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.”
I cleared my throat, rolling my neck on my shoulders. There was really no use playing clueless anymore. Sam had a way of stripping the protective layer away from me and Frankie, apparently. Maybe it had something to do with the affinity for observation. Maybe we were just shit at hiding it and no one was as brash as Sam forcing me to face it.
“And what exactly are his emotions saying right now?” I bravely inquired.
“He’s losing his mind over you.” Sam’s chin lifted, gesturing behind me. “Turn around and see for yourself.”
I finally slipped through his gentle grasp, cool air washing over the small spots his fingers had been. Anticipation gave me pause, unsure of what might be going through Frankie’s mind at that moment or if I was ready to answer to it.
For all the same reasons, I said fuck it, and twisted back in the direction of the bar. Only to be met with the slap of ardent displeasure, so hot it could brand me, and the most daunting glare I’d ever seen on a man before.
38
Envy was a nasty, ugly thing—and I was full of it.
Sam was not the brother I was supposed to be worried about making eyes at Ophelia, and from where I stood that was exactly the wrong assumption. Sure, I could have just been hyper-aware of her body language, and the way she leaned into him so easily was probably my mind making things out to be worse than they actually were. But I was already walking a tight rope between keeping her and losing her. Seeing how easy it seemed for another man to slide into my seat, steal her attention, make her laugh—make her fucking laugh—did something rogue and hateful that snapped the thin string still holding my veil of courtesy together.
I could almost hear them, talking about life out West, how similar their upbringings were, all the mountains in Utah that the Swans spent their winters skiing and snowboarding, just like Ophelia mentioned she used to do with her family. He could take her to that cabin and lie in the snow, looking at the sky and catching happy fucking snowflakes on their tongues together. There would be dozens of Sams throwing themselves at her in Colorado once she got home.
The glass of water in my hand was sweating so much it was in danger of slipping through my fingers. For a very short, depressing moment I thought about letting it do just that, to see if Ophelia would even turn around or notice. What made my pity party worse was that I knew Sam would never pursue her. Any conversation they were having had nothing to do with his interest in taking her, but his insistence in keeping me from making a mistake I couldn’t easily come back from.
No part of me actually believed it was so easy for her to move on, and I wouldn’t have, if I wasn’t drinking, or feeling sorry for myself, and letting those sadistic, intrusive, rampaging hypotheticals have their way with me. What if the bubble we were living in popped the second she flew out of state? What if this younger, peppier, life lesson of a woman was just that? And we were hindering one another by not letting lust be lust? I forgot what it felt like to have a woman clenched around me, underneath me, praising how good I felt in my ear. It was like a high, and everything else was painted gold no matter if it was pink, blue, purple, or glaringly fucking red.
I convinced myself that that was what I didn’t want to lose. Just like I convinced myself that Sam’s arm around her shoulder and his fingers on her chin were clear signs that she was ending this whole thing between us before midnight even came knocking. I couldn’t blame her, but it did nothing but choke my ego and make me sick to my stomach with jealousy.
When she finally whipped around, brown curls of hair falling off her shoulder and halfway down her back, and my favorite soft blue eyes, hooded with happiness latching onto mine, it reminded me exactly why I couldn’t let her leave me worse than she found me. I couldn’t let losing Ophelia send me to another rock bottom that I’d need to drag myself out of, because this one was a long way down.
Tyler saddled up against the bar top, flanked by two women, and slid another amber-colored beer in my direction, the foamy head sloshing over the glass onto the wood grain. I traded Ophelia’s water for it and sat back on my heels, digging my lower back into the counter until it started to pinch a nerve.
“What’s wrong?” Tyler asked. “And don’t say nothing. You keep your face like that any longer the scowl will become permanent.”