Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)(112)
“Like that.” His lips tugged up at the corner. “You just went through the seven stages of grief over an Old Fashioned. I got to see a little slice of life happening in this head.” He tapped his pointer finger between my eyes.
“So you’re sitting here, watching people have fun, and that’s your definition of fun?”
“Look over there.” Sam pointed through the crowd to a couple standing in the corner. I scooted closer to his side, squinting at them. Sam Swan smelled like mint and that same citrus I was still trying to forget the taste of. “She is so not interested in him. It’s painful at this point,” he said. “My guess is this is a first date gone wrong, or catfish situation. He probably said he was six-one when the guy is pushing five-nine in those clunky fucking dress shoes. He’s been drinking Long Island Iced Teas, which is a disaster waiting to happen, and she’s had her nose stuck to her phone screen for twenty minutes. Probably coming up with an excuse and an alibi before midnight so she doesn’t get stuck smooching Mr. Wrong.”
“Or maybe,” I suggested, “they’ve actually been together for years but they got in a fight on the car ride over. Something about her taking too long in the bathroom, or him leaving all the lights on and forgetting to feed the cat. Really lame reasons but both are too stubborn to be the one to apologize first. So being resentful, he decided to start slamming Long Islands to take the edge off, because they’re delicious and guaranteed to get you fucked up, while she’s on the phone begging her friends to get here faster.”
Sam’s light eyes twinkled in amusement. “Right, well, you don’t seem like you’re having fun at all, Ophelia.”
“It’s a little fun,” I admitted.
“What about these guys?” Sam put a friendly arm around my shoulder and veered my attention toward two men sitting by themselves in a large booth. Both were wearing black, save for the flashy silver jewelry that turned fiery under the lights every time they strobed past. On the table in front of them sat a few unopened bottles sweating on ice and neither of them were speaking or remotely interested in the other's company, which was obvious as they kept their heads on a swivel.
“A bunch of assholes,” I jeered. “Waiting for women to come to them because they’re wearing flashy, tasteless watches and have a couple bottles of Dom Pérignon on the table. The reason they have to do that is because no one would be interested in them in the daylight. I can guarantee that one or both of them have a podcast or trade Bitcoin and they think they are so much better than everyone else here because of it, but come later tonight they’ll be totally alone in their barren apartments writing a manifesto on the fall of femininity.”
Sam leaned back a tad, taking a sip of his drink and giving all those words that spilled out of my mouth the space they needed. His arm around my shoulders loosened, but remained across the booth behind me. “Tell me how you really feel.” His bright smirk was just as ravishing as the wink that accompanied it.
“Too much?” I laughed. “I don’t hate all men, I swear. I am a man lover. Men are amazing. I’m a big fan.”
“I’m convinced.” He assessed me. “I spend a lot of time reading people. Believe it or not I’ve had you pinned since yesterday, and you passed the test.”
“What was the test?” I turned fully toward him, and Sam’s eyes flitted behind me briefly, something catching his attention just enough to amuse him.
“If you’re good enough for my pilot,” he said bluntly.
I shifted uncomfortably, finding a loose seam in my jeans to pick at. “Frankie and I are just—”
“Friends,” Sam finished, placing a hand on my arm to keep me from turning away from him. “Yeah, he said that. And you’re both full of shit.”
“Really—” I swore, stiffening as Sam’s thumb began grazing back and forth across my arm.
He leaned closer. “You want to know how I know that there’s nothing platonic about what’s going on with you two?”
Did I? My throat had gone bone dry and the feeling of another man’s fingers on me, even as innocently as that, sent a chill of discomfort across my entire body.
“Because for the last few minutes I’ve been talking to you, but I’ve really been watching Pike over there by the bar white knuckling that glass of water he’s holding. He put you here because he knows you’re safe, and he trusts that I’m not interested—and I’m not,” he said. “But I know my friend and, don’t take this the wrong way, sometimes he needs someone to play with his toys to remind him he doesn’t share well with others.”
My spine tingled, as if I could feel Frankie’s eyes burning into me. I attempted to turn again, but Sam hooked a finger under my jaw and kept me from doing it.
“He says you’re just friends, but he hates that I made you laugh. That really pissed him off. He hates that I held your attention, that we found something entertaining to talk about when he wasn’t here, that you can even fathom a connection with someone who isn’t him. And he’s holding his breath right now because I’m touching you and he wants to fucking kill me, but he knows he has no right to feel like that. Because you’re just friends, right?”
“Right,” I squeaked.
“And what about you?” Sam’s head tilted slightly. “Every ounce of your blood went cold the second I laid a finger on you. I’d be offended if I didn’t know it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Frankie and the emotions he wears so blatantly on his sleeve. Always has.”