The First Time (A Time For Love Book 2)

by Amelia Stone

  Oh my God.

  I threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed, letting out a wail of sheer terror. And then Sam woke up, bolting upright with an ear-splitting groan.

  “What the fuck?” he growled, voice thick with sleep.

  He peered around the room blearily. His hair was sticking up in every direction, which should have looked ridiculous, but on Sam, it was sexy. It looked like I’d spent the night running my fingers through it.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God.

  My brain was spinning in sixty different directions. Why was it so chilly? Exactly how much had I had to drink last night? How did I get home? Why did I wake up with a guy in my bed? And why God, why, did that guy have to be Sam?

  “What the fuck?” he repeated, rubbing his eyes. “Ow,” he whimpered when he got to the left side.

  Because Sam had a massive shiner covering his left cheek and eye, which was swollen nearly shut.

  “What happened to your eye? Why are you in my bed?” I gulped as I took in his bare chest. His way-more-defined-than-it-looked-clothed chest. “And why are you naked?”

  He frowned as he peeled the covers off himself, revealing his lower half. “I’m not naked,” he pointed out. He was wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants that I realized with horror were mine. And they were too big for him. The drawstring was cinched as tight as it could go, but the waistband still slipped down his hips as he stood, revealing a couple of inches of his underwear.

  My sweatpants were too big for Sam. Wonderful.

  He cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to his face. “You asked me to stay after…” he trailed off as he stared at me, his jaw going slack as he looked me up and down.

  “After?” I squeaked. Oh, God. That did not sound good.

  He nodded, his eyes travelling up and down my body again, much slower this time.

  Why was he checking me out like that? Was I wearing something risqué? Oh, God. Was I not wearing pants? I’d been known to forget them on the few occasions I’d fallen asleep drunk.

  And that was when I finally looked down at myself and realized I’d forgotten more than just my pants. In fact, I was actually the one who was naked. Completely butt ass naked. Not a stitch of clothing covering all my… Oh, God. Oh my God. OhmyfuckingGod.

  I let out an unholy shriek and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. My stomach finally gave out, and I fell to my knees in front of the toilet.

  My brain had now changed tack, taking just one direction. All I could think was that Sam had just seen me naked. Naked. Sam. I’d been naked in front of Sam. For God’s sake, I’d only recently been able to leave the house without wearing a sweater over my clothes. Like, until a couple of years ago, I hadn’t even let anyone see my elbows. And now Sam had seen all – all! – of me, in all my naked glory.

  So yeah. I puked. What the fuck else would I do?

  Since I was hurling kind of loudly, alternated with sobbing chants of “ohGodohGodohmyfuckingGod,” it took me a few minutes to realize that Sam was banging on the bathroom door and calling my name.

  “Jamy, answer me. Are you okay?”

  I took a deep breath, pressing my forehead to the cool tile of the bathroom wall. My stomach heaved again, but I clenched my teeth and powered through it. “No.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I huffed. “Hell no.”

  I heard him let out a breath. “It’s not that bad.”

  Not that bad? I flushed the toilet and stood, grabbing my bathrobe from the hook on the door and throwing it on. I brushed my teeth and scrubbed at my face until I felt a tiny bit like a human. Then, with a deep breath, I cracked the door open.

  My legs began to wobble as I looked at him. His face was twisted in what looked suspiciously like guilt. My knees buckled, and I scrambled until my calves hit the edge of the tub. Tears filled my eyes as I sank down, my ass plopping painfully on the edge of the tub. I breathed deeply, trying desperately to calm myself.

  “Jamy, look at me.”

  I shook my head frantically. “Can’t.”

  He huffed. “This isn’t what you think.”

  Finally, that made me look up, and my eyes met his. Well, his eye – the one that wasn’t swollen shut. “Please, Sam,” I whispered. “Just please tell me we didn’t have sex.”

