
Samantha opened the menu, trying to distract herself from the conversation. Blake was obviously looking for something Samantha wasn’t willing to provide.
There was no way that kind of money would come with no strings attached.
