Player(58)

It wasn’t like that, although I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t taken matters into my own hands twice since we parted ways last night. And once more the second I’d stepped into the shower after my workout.

I chalked my appetite up to the fact that we hadn’t slept together. I’d had her naked and spread eagle in my bed and hadn’t fucked her. Not with the one part of me that wanted her most, at least.

She was irresistible, from her body that gave and gave to the innocence of her pleasure. I could have kept her in my bed all night, occupied the long hours with the sweetness between her thighs, the softness of her sighs.

Those sighs aren’t yours to keep.

I let out a sigh of my own and turned off the shower.

I’d gotten close. Too close. Close enough to know what I was missing.

Close enough to count the abundant reasons I couldn’t have her.

Frowning, I dried off. Antsy, I dressed. But when I picked up the phone to call my mom, I only felt relief.

She’d know what to do.

She answered on the second ring. “Habibi. Hello, Samhir.”

“Hi, Mama. How’s your day?”

“Good. Papa and I started ballroom dancing. I didn’t know the phrase weak ankles before today.”

I chuckled. “Well, maybe they’ll beef up with a little working out.”

“I hope so. In a few weeks, we’ll be practicing swing. Maybe Papa and I can come to your club and dance.”

“Maybe,” I said noncommittally, uncertain how I felt about the prospect of my father hearing me play there.

“But that isn’t why you called, qalbi.” She changed the subject with purposeful, professional ease. “How are you?”

“Fine. I actually wanted to ask you about a friend of mine.”

“Of course. How can I help?”

I sighed, deep and noisy. “I don’t know what to do about her.”

“Something needs to be done?”

“Yes. I think so at least, and I think I’m the person who needs to do it.”

“And why is that?” she asked, psychiatristing me.

Normally, I’d evade. But desperate times and all that.

“Well, she developed young, really young, and the other kids sexualized her. I think she just…shut down. I know for sure her brothers earned her some breathing room, thanks to a few well-placed fists. But she never really got over it. And now…I don’t know, Mama. She doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is.”

For a moment, there was silence as she gathered her thoughts. “And you want to be the one to change her mind?”

“No, I need to be. I can’t explain it. I just…I think I might be the only person who can see it. Who sees her.”

She didn’t speak through my pause, so I kept talking.

“She’s never dated, not really. She’s never been in love or had someone cherish her. Worship her. She doesn’t understand her worth, her value.”

“How does that make you feel?”

I laughed at the blatant therapist question, but I answered it. “Frustrated. Angry—not at her, for her. It motivates me. I have to do something. She deserves to be with a man who sees her the way I see her. Who appreciates her the way I do. Who will treat her with the respect she deserves.”

I shook my head, dragging my hand through my hair. The vision of her trying to cover her body in shame haunted me, materializing like it had between the moments of unslaked desire. I meant what I’d said—I hated that she felt the way she did. I hated whoever had contributed to her insecurity, hated that she couldn’t love her body the way I did.

That was all she needed—to be worshipped until she believed she was worthy of every reverent touch.

There had to be someone.

An idea sparked and caught fire.

“Thanks, Mama.”

She laughed. “I didn’t do anything but listen.”

“I know, but it worked,” I said as my smile climbed. “I know just what to do.”



Val “So, I had an idea.”

Sam pulled me a little closer, his arm hanging on my shoulders, our strides aligned—mine stretched a little longer, his shortened to match.

I smiled, hoping his idea involved nudity. “Tell me.”

“I think it’s time for a real date.”

“You do?” My heart hopped on the Tilt-A-Whirl and rode it around like a screaming loon.

A date. A date with Sam. Sam and me. Dating.

Dating!

This is it.

Don’t freak out.

Don’t blow it.

Don’t—

“I do. And I have the perfect guy in mind.”

I laughed, nestling into his side. My fingers toyed with the waistband of his jeans, eager to get them off of him. “I bet you do.”

“So his name is Adam. He’s a buddy of mine from Juilliard—”

I didn’t hear what else he said. My brain was wholly occupied with processing the name Adam, which was definitely not the name Sam, and thus, I could not comprehend what he was saying.

It dawned on me slowly, like waking from a dream. He wanted to set me up on a date with someone named Adam. Because he and I weren’t dating. We weren’t anything but friends with an unconventional arrangement. An arrangement with rules. Boundaries.