The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(73)

"Now you're speaking words I understand," I replied.

"You're saying I should've led with budget and then begged for your time?" he asked, laughing. "That would've worked better?"

"It's been a few years since we've collaborated, Sam," I said, my words cool and deliberate though I felt none of that chill vibe. "I don't accept small money projects anymore."

He made a sound in his throat, some kind of rattling sigh. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know. Riley's mentioned it two or three hundred times."

Ah, Riley. He was the best of friends. Just the best of them.

Sam pushed to his feet and brushed the dirt from the seat of his shorts. "Sitting behind a bush is great and all but why don't we get up before we meet a colony of fire ants or something? Introduce me to your friends, will you?"

He stepped away from the boxwood and I acted on my brain's first impulse, one still reaching for all of that resentment.

It wasn't a good impulse.

It wasn't a wise impulse.

It wasn't the right impulse.

But it was the first. And only.

I lunged toward Sam and caught him around the calves. The impact sent him stumbling to the lawn and my hold on him meant I followed him down.

My torso hit the ground first, pushing an indelicate grunt from my lips in the process. The inertia yanked my t-shirt down but the essentials stayed covered. Thank god. I couldn't add a wardrobe malfunction to today's list of tragedies. Not after whatever it was I just did to Sam.

Until right now, I'd believed my worst moments were behind me. At the very least, my worst Sam Walsh moments were behind me. But no. Nooooo. Dragging him to the ground was somehow worse—substantially worse—than slamming my lips to his all those years ago. I'd had a rationale for that. This…this defied all reason.

"What the hell was that, Gigi?" he yelled as he pushed up. "What the actual hell?"

I dropped my forehead down, sedating myself with the scent of green grass. When was I going to learn? When was I going to stop getting in my own way? Was that even possible? Was there a world where I wasn't literally falling down and scraping myself up all over again?

That world didn't exist. Not for me. I was always going to do all of those things but maybe—just maybe—there could be a world where Sam Walsh wasn't involved in my relationship with Rob and Ben. Even if I had to tackle him.

"Gigi, any explanation would be awesome," Sam continued. "I really fucking hope you were saving me from a possum or something."

Thanks to Sam (and a few other truly unpleasant men), I could handle damn near anything. I could pick myself up, dust myself off, and pretend I hadn't fallen into a homegrown sinkhole. I could be nice and cheery and not give a fuck about any of it. I could fake it. Oh, I could fake it the best. Wasn't that what I'd been doing for—for years?

But I couldn't fake it with Rob and Ben and Sam. Not all at once. Not after that weird and necessary conversation in the bushes. Not anymore. I couldn't.

Rob and Ben called to me but I stayed there, my hands pressed to my face and head down in the grass. I heard footsteps and then felt hands on my shoulders, my back, but I didn't move. I needed another minute to recover. Before I had to fake it one more time.

"Magnolia?" Rob said to my back. "Magnolia, honey, say something."

"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck happened here?" Ben snapped. "What did you fucking do to her?"

"This was—it's all good, gentlemen," Sam replied.

"What kind of fuckin' predator are you?" Ben continued.

"Excuse me?" Sam answered.

"Sam? Sam, why are you covered in grass stains and why is Magnolia on the ground?"

Oh my god. That was Lauren. Due any day pregnant, moving into her new house fourteen seconds after the paint dried, dealing with all this mayhem Lauren. Oh my god. I'd just tackled Sam to the ground like a lunatic and I was flat on the lawn in front of her house, adding to the damn mayhem.

"Seems like something I'd do."

That was Riley. Oh, shit. Just…shit.

It was true. Nothing happened in my life unless I had an audience around to judge me while it happened.

"We just tripped," Sam replied. "It was nothing. If I know Gigi, I know she's dying of embarrassment and waiting for the lawn to swallow her."

If I know Gigi.

I snorted at that. He was right. But we didn't know each other anymore.

"I know you think you can be left unsupervised, Sam"—oh, god, that was Shannon—"but that's not the case if you're tripping on flat, unobstructed grass and taking Magnolia down with you."

"Is there not a better use of your time?"

That question came from Patrick and I was now convinced the entire Walsh family was staring at me, facedown in the grass. I should've picked myself up by now but I needed another minute. To put myself back together and find the right blend of joyous indifference necessary to stand up, shake the grass from my hair, look these people in the eye, and go forward without explaining my inexplicable desire to physically prevent Sam from approaching Ben and Rob.

A hand squeezed my shoulder, ran down my spine. I wasn't sure whether it was Rob or Ben. Right now, I was content with that show of support coming from either man.