Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chloe

I need someone to pinch me.

No, really. I might offer the couple over there, clearly on their first date, twenty bucks per pinch because I’m having a good time with Sam—a really good time with Sam. We’re talking, just casually talking, and it feels so good to hang out like this again. I forgot how easy he was to get along with, and now that my heart has settled back into my chest, it almost feels like old times.

Almost. Because I know for certain Sam wants to sleep with me, and I can’t get that out of my mind.

“We still have a few weeks left,” I tell him, putting my empty glass on the table. “It’s not too late to buy a costume online and go.”

“But getting the time off work,” Sam starts, and I laugh, knowing he’s full of shit. “That might be tricky.”

“Bullshit,” I laugh. “You just told me you get several days off every month, and that always includes a weekend. You’re just scared.”

“I am not,” Sam counters.

“Then put on some tights and come to the Renaissance Faire with me.”

“What are you wearing?” Sam’s blue eyes glimmer and warmth rushes through me yet again. I take a slow breath and purposely look away from Sam, needing a quick second to recover. Things are surreal right now, and I’ve never been so confused while having this much fun before in my life, and that includes the time Charles and I accidentally ate edibles thinking they were plain gummy bears.

“Depends on the theme of the day.” The waiter comes over and refills my water glass and takes the empty bowl of artichoke dip, which was good, but nowhere near as good as the dip Mrs. Harris makes.

“There are themes of the day?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh!” I playfully nudge his hand, which is on the table near mine. “And yes, there are. Here, I’ll show you.” I grab my phone and scroll through photos. “Not every day is themed, but there are a few themed days a month.”

“A month? How long does this fair go?”

“From Fourth of July to Labor Day. But only on the weekends, which really isn’t that long.”

“I suppose not. And you go every year?”

I shake my head. “Only if I get back this way. The one in California runs at a different time.” I hold out my phone, showing Sam a photo of me with a few of my LA friends at the Ren Faire in California last year. We’re all dressed like belly dancers with matching outfits.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and I don’t think he intended for me to hear. “You look good here, Chloe. Really good. Do you still, uh, have that outfit?”

“I do, but I forgot to pack it this trip.”

“Darn.”

“Right?”

We both laugh, and I lean back, letting out a heavy breath. I’ve had to pee since I got here and have really had to pee for the last fifteen minutes or so. I didn’t want to say so to Sam for some dumb reason, but it’s either excuse myself to do a very human thing and use the bathroom or risk peeing my pants, which would—in the end—be much worse than just telling him I have to pee in the first place.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, pushing my phone and glass to the middle of the table. “I have to use the bathroom. Don’t dine and dash on me.”

“I’ll do my best not to,” Sam says with a wink as I walk away. My shoulder aches again, and I stretch my arms out in front of me, trying to get rid of the charley horse that’s now plaguing my back. I make a face and reach behind me with one hand, trying to massage the knot out of my muscles.

The bathroom is on the first floor, and I’m glad I’m in gym shoes and not heels as I hurry down, thankful there’s no line.

“Oh, hey, Chloe,” someone says when I’m done with the toilet and go to the sink to wash my hands. It’s Tiffany, Sam’s old high school girlfriend.

“Hey, Tiffany.”

She’s at the sink next to me and just finished washing her hands. She shakes the water from her fingers and grabs a paper towel from the basket on the counter. “You are so pretty.”

“Thanks,” I say back, and take a look at my reflection. I’m in my favorite workout outfit today, and my hair, which is damp from sweating, hangs in natural waves around my face. Usually, I don’t like my reflection without makeup, but maybe the lighting in here is really good—or really bad—and it’s hiding my imperfections. “You are too.”

Tiffany lets out a snort of laughter. “You don’t have to lie. I gained a lot of weight since my last baby.” Her words slur a bit.

“I didn’t notice,” I say honestly. “You look happy, though, and that’s just as important, if not more than looking good.”

“True, and I am happy.” She gives me a goony smile. “Thomas is a good guy.” She must be talking about her husband. “And such a good dad.”

“I’m happy for you.” I bring my hands back, letting the automatic water shut off.

“And I’m happy for you.”

Assuming she’s talking about my success with my writing, I smile. “Thanks. It wasn’t easy, but I’m glad I didn’t give up.”

“If anyone could change his playboy ways, it’s you.”

“Wait, what?” I grab two paper towels and ball them up, drying my hands.

“Sam,” she says with a laugh. “He was such a man-whore back in high school, and from what I heard, he was in college too.”

I blink a few times, trying to piece things together. “You think Sam and I are…together?”

“Aren’t you?” She looks genuinely surprised.

“No.”

“Oh. Could have fooled me.”

My mind is still whirling. “What do you mean if anyone could change him, it would be me?”

“I saw the way he looked at you, and that’s part of the reason I was such a bitch. I was jealous of you when I was dating Sam.”

“The way he looked at me?” I echo, still not following along because it just doesn’t make sense. Until maybe an hour ago, I was under the impression Sam looked at me as a strictly platonic friend. And now this confuses me even more. Though maybe…maybe he wasn’t hinting at meaningless sex. Maybe it would mean something to him.

“You’re really not together?”

“No. We’re just friends.”

She raises a hand up to make air quotes. “Just friends.” She gives me a big wink. “Right. Just friends who are boning.”

