Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chloe

“Are you okay?” Sam asks as I stick the key in the lock. We’re on the front porch of the lake house.

“Yeah,” I rush out. “My shoulder just hurts.” It’s a lame excuse for me being rather quiet on the car ride to my dad’s house, but it’s all I can come up with right now. I spent most of the drive reminding myself I can’t be mad at Sam. I can’t consider him hooking up with Lauren another betrayal. He doesn’t seem to remember Lauren was a raging bitch to me in high school. I think only Farisha and my dad knew the extent of her bullying. I never hid things from Sam—except my love for him, of course—but I didn’t go rushing off to tell him a run-down of the mean comments Lauren said to me throughout the day.

“Maybe take an Advil or something.”

“I can do better.” I unlock the door and step inside. Sam follows, and I’m wishing I could uninvite him over. Okay, I don’t. But I should. I take my shoes off as I walk and end up tripping over my own feet. Sam dashes forward and catches me. His hands, already familiar with the curve of my waist, go right back to where they were only an hour or so ago.

He pulls me to him, crushing my breasts against his chest. He’s warm against me, and desire floods my body. Would it be so bad to give in and let him rock my world just this once?

Yes, Chloe, it would be bad. Terribly bad.

“Careful.” Sam’s deep voice rumbles through me and my lips part. Somehow my hands end up hooked around his neck, and he tightens his hold on me, pulling me so our hips brush against each other. I can feel the bulge of his cock through his athletic pants, and suddenly I’m getting weak in the knees.

“At least there wasn’t a ravine to fall down this time,” I say, voice all breathy.

“I’m glad I was there to catch you.”

“Y-yeah.” Wide-eyed, I lock gazes with Sam. My heart is racing and I’m starting to sweat again. I swallow hard, now worried my breath smells like the artichoke dip we just devoured.

Because I think Sam Harris is going to kiss me.

Then his phone rings, and he takes one hand off my side to fish it out of his pocket.

“Stacey again?” I ask, not wanting to be nosy, though I am a nosy person.

“No, it’s my mom.”

“Oh, well, you better answer it.”

“I can call her back.” Sam silences the call.

“What if it was important?” I slowly slide my hands to his chest, wishing he’d take his shirt off again.

“Then she’ll call again and then I will answer. She’s probably calling to ask what I think you’d like for dinner. They’re all pretty damn excited to have you over.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a family dinner with you all.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one too.” We’re still in the foyer, and Sam sets his phone on the entryway table. His hand goes back to my waist, and he flicks his eyes to my lips. If he kisses me, I’m done for. All it will take is a millisecond of him pressing his lips against mine to make me grab his hand and pull him into my bedroom.

But nope. I need to be strong, and the longer we stay like this, locked in each other’s embraces, the harder it’s going to be. I suck in a breath and move back, taking my hands off Sam’s shoulders.

“I’m, uh, going to find some…something.”

“Something?” Sam chuckles. “That’s specific.”

I just bob my head up and down quickly and go into the kitchen, opening the cabinet next to the microwave. It’s full of medications, sunscreen, and bug spray. The thing is organized chaos, and if there’s ever an apocalypse, Dad has his own mini-pharmacy right here.

Sam leans against the counter, watching me. His gaze on me is intimate again, and I can feel my resolve slipping away beneath my feet. “I know they’re in here somewhere,” I mutter. “Dad never throws anything out.” I rustle through old pill bottles. “Ah-ha!” Smiling, I grab what I was looking for.

“Are you sure you should be taking expired muscle relaxers?” Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that I so don’t notice his muscular biceps bulging against the sleeves of his black t-shirt.

“Are you sure you should be telling me what to do?” I retort and struggle to untwist the childproof lid.

“Well, I’m a doctor, so when it comes to taking medication, yes. I should be telling you what to do, and taking old medication isn’t smart.”

“Touché,” I say with a forced smile, eyes narrowing. The last thing I need is Sam fucking Harris judging me. “It’s easy to forget you actually got accepted and then graduated from medical school.”

Sam laughs and plows a hand through his thick brown locks, messing them up in a way that looks way too fucking good on him. On anyone. His lips pull into a half-smile and his eyes meet mine. “With honors,” he adds. “Don’t forget that I graduated with honors.”

“Who’d you have to sleep with to get that?” I spit back, working hard to keep my composure. I will not crumble…I will not crumble…

“Whoever I damn well wanted to,” he says with a shrug. “Though that had nothing to do with my exceptionally good grades.” He parts his lips, tongue darting out to wet them. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I wonder if this is a game to him, seeing how easily I’ll cave and fall back on our pact. He doesn’t want to get married, of course, but he’s shown he’s interested in sex.

Me, naked in his bed. And dammit, I really want that too.

