Not So Nice Guy(44)

With a growl, she sneaks under my arm, wrenches the paperback out of my hand, and flings it across the room. It splats against the wall then crumples to the ground.

My jaw is slack. Sam’s breathing is hard. After a moment, she rights her hat and tugs down her uniform top. Then she admits coolly, “My mom wouldn’t let me read anything but Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. I had to steal that book from my friend just to…y’know, see what it was all about.”

I act like I believe her. “Oh, so you only had it for curiosity’s sake? ’Cause that spine looked pretty worn.”

She groans. “Listen, yes, I read that book incessantly. Teenagers these days have Kindles and high-speed internet and I had PIRATE’S HIDDEN TREASURE, so leave me alone.”

I reach out for her hips and tug her onto my lap. Her ancient wooden desk chair groans in protest. At any moment, our combined weight will prove too much and we’ll go crashing to the ground.

Sam tries to wriggle free, but I have too good of a hold on her. When she finally gives in and settles on top of me, I reach up and yank off her hat. It falls to the ground and I smooth my thumb across the angry red line it left on her forehead. Her blue eyes catch mine and it’s the first time she’s had the courage to hold my gaze. I’ve never seen her look so dejected.

My brows tug together in a sad, angry furrow.

“I’m sorry about today.”

She closes her eyes and her bottom lip juts out. “No. God, I’m the one who messed up. I should be apologizing to you.”

Her eyes flick to the ceiling and I see tears collecting within. She tries so hard to keep them from falling as my hands tighten on her waist. My thumb barely slips under her band shirt, and her soft skin feels so good I dip my entire hand beneath the material then slide it around to cradle her back. It’s not much contact, but it makes my heart thud in my chest to have her this close.

I watch as a tear finally breaks free and then Sam leans forward and plops her head on my shoulder. Her knees tuck in and now she’s a ball in my lap. I pull her even closer. I think if my shirt were stretchier, she’d try to burrow underneath it and hide there forever.

“This is silly. I’m not just crying about what happened today. There’s been a lot of change lately, and I’m not equipped to handle it. It’s too much.”

I already know this. Sam’s a creature of habit, which means the last few days have been doubly hard on her.

“How can I help?”

Her head rocks back and forth on my shoulder as she shakes her head. “You can’t, but at least you smell good.”

I smile and remember something from earlier.

“The froyo guy said you were doing drugs or something.”

She chuckles softly but doesn’t lift her head. “No, I was throwing up. Don’t worry, I brushed my teeth when I got here.”

I frown. “Why’d you throw up?”

“I got Pruitt’s email, and it made me sick to think of what could happen to us.”

Damn.

“Well stop worrying. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I don’t believe you. I’m going to call in sick tomorrow.”

“Well I’m going to the meeting. I understand if you want to stay here and continue doing whatever this is.”

“Regressing, remember?”

“You’re stronger than this, Sam. The email isn’t that bad.”

She groans.

“In fact, when you get the chance, you should check the thread. You might be pleasantly surprised by what you find there.”

I feel a slight dip in the chair. Wood creaks and trembles. One second, Sam’s cuddled on my lap, and the next, we’re splayed out on the floor. One of the chair’s legs jams itself into my lower back and I wince in pain.

If I were an English nerd instead of a science nerd, I’d realize this tableau is an apt metaphor for our current situation. Sam has to explain it to me: “Welcome to rock bottom.”





16





S A M



Ian drives me home from my parents’ house, walks me inside my apartment, waits for me to shower, and then tucks me in bed.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my forehead like I’m four years old and sick, and it feels glorious. I’ll have life-altering events happen more often if it means he’s going to dote on me like this.

Of course I want him to stay, but if he stays, I’m going to have sex with him, and I don’t think we should have sex for the first time on the same day as THE INCIDENT. Knowing me, I’d probably butt-dial the local news in the middle of climax.

“Better not,” I say, tilting my head up and offering him my mouth so he can lean down and kiss me good night. He keeps it short and chaste and I miss him the second he leaves my apartment.

I think I’m going to cave and call him, demand he come right back here this instant, but then I remember the email thread. He talked about it again on the way home. My nose scrunches just thinking about it, but I know he has my best interests at heart. If people were making fun of me, he would steal my phone and chuck it in a dumpster. If he wants me to read it, I probably should. So, I settle in under my covers and tap the email app on my phone, bracing myself.

Holy cow.