“We—we’re—we’re not boning.”

“Your loss,” she says with a snort of laughter. “Don’t tell Thomas I said that.” Turning to look in the mirror, she frowns. “I have to take the pink out of my hair before school starts. I like the pink.”

I saw the way he looked at you. I want to press her for more details because I’m that pathetically in love with Sam. Though hearing her remind me how much of a playboy Sam was—and probably still is—is a good thing. I’m hopelessly in love with the idea of what could be. It would be easy to have him pull me under his spell and feel something he doesn’t.

“It was nice to see you again,” I tell Tiffany. “Have fun with your sister.”

“You too,” she says. “With Sam.” She gives me a big wink, and I walk out, head spinning.

I’m so confused.

He reminded me how I was so much like a sister and then turned down coming home with me the other night. But I know he was giving off vibes in the woods, and he just brought up our silly pact, and he definitely was hinting at hooking up.

What. The. Fuck.

One thing is for sure: I need to avoid whatever the hell it turns out to be. Sam and I are only in town together for a few more days. I can keep things PG between us. How hard can that be?

Hot, humid air slaps me in the face as soon as I step outside, going back up to the rooftop bar. The ache in my shoulder comes back with a vengeance, and I try rolling my neck to loosen it up. It just makes it worse. I go up the last step and slow, looking at Sam. All I can see is the back of his head right now. He’s leaning against the back of his chair, relaxing and looking at the lake. A light breeze blows in, rustling his hair. Hair I very much want to run my hands through.

Dammit, that’s not helping the whole hate the player, not the game situation.

“Hey,” Sam says when I get back to the table. My throat tightens and my heart swells.

“Hey.” I go back to my seat at the table, reaching for my phone. “I ran into Tiffany in the bathroom. I think she’s drunk.” It would explain the crazy things she was saying…that Sam looked at me like he loved me.

“At one in the afternoon?” Sam looks at his watch. “It’s one-thirty, if that makes it any better.”

I laugh. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

“Very true. Do you need to go home and write before dinner? I already paid, so we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, and yeah, I do.” I roll my neck again. “Even though the thought of sitting at my computer is painful.”

“Because of the writer’s block?”

“I wish. I have terrible posture when I’m writing, and my shoulders hurt because of it.” I pick up my water. “I think I’ll live.”

“I think so too.” His eyes settle on me, looking at me as if he’s mentally undressing me. “Want to get out of here?”

“Yeah, it’s hot on the roof.”

“It is. The lake is looking better and better.”

“Jumping in sounds so refreshing.” I take a drink of water and get up, following behind Sam. He holds the door open for me and takes my hand as we walk down the wooden dock, heading back to the parking lot.

“Shit,” I say. “I left my phone on the table.”

“I’ll go get it.” Sam gives my hand a squeeze, and my stomach does that stupid flip-flopping thing again. A smile takes over my face as I watch him jog back in, and a voice in the back of my head—which sounds a lot like Farisha—yells at me not to get ahead of myself. Sam wants sex, and I know myself. I don’t do casual sex. I’ve tried the no-strings thing and it doesn’t work for me. Sex isn’t as enjoyable for me without emotion, and the few times I did attempt a casual relationship, I got attached and hurt when the guy easily moved on, taking it personally even though I braced myself for it from the start.

I let out a breath and go to the edge of the dock, watching little fish swim about. Sam has always been my white knight, swooping in to save the day. I’m no longer a damsel in distress, and I’m more than capable of defending myself now. I need to remember that and hold on to my resolve. But…fuck…just the thought of Sam slowly undressing me turns me on.

“Twice in a row,” a woman says, startling me a bit. It’s Lauren, and she’s with her sister. I can’t recall her name, only that she was two grades ahead of us and was bitchy and judgmental like Lauren. It must run in the family. “I’m starting to think you’re following me.”

“Well, I was here first, so if anyone was being followed, it would be me,” I say back. Lauren laughs and comes to a halt, putting her hand on her hip. “I’ll admit I’m impressed. First you went to a bar alone and now you’re here—alone.”

“I’m not alone.” Right on cue, Sam comes out of the restaurant with my phone in his hand.

“You’re here with Sam?” Lauren spits.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Figures.” She smiles smugly. “I fully assumed he’d try again after he struck out at the bar. Though I made sure to take care of him.”

“Come on, Lauren,” her sister urges. “I’m hungry.”

“Good seeing you again, Chloe.” Lauren wiggles her fingers in the air and walks past, smirk on her face, and says something to Sam as he passes by. I can’t be mad at Sam for hooking up with anyone last night, even if that person was Lauren Wallace. We’re not in a relationship, and he owes me nothing. I could have gone home with anyone last night and he couldn’t say boo about it.

And if anything, this proves that whatever Tiffany was talking about doesn’t matter. Maybe Sam really did look at me that way when we were younger, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s living his best life, and it’s not fair for me to hold that against him because I want him to live that best life with me.

But it does mean I have to remember that Sam has always been a player, and I’ve always accepted that. I’ve stood back and watched him date girl after girl, all the while wishing one of those girls was me. I know what he wants, but he’s going to have to get it from someone else. It’s tempting not to let this opportunity pass me by, but I have to stay strong. I have to remember: Once a player, always a player.

And Sam has brought his A-game.