  His expression turned thunderous. “No, we didn’t have sex! Jesus. You were blackout drunk, Jamy!”

  I briefly closed my eyes, letting out a long, relieved breath. “Okay. Good.”

  “Do you really think I would take advantage of you like that?” He seemed furious, and I really couldn’t blame him.

  I cringed. “No. Of course not.” I wiped a hand across my clammy forehead. “I’m sorry. I just…” I would want to remember the first time I have sex with you. But I couldn’t say that out loud. “I don’t remember anything about last night,” I finished, my voice dropping to a whisper again.

  “You have to know I’d never hurt you like that.” His expression was still hard.

  “I know that.” I met his eye again. “I trust you.” And I was almost surprised to realize how true that was. I wasn’t sure how I’d ended up in bed with him, stark naked. And I wasn’t at all sure where this thing between us would go from here. But I knew he’d never do anything to hurt me. I really did trust him.

  He sighed, his features softening as he sat next to me. “You really don’t remember anything about last night?” he asked, his tone much more gentle.

  I thought for a moment, though it was still painful. My head was pounding like one of Sabine’s drums.

  “Celia had to leave early, and Hannah said she’d found us another ride.” I frowned. “She must have meant you.”

  I huffed, feeling a fresh wave of annoyance at my so-called best friend. Now I knew why she was being so evasive with me after Celia left. She’d schemed to get Sam and me together, even though she had to know I’d freak out at the idea of seeing him – and of him seeing me. I was not my best when I had a lot of alcohol in my system. Not to mention, our conversation last night should have made it crystal fucking clear how conflicted I was about Sam.

  I sighed. I’d have to deal with Hannah later. Right now, I was hungover and (mostly) naked. With Sam. That was more than enough trauma for one morning.

  “That’s all you remember?” he asked.

  “It’s kind of fuzzy after that,” I admitted.

  “I gave you and Hannah a ride home,” he prompted.

  I frowned. “What about Sabine?” I asked.

  “She went home with a guy she met at the bar.”

  “What? Who?”

  He smirked. “That’s for her to tell you. And yes,” he added, when I opened my mouth to ask another question. “She was sober enough to make good decisions.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “She switched to water long before you and Hannah called it a night.”

  I cringed. I didn’t drink all that often, and I rarely got drunk. But I’d been all mixed up for days, and it pushed me to overindulge like I never had before. I hated the way I felt when I was hungover – physically ill and humiliated by my own poor decisions. And I absolutely hated that Sam had seen me at my worst.

  “I’m sorry you had to deal with me,” I whispered.

  He smiled. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’d puked in front of me,” he pointed out.

  I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

  He chuckled. “Forget about our prom?” His warm breath tickled my neck, and I could feel his chest pressed against my arm. “How could I forget that you almost kissed me?”

  I cringed. “Yeah, well, you shut that down pretty quick.”

  He pulled my hands away, tipping my chin up to look at him. “Yeah, but I didn’t want to. You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you.”

  I frowned at him. “You never said that.”

  His smile was rueful. “You were drunk off your ass. I felt kind of guilty that all I could think about was
kissing the hell out of you.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I watched the muscles in his not-as-skinny-as-it-looked arm bunch and flex. “Besides, you told me the next day that you didn’t mean any of it.”

  I scowled at him. “Yeah, but I just said that because you laughed it off like it was no big deal.”

  He frowned. “I laughed it off because you did,” he said slowly.

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember the whole awkward conversation. It was hazy now. It had been almost a decade, and a pair of heinous hangovers bookended all those years. But I could have sworn that Sam had just wanted to forget the whole thing.

  My eyes welled up, and I went blind for a second, reminding me that I still hadn’t taken my contacts out. I yanked them out quickly and flicked them in the trash. I sniffed and took a shaky breath as I reached over to the vanity to grab my glasses.