“Let me,” he says, closing the distance between us, and cups his hands around mine. It’s then I notice all over again just how grown up Sam has become. Where once stood a boy stands a man, and he’s all man now. He was always athletic before, but he’s filled out, thick with pounds of muscle. The boyish, playboy charm still sparkles in his eyes, but it’s peppered with something that alludes to experience, something that promises he knows his way around a woman’s body and he never disappoints.

“These expired seven years ago.” He holds up the bottle. “If you’re that desperate, let me prescribe something for you.”

I let out a breath and bring my hand to my shoulder, pressing my fingers into my stiff muscles. It’s really not that bad; nothing a trip to a good massage therapist wouldn’t cure. Yet there’s nowhere to get a decent massage in Silver Ridge, evidence perhaps that I’ve grown too used to my cushy and very extra LA lifestyle.

“Or,” Sam goes on, deep voice like gravel as he sets the pills down on the counter, “I could do this.” He takes a step back and brings his hands to my shoulders, gently massaging them. His large hands are warm against my skin. Deft fingers work right into the knot above my shoulders blade, and some of the pain immediately leaves me, only to be replaced by a different kind of pain. It’s not physical, and it’s rooted in a deep longing for something I’ll never have.

One that will only get worse the more he touches me. My eyes flutter closed and a beat passes before I can even suck in the air to speak.

“Mhhh,” I breathe. “That feels good.”

“You have a knot.” Sam presses a little harder, moving his fingers in a circle. “Right here.” He presses two fingers deeper into my muscle, and I let my head fall forward.

“You slouch when you write?” he asks, sweeping his fingers across the base of my neck, moving my hair over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I say, fighting to find my voice. “I try not to but then find myself practically leaning over my desk an hour or so into working. I got a posture brace but never wear it.”

“Maybe you should start.” He pushes two fingers into my muscle and slowly works out the knot. “Your back is very tight.”

That’s not the only thing that’s tight. Sam lets his other hand drop down to my lower back, gently running his fingers over my skin. He flattens his hands over my back and slowly drags his fingers down, and a soft moan escapes my lips. He leans in, moves my hair to the other side of my neck, and slips his fingers under the strap of my bra, going back to working out the knot. The tension leaves my shoulders almost immediately, but the room is filled with a different kind of tension.

Tension I have to break before it breaks me.

“Thanks,” I blurt and move away, ripping his hands off me like a band-aid. “I’ll, um…um…take some Advil.” I squeeze my eyes closed for a second and dread turning around. But then Sam’s phone rings again.

“You should go see if it’s your mom again,” I rush out, turning. We stare at each other for another second, and then he nods, going into the foyer to get his phone. Needing to get up and do something to shake the sexual frustration that’s now plaguing me, I follow him. “Is it her?”

“No, it’s the trauma center,” he tells me. “I have to take it.”

“Of course,” I say and hear him answer the phone as “Doctor Harris” which does bad things to me all over again. I go into the kitchen for a glass of cold water. I should just dump it all over myself or at the very least down my pants.

Grabbing two glasses, I fill them both with ice water and set them on the counter, listening to Sam say something about medications to whoever he’s talking to. A minute later, he’s back in the kitchen. I motion to the water.

“Thanks,” he says and picks up the glass.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He takes a long drink. “I asked to be updated on a patient while I was away.”

“I hope it was good news.”

He takes another drink and shakes his head. “It was expected news. One of our patients is being brought out of a medically induced coma, and he’s not showing much brain activity.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Sam looks out the window, visibly bothered by the prognosis of his patient.

“It has to be really hard to see your patients like that,” I say, gently catching a bead of water that’s rolling down my glass with my finger.

“It can be. I knew what I signed up for when I took the job at the trauma center. Some patients stick with you more than others. Kids are the worst to see in those situations, especially when the trauma is the result of abuse.”

“I can’t even imagine.” I shudder. “But you’re saving people.”

“That’s the goal.” He takes another drink and looks out at the lake. I can see the stress of his job weighing down on him in that moment, and I want to take it away. He has grown up and changed, yet I still can’t throw caution to the wind because I haven’t changed.

At least not when it comes to my feelings toward Sam.

“I, um, have a lot of writing to do before dinner.”

Sam looks…I’m not sure—hurt? Disappointed? “Right. That’s the whole reason you came here. Want me to pick you up later?”

“I can drive. I don’t want to make you go out of your way.”

“I’ll gladly go out of my way for you.” That cocky grin comes back to his face. “And get out of the house for a while. I forgot how chaotic it is with everyone there.”

“I miss that chaos.”

“It’s back with a vengeance with my nephew there.”

“He’s a cute baby.”

“Of course he is. He’s related to me.” And that’s the Sam I know. We laugh, locking eyes once again. “So…I’ll be back at five?”

