“Have another drink, Percy,” he says gently, filling the glass. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”
I nod and take a deep breath, grateful.
“Na zdrowie,” he says, touching his glass to mine and raising it to his lips, waiting for me to do the same. Together, we gulp down our drinks.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s not the first time it’s gone off this evening. He checks the screen and shoves it back in his shorts.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask, thinking of Chantal and feeling a pang of guilt. “I don’t mind.”
“No, they can wait. I’ll switch it off.” He lifts the bottle of whisky. “Another?”
“Why the hell not?” I attempt a smile.
He pours more and then comes around the bar to sit on the stool beside me. “We should probably take this one slowly,” he says, tilting his glass. I ruffle my bangs with my fingers, partly from nerves and partly in the hope of making them somewhat presentable.
“You once swore you’d never get bangs again,” Sam says, looking at me sideways. I turn in my seat to face him.
“These,” I pronounce, “are my breakup bangs!” And, wow, am I drunk already?
“Your what?” he asks, swinging to face me with a lopsided grin, brushing my legs with his in the process. I look down where his thighs bracket mine, then quickly back to his face.
“You know—breakup bangs,” I say, trying to enunciate as clearly as possible. He looks mystified. “Women get new hairstyles when we get dumped. Or when we dump someone. Or sometimes just when we need a fresh start. Bangs are like the New Year’s Eve of hair.”
“I see,” Sam says slowly, and it’s clear what he means is I really don’t see and also That’s crazy. But a smile plays across his mouth. I try not to focus on the little crease in the middle of his bottom lip. Booze and Sam are a dangerous combination, I realize, because my cheeks are toasty and all I can think is how much I want to suck on that crease.
“So were you the dumper or the dumpee?” he asks.
“I got dumped. Just recently.” I try to focus on his eyes.
“Ah, shit. Sorry, Percy.” He moves his head down to my level so he’s right in my eye line. Oh god, did he notice I was staring at his mouth? I force myself to meet his eyes. He’s wearing an odd stern expression. My face is burning. I can feel beads of perspiration forming above my upper lip.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, trying to subtly dab at the sweat. “It wasn’t that serious. We weren’t together very long. I mean, it was seven months. Which is long for me—the longest for me, actually. But, like, not long for most grown-up people.”
Oh, good, I’m rambling now. And maybe slurring?
“Anyway, it’s fine. He wasn’t the guy for me.”
“Ah,” he says, and when I look back to him, he seems more relaxed. “Not a horror fan?”
“You remember that, huh?” Delight tingles in my toes.
“Of course,” he says with open, disarming honesty. I smile—a huge, dopey, whisky-fueled smile. “Who could forget being subjected to years of shitty scary movies?” This is classic Sam, teasing but always gentle and never unkind.
“Excuse me?! You loved my movies!” I give him a playful punch on the arm, and, Jesus, his bicep is like concrete. I shake my fist, looking at him in disbelief. He wears a small grin as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I take a sip of whisky to cut the tension that’s closing in.
“Anyway, no. Sebastian definitely did not like horror movies,” I say, and then I rethink this. “Actually, I don’t know. I never asked. And we never watched one together, so who knows? Maybe he loved them.” I leave out the part about how I haven’t told anyone I’ve dated about this odd passion of mine. That I don’t even watch scary movies anymore. To Sam, my love of classic horror films was probably a basic biographical Percy fact. But to me, it was far too intimate a detail to reveal to any of the men I saw. And, more to the point, after that first summer at the lake, I’ve associated those films with Sam. Watching them now would be too painful.
“You’re joking?” Sam asks, clearly confused.
I shake my head.
“Well, you’re right,” he murmurs. “He’s definitely not the guy for you.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Still reading anatomy textbooks for kicks?”
His eyes grow wider, and I think his cheeks have gone darker under the stubble. I hadn’t meant to bring up that particular memory. Of his hands and mouth on me in his bedroom.