Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(32)
This I learned when, three sips into glass number nine, Sam led me out to the balcony. There were others out there but by that time it was dark, the lake was set in moonlight and for those who wanted privacy (like, clearly, Sam) Luci had not turned on the outside lights and thus it seemed romantically secluded.
Sam settled us at the stone balustrade, me facing front, Sam fitting his body into mine at the back, his arm stealing around my ribs, the other one around my chest and I felt his jaw come to rest at the side of my head.
Like his voice, like his laughter and like the now gazillion times he’d demonstrated his gentlemanly behavior (for instance, I did not have to ask for a glass of champagne, Sam always procured them for me, I did not have to walk unguided or unprotected, Sam always was close with a hand at the small of my back or arm curled around my waist and I did not have to introduce myself to anyone and start conversation, Sam did it for me and was certain to lead any discourse so I never, not once, felt left out or ill-at-ease), the position he held me in settled in my soul, deep and warm.
And when he settled us, he didn’t speak, he just held me and we both took in the view.
I found myself sighing.
And I sighed right before I panicked.
Because in that moment it came to me with drunken clarity that I wanted this, all of it. This life that led me to wearing beautiful gowns, meeting interesting, friendly people, giggling over silly but unbelievably expensive cars, eating delicious food while drinking dry, crisp champagne and, most especially, standing outside in the moonlight on the terrace of a beautiful home on an even more beautiful lake with a man who would hold me like Sam was holding me after treating me like Sam had been treating me.
In fact, the bottom line truth of it was, I really liked all the other stuff but it was Sam holding me like he was holding me and treating me like he was treating me, if it was in a fantastic villa in Italy or if it was getting bitten by mosquitoes and not caring even a little bit on a deck in Indiana, that was what I really wanted.
I wanted it then. I wanted it the next day. I wanted it forever.
And I couldn’t have it.
This was Sam’s world, not mine.
But he couldn’t possibly know that, not with me staying at our swanky hotel and wearing fabulous footwear every time I saw him.
And, right then, into my sixth sip of glass of champagne number nine, I completely forgot all of Celeste’s worldly advice and drunkenly decided he had to know who he held in his arms.
Full disclosure.
For the sake of my sanity because, if he found out later I was not a jet-set, high heels wearing socialite but instead a… well, not jet-set, flip-flop wearing non-socialite, I knew he’d be angry. He’d think I’d duped him.
So he had to find out now so, if he so chose, which I drunkenly decided he would, he could move on and so could I (maybe).
“My friend Teri has a life-size, cardboard cutout of you.”
Yes. That was me. That was what I said into the moonlight, breaking the comfortable, cozy, romantic silence Sam had guided us to.
His arms gave me a slight squeeze and he muttered, “What?”
“My friend, Teri, has a life-size, cardboard cutout of you,” I repeated.
No arm squeeze and also no reply.
“In her bedroom,” I went on.
Again, no response whatsoever.
“You’re in your Colts gear.”
Nothing.
Hmm. I wasn’t sure if this was working or not.
I took a sip of champagne.
Sam remained silent.
I drunkenly blathered on.
“At an average of thirty-five percent, we’ve calculated it, the men she takes in that room can’t go the distance.”
More nothing.
“As in, they can’t bring it home,” I clarified, just in case he was not instantly revolted by these words and setting me aside never to touch me again because he didn’t get.
Still nothing.
I kept sharing.
“In other words, they can’t bring it home for her, obviously, but also for them.”
Nothing.
“We think it’s you or, um… the cardboard cutout of you in your Colts gear. We think they find it intimidating. Still, although this is disappointing for Teri and, as I mentioned, an alarmingly frequent occurrence, she hasn’t moved it.”
That was when I got something.
Sam’s body started shaking so violently, my body started shaking with it. Then his jaw left my hair because he shoved his face in my neck and roared, yes, roared with laughter as his arms went super tight.
It felt nice.
Well, that didn’t work.
Onward!
I sipped through my mind drunkenly attempting to latch onto a new strategy, it found one and I sallied forth.
“I don’t have a college degree,” I informed him when his laughter died.
His face went out of my neck and his jaw went back to my hair and he muttered, “You don’t?”
“Nope.”
His jaw left my hair so his lips could go to my ear where he murmured, “Hmm.”
That felt nice too.
Like, really nice.
Argh!
Onward!
“You graduated from UCLA,” I told him though he had to know this fact unless he had patches of amnesia and forgot bits of his life which was highly unlikely because, since I borderline internet stalked him, I would know about it if he had.