“Yeah. I’ll be ready.” Without looking away from Sam, I bring my glass back to my lips and end up clinking it against my teeth. There’s a reason taking a drink on national TV gives me anxiety. I set the glass down and walk Sam to the door. “Thanks for, um, not letting me fall into the lake.”

“I’ll always catch you, Chloe.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and pulls his keys from his pocket. Please stop being so perfect. My heart—and libido—can’t take it. He smiles softly and then turns, going outside and right to his car. He looks back at me before he gets in, and I close the door once he slips into the driver’s seat.

“Holy fuck,” I pant, leaning against the door. I grab my phone and call Farisha.

“Hey, lady,” she says when she answers. “You okay? You never call.”

“I haven’t figured out if I’m okay or not. Sam just left. I also haven’t listened to your messages yet.”

“Sam left your house?”

“Yeah,” I say and go into the living room. I don’t talk on the phone often, but when I do, I tend to walk around the entire time. “I need you to be honest with me.”

“I always am.”

“Should I have no-strings sex?”

“With Sam?” she asks incredulously. “You’re joking, right?”

“I thought you were all for sexual freedom.” I open the French doors that lead to the screened-in porch. It’s hotter than balls out here today. I switch on the fan and pace around the room.

“I am, but having so-called ‘no-strings’ sex only works when there are no strings. You’ve been in love with Sam since you met him. Where is this coming from?”

“We ran into each other again, and he’s giving me major fuck-me vibes, plus he brought up that stupid pact we made when we were kids. But instead of getting hitched, he wants to fuck. I think. I’m still pretty confused. Until just now I was certain he saw me as a sister and nothing else, and no, I don’t think he wants to sleep with me because he sees me as his sister.”

“You’re rambling, which is all the more reason not to sleep with him, Chloe.”

“I know,” I sigh. “And I think he hooked up with Lauren Wallace last night. Gross, right?”

“Super gross. But why do you think that?”

“I got lucky and saw Lauren two days in a row and she said she took care of him. I don’t know. She’s always been a liar.”

“She has, and she’s still jealous of you. She’ll take any chance she can get to make you feel small. She’s a textbook bitch,” Farisha reminds me. “And that’s almost literal since I use her as an example of toxic women in my lectures. Now circle back to Sam. He brought up the pact and offered to sleep with you?”

“Not like that. He brought it up and was all flirty and then we came back here. He was rubbing my back and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why in the world was Sam rubbing your back?” she asks.

“I was complaining about my back hurting and was going to take old muscle relaxers, but he said he’d help rub out the knot instead.”

“Rub out the knot…sure.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m so confused. My feelings for him never went away, and seeing him again is bringing all those damn emotions back. He’s gorgeous, which isn’t helping in the least, but it’s more than that.”

“It always has been,” she says, knowing looks don’t mean much to me in the grand scheme of things. “Sam’s always been a rather physical guy who can separate sex and emotion. You can’t. I don’t want you to get hurt by him—again. I think it’s great you two had a chance to talk because you never really got closure, but I think this should be it, Chloe. It might sound harsh, but you need to set a boundary for yourself.”

“My therapist tells me the same thing,” I grumble. “And I’m going to his house for dinner. Well, not his house. Rory and his mom both asked me to come over for a family dinner. With the whole Harris fam there, I doubt we’ll be sneaking away to his childhood bedroom for a secret hookup. I have a few hours to chill before he picks me up.”

“He’s picking you up? Don’t you have a car there?”

“Yeah, I have my dad’s. I thought it was nice of him to offer to pick me up.”

“So he can take you home, duh.”

“Shit. I didn’t think of that.” I open the screen door and go outside, walking down the stone path to the dock. “I’m stupid, right? Stupid to think we had a moment, and stupid for thinking he could want something real from me.”

“No, you’re not stupid. You’re a hopeless romantic, Chloe. Look at what you do for a living. You write love stories. And honestly, I thought you two would have gotten together at least once or twice when we were younger. I hoped it would happen. You know I approved of Sam. He’s a good guy who was there for you whenever you needed him…until he wasn’t.”

“Yeah.” I sigh again. “It’ll be nice to see his family again. Rory is here with her baby.”

“Have fun over there but be smart. You probably shouldn’t drink. You get frisky when you’re drunk.”

“I thought you liked that.”

“Oh, I do. But you’re not in the safety of my home tonight where we can wake up in our undies wondering what the hell happened.”

I laugh. “Good times.”

“Be careful. I love you and don’t want to see you get hurt. Again.”

“I don’t either. Thanks, Rish. I miss you.”

“Miss you too.”

We end the call and I go back inside. Farisha is right, and I’m so thankful I have a friend like her who will lay down the truth, even if it’s not what I want to hear. Though when it comes to relationships, I have a tendency to do the opposite of what’s good for me.

And there’s probably a good chance that’s exactly what will happen tonight.