  God, to think I’d had it wrong all this time, that he’d wanted me back then? To know he’d been just as disappointed as I was by that whole drunken fiasco and the missed opportunity that resulted from it? I felt sick to my stomach all over again. We could have been together this whole time.

  Oh, God.

  “Please tell me we did not do that. Please tell me we did not miss our chance back then because of a stupid misunderstanding.”

  He sighed. “I think we did.” He sounded sad, and I bit my lip, fighting back angry tears myself.

  “You never said anything to me about your feelings,” I spat. It sounded like I was accusing him, but I was past the point of caring. Maybe I was accusing him. If he’d been honest about his feelings, we could have avoided all this heartache. “You never gave me so much as a fucking inkling that you wanted more than friendship.”

  He frowned. “You didn’t tell me, either.”

  I threw up my hands. Surely he knew me better than that, after all these years.

  “Would you really expect me to? Me, of all people? I can’t even assert myself when it comes to picking what food to eat. How could I ever have the guts to tell you I loved you?”

  “You loved me?”

  I grunted. Of course that was all he heard. “Not like it makes any difference now.”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you how I felt so many times. But it never seemed like the right time.” His green eyes looked pained.

  I huffed. “When is it ever the right time?”

  He shrugged, trying on a smile. “Now?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

  His expression turned serious, and he leaned into me again, taking my hand in his. “I mean it, Jamy. We may have taken the long way, but we’re here now. I want you, and I think you want me, too.” He raised an eyebrow, and I couldn’t help but nod. Yeah, I did want him. I was tired of fighting myself, fighting my feelings. I wanted him.

  A brilliant smile overtook his features. “Then let’s do this.”

  I didn’t know what to say. It was all just too much. Too early in the morning. Too hungover. Too confused. Too. Fucking. Much.

  I couldn’t look at him anymore. I just couldn’t face him. I turned my head, staring at the tile on the wall. The grout looked dingy. I should bleach it. I’d do that today. I stared at a particularly dark bit just below my eyeline, until Sam’s husky voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

  I shook my head, reaching up and scratching at the grout with my thumbnail.

  “Jamy, come on. Look at me.”

  I bit my lip, turning my head until I was staring up at him. But the eye contact was too intense, so I fixated instead on his bruised eye. It looked painful, and I winced.

  “It’s not that bad,” he said.

  “What’s not that bad?”

  He chuckled. “Whatever is going on in that head of yours. I promise, it’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Actually, I was looking at your eye.”

  He smiled, then grimaced in pain. The smile had probably stretched the bruised skin. “That’s not that bad, either.”

  I reached up a hand, gently running my fingers along his cheekbone. “What happened?”

  He leaned into my touch, his good eye burning with intensity. “Well, you were really drunk last night.”

  I frowned. “We’ve established that.”

  “You needed help getting into the house, and me being the gentleman that I am,” he winked his good eye, “I obliged. Though I admit I was just going to sort of steer you to your bed.”

  I had a bad feeling about where this was going. “But?”

  He chuckled. “But you refused to sleep in your shoes.”

  I nodded. That sounded like me. I didn’t wear shoes in the house at all, let alone in bed. I shuddered. So gross.

  “So I tried to help you take them off,” he continued.

  I couldn’t look away from him, and my stomach filled with dread. I didn’t want to know, but I just had to. “And?”

  He smiled again. “And,” he teased, “you were a little bit, uh, wriggly. You accidentally kicked me when I tried to remove your socks.”

  My mouth dropped open in horror. “I gave you a black eye? With my foot?” My head throbbed with every screech, but I couldn’t help myself. I gave Sam a black eye. With my foot. I kicked him in the face and gave him a black eye.

  Oh, God.

  “You did,” he replied cheerfully. “But then you gave me a strip show, which totally made up for it.”

  I croaked, unable to even let out the scream lodged in my throat.

