Sam nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, even as he was angling his body in her direction. He’d already decided he was going to kiss her. He thought it was possible he’d decided a long time before now, somewhere in the very back of his secret brain.
Fiona knew it, too: “I’m going,” she told him, her full mouth quirking.
Sam nodded. “You should.”
“I intend to,” she promised, and that was when Sam ducked his head.
It wasn’t particularly raunchy, as far as kisses went, lips and tongue and the barest graze of her teeth at his bottom lip; still, the force of it surprised him a little, his entire body humming wildly to shocking neon life. There you are, he thought, the notion popping into his head fully formed like possibly it had always been there, waiting. He had no idea why he’d never done this before.
Fiona pulled back, her expression all amusement. “What the fuck took you so long?” she asked him, but before he could answer, the back door of the restaurant swung open with a clatter and Jamie poked his dark head outside.
“What are you two knuckleheads doing out here?” he asked, his canny gaze flicking back and forth between them. “Get your asses back inside and eat some cake.”
Just for a moment Fiona’s eyes flashed with pure, animal hatred; then Jamie raised an eyebrow, and she sighed and shuffled inside. Sam was about to follow when Jamie grabbed his arm. “You,” he said. “Wait a minute.”
“Me?” Sam asked with a laugh. “What did I do?” Fiona glanced over her shoulder as the heavy metal door shut behind her.
“Yeah,” Jamie said once they were alone, “you. What were you guys doing out here?”
Sam hesitated, a little taken aback by the intensity in Jamie’s expression. “Easy, Dad,” he joked. “We were just hanging out, that’s all. Taking a break from this excellent party so we didn’t get overstimulated.”
Jamie didn’t smile. “I’m not screwing around, Sam. You think I haven’t seen you making eyes at her?”
“I’m not ‘making eyes’ at anybody,” he said, equally offended by both the accusation and the corniness of the phrasing. “Also, isn’t my personal life kind of . . .” He trailed off, hoping the none of your business was implicit even if he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Sometimes it seemed like everything was Jamie’s business, at least as far as the show was concerned.
“I’m not talking about your personal life, idiot.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “I’m talking about your future. Fiona is a great kid and a brilliant actress, but you know as well as I do that she’s got a lot of fucking problems.”
Sam didn’t know what to say to that. “I mean,” he hedged finally, “everybody has problems, right?”
“Not like Fiona, they don’t,” Jamie countered. “Look, I know you’re on your way out the door here to do bigger and better things, and that’s great. Fuck, I want that for you, which is why the last thing I want to see happen is you fucking it up because you can’t keep your dick in your pants around a pretty girl, do you know what I’m saying?” He shook his head. “We’ve got one, maybe two colossal Fiona screwups to go before the network shitcans us altogether. You’re smart to be getting out now. Don’t let yourself get sucked back into her drama-queen bullshit.”
Sam thought of the way Fiona had looked at him in the second before he kissed her. He thought of the way her hair had felt in his hands. He thought of what it had been like to be around her for the last few months, like watching a not-very-experienced swimmer paddle out past the breakers; and yeah, for a second tonight it had felt like she was about to tell him what her deal was, that maybe she was about to let him see some secret part of herself she kept hidden from the rest of the world, but who even knew if any of that was legit or not? After all: she was a brilliant actress.
On top of which, he trusted Jamie. The guy might not have been his real dad, but the embarrassing truth was that for the last four years he’d been the closest thing Sam had to one. And if Jamie was telling him to get as far away from Fiona as humanly possible, then in all likelihood there was a damn good reason for that.
“Yeah, no, totally,” Sam said now, waving him off. “I hear you; you’re right. I don’t exactly think we’re going to be hanging out a whole lot once I’m done here.”
Jamie relaxed. “Smart guy,” he said with a grin, slapping Sam on the shoulder. “Let’s go get a beer.”
Fiona was standing by the bar when he got back inside, something clear and icy sweating in the glass in her hand; Jamie had stopped to talk to some studio guys near the doorway, his expression bright and animated. “What did he want?” Fiona asked, jerking her chin in Jamie’s direction.
Sam shook his head. “Nothing,” he said—his voice noticeably colder than it had been outside, even to his own ears. “Just career stuff.” He ignored the pang of regret in his gut as he watched Fiona’s expression flicker warily, reminding himself of all the opportunities waiting for him outside this studio: all the big-budget films he was going to star in, all the famous women he was going to meet. Jamie was right. He didn’t need anybody’s immature Family Network baggage dragging him down.
“I should go talk to some people,” he told Fiona, squeezing her arm before turning away toward the party. “I’ll see you around.”
Erin stages an intervention the following night at a hipster Mexican place she hates but knows he likes, with spicy cilantro cocktails and carnitas made of tofu. Sam orders a tequila gimlet, trying not to think about that first night with Fiona at his apartment. The bartender smiles as she sets the glass in front of him; Sam can tell objectively that she’s beautiful, with her dark red hair and a body for days, but just . . . nothing. She might as well be a dude.
“What’s the latest with Hipster Glasses?” he tries, wanting to talk about anything else besides his own ridiculous bullshit. “You guys still hanging out?”
“Every night this week,” Erin admits a little shyly. “Turns out I knew the right amount of feminist theory after all.”
Sam grins. “That’s awesome,” he says, and means it. Erin deserves somebody great. He listens as she tells him about some arty movie they saw and the day trip they took to the botanical garden, asking questions and holding his drink up so they can toast, but the truth is that as glad as Sam is for her, his heart just isn’t in it tonight. Finally he swallows the rest of his drink in two big gulps, then reaches for his jacket. “I’m going to go,” he says.
“Wait, already?” Erin’s eyes widen. “Come on,” she says, catching his arm. “It can’t be that bad.”
Sam opens his mouth, then closes it again, realizing with no small amount of horror that there’s an actual lump rising in his throat. “Dude,” he says finally, swallowing it down with some effort, “I’m broke as shit. Like, seriously, cannot-pay-for-these-drinks broke. My career is completely stalled. Russ didn’t even say anything about another audition. I’m doing a fat lot of nothing for my family, and I just took a gigantic steaming dump all over the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real relationship with a girl I might actually be in—” He breaks off abruptly, snapping his jaws shut one more time.