There were ominous-looking clouds in the sky by late afternoon, so Charlie and Sam picked me up in the truck. I squeezed into my usual spot between them, in no mood to make small talk with either one.
“Think any more about that offer, Pers?” Charlie asked with a dimpled smile, his vision locked on Sam.
“You know what, Charlie?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Screw you. You want to piss off Sam, that’s fine. But leave me the hell out of it. You’re too old for this shit!” Charlie blinked at me.
“I was just joking around,” he mumbled.
“I know!” I cried, hitting my hands against my thighs. “And I’m sick of it.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you,” he said. “I’ll be good.” He pulled the truck out of the driveway, and none of us spoke the rest of the ride.
* * *
IT WAS RAINING the next morning when Sam showed up at the cottage dressed in his running gear and dripping wet.
“Sam, you look like you’ve been drowned,” my dad bellowed when he opened the door for him. Sam’s shirt was plastered to his body, emphasizing the muscles in his chest and stomach. He looked good for a drowning victim. It pissed me off. “Wait here, I’ll get you a towel,” Dad said.
“You better get him a change of clothes, too,” Mom called from the couch. Dad tossed him a bath sheet and headed upstairs to find something dry for Sam to wear.
“What are you doing here?” I asked while he rubbed the towel over his head.
“I always come after my run. Also,” he added in a lower voice, “I want to talk to you. Can we go upstairs?”
I didn’t see any way to disagree in front of my parents without causing a scene, and I’d had my fill of Sam-related drama this week. Dad handed Sam a stack of clothes as we passed him on the steps, and he changed in my parents’ room while I waited in mine, sitting cross-legged on my bed, listening to the patter of rain on the roof.
As mad as I was at him, when Sam entered the room wearing a pair of my dad’s track pants that were several inches too big in the waist and a green fleece pullover that was several inches too short in the arms, I burst out laughing.
“I hope you don’t plan on having a serious conversation while wearing that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling.
I miss this, I thought, and felt the smile vanish from my face. Sam closed the door and sat across from me on the bed.
“I was wrong,” he began. “So wrong.” My eyes collided with his. “And you were wrong, too. Yesterday, when you said I didn’t want you.” He spoke softly, his blue eyes fixed on mine. “I did want you. I do want you. I’ve always wanted you.” I felt a sharp pressure in my lungs, like his words had sucked all the oxygen out of them. “I’m sorry for making you think otherwise, for confusing you. I thought we should focus on school for now. What my mom said last summer—that we had plenty of time to be in a relationship—made sense to me. And I thought we would mess things up if we tried to be something more, but I messed things up trying not to be.”
“You really did,” I said, a poor attempt at humor. He smiled anyway.
“I told you last summer that I don’t know how to do this.” He motioned between us. “I said we should wait until we’re ready.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if we’re ready, but I don’t want to wait anymore.” He put his hands over mine and squeezed.
I wanted to jump onto his lap and throw my arms around his neck and kiss the crease on his lip. I also wanted to pummel him. Because what if he changed his mind again? I didn’t think I could survive that.
“Sam, I have a boyfriend,” I told him, forcing the words to sound strong. “A boyfriend, who, by the way, is going to be here in just over a week. I just need you to respect that right now.”
“Of course,” he said, though his voice was ragged. “I can do that.”
* * *
“SO, THAT’S HIM.” Sam peered through the kitchen window into the dining room, where Mason, Delilah, and Patel were sitting at a four-top while my former favorite server, Joan, handed out menus. They didn’t arrive at the cottage until midafternoon, just a couple of hours before my Saturday shift, so they decided to show up for dinner to spend more time with me. Mason said they wanted to surprise me. It worked. I wasn’t going to mention their presence to Sam, but Joan had burst into the kitchen after seating them to tell me I was “one lucky bitch” for having “such a hot boyfriend.” I used to like Joan.