  He chuckled again. “I’m teasing you, Jamy. I didn’t actually look. You said you didn’t want to sleep in your ‘bar clothes.’” I frowned. That also sounded like me. “So I turned around until you were under the covers,” he continued. “I’m a gentleman, remember?”

  I stared at him, swallowing repeatedly, until finally I felt like I could speak without puking. “And how did you end up under the covers with me?”

  He flashed me a lopsided grin. “Well, you kind of insisted that I sleep here. With you.”

  Huh. Seemed like Drunk Jamy was not so conflicted after all.

  I narrowed my eyes. “And I’m sure you didn’t argue the point.”

  He shrugged. “I am many things, but stupid is not one of them.”

  I chuckled in spite of myself. And then I groaned again as the movement agitated my already turbulent stomach. I bent over, breathing deeply to try to quell the nausea.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured as he rubbed my back.

  “You don’t know that,” I muttered, peeking up at him through my lashes.

  He grinned. “Sure I do.”

  I frowned. “Why are you always so sure of yourself?” I blurted out.

  Sam had always been so decisive, so confident. When we were kids, he’d be the first one to try something new, never afraid to put himself in an uncomfortable situation. He leapt into things without thinking, fearless of the consequences. I mean, he’d moved halfway around the world seemingly for no other reason than it sounded like fun.

  I envied him and resented him in equal measure. I’d never be like that. I let my anxiety govern my life, always dreading every possible disaster, always so sure something would go wrong. I didn’t do even half the things I wanted, because I feared the risks too much to go for the reward.

  He smiled, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not always sure of myself. I have doubts all the time.”

  I gave him a look that made it clear I didn’t really believe him.

  He chuckled. “It’s true. I just don’t let my doubts stop me from living my life.”

  I looked over his shoulder, unable to answer that. He said it like he was stating a fact, but it felt like a fantastical notion to me, the idea that your doubts weren’t insurmountable. I sighed. Absently, I noted the stained grout on the other side of the tub. I was definitely bleaching the whole damn bathroom today.

  “Let’s do something fun tonight,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

 
; My eyes snapped to his. “Like what?”

  He grinned. “I dunno. I’ll figure something out. It’ll be a surprise.”

  I frowned. “You expect me to go somewhere with you when you won’t tell me where we’re going?”

  His smile turned mischievous as he leaned in. “Yup.”

  I stared at him, remembering his words from a moment ago. Let’s do this, he’d said. Just like that. No hesitation, no mental list of pros and cons. No worrying about it for hours before he could even make a decision. Just, let’s do this.

  Why not? a small voice in the back of my mind whispered. It was a voice that normally got drowned by the louder, neurotic voice that dominated my thoughts. But now, it sneaked through somehow, quiet but insistent.

  Why not?

  “Is this a date?” I asked.

  His eyes darkened, and he leaned forward. “Yup.”

  My breath caught in my throat. A date. Sam wanted to take me on a date. And he wouldn’t tell me where we were going.

  He leaned in closer, brushing his lips against mine. It was the slightest contact, but I shivered, feeling it all the way to my toes. “Come on,” he whispered. “Take a chance.”

  I reached a hand up, running my fingertips lightly across his jaw. His beard was so soft, much softer than I expected. When I looked up again, his eyes were molten. He looked like he wanted to devour me.

  I took a deep breath. One date. One mystery date. With Sam. I could do this. He wanted me, I wanted him. We could do this.

  Why not?

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  He groaned softly, smiling in triumph as he leaned in for another kiss. This one was deeper, his lips covering mine with purpose. His tongue gently pushed its way into my mouth, gliding against mine, and I whimpered. God, he tasted so good. How did he taste so good? He hadn’t even brushed his teeth this morning. Must be his natural Sam flavor. I stroked my tongue against his, savoring it.

  He pulled away slowly, catching my lower lip softly between his teeth. “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he whispered.

  I nodded, feeling a little dazed. My stomach fluttered uncomfortably. “You really won’t tell me where we’re going?” I asked.