“Yeah, get outta here,” he said, waving me off. “I’ll text you tomorrow about coming over to go through Dad’s room.”
A task I was emphatically not looking forward to. “Sounds good.”
Sam had already stood up, offering me his hand to pull me to my feet. I could’ve dropped his hand immediately after—it’s not like I needed to be led through the park like a child—but it felt nice, his warm palm against mine, our fingers interlaced. He pulled me closer to him as we half ran toward the parking lot, sheltering me at least partly from the rain with his body, and we were soaked and laughing by the time we climbed into his truck.
“So,” he said.
“So.” I gathered my heavy, sodden hair in a ponytail at the nape of my neck before releasing it again. The adrenaline was coursing through my body with such intensity that I could power this car myself if I could figure out how to plug in somewhere.“Are we going back to your place, or do I have to ravage a public school teacher in his truck?”
“I’m glad one of us is thinking of my role as an upstanding community member,” Sam said. “I can’t say that’s where my head was at.” He turned the key in the ignition, the truck bouncing over a divot in the pavement as he backed up and drove us home.
?SAM AND Ibarely made it inside his house before we were all over each other, clothes quickly discarded in a trail to the bedroom, where we made it to a wall, at least, if not the bed.
“Tell me this doesn’t feel casual for you, too.” Sam’s hands circled my wrists, pinning them gently to my sides, as he kissed his way down my neck. “God, Phoebe. I like you so much.”
I’d been about to make a joke, with the dim part of my brain that was even capable of rational thought. Something about how we were at least up toneutral professionalby now, although nothing about this felt neutral or professional. But Sam’s declaration lodged somewhere in my chest, feeling somehow bigger even than if he’d used the wordlove.
“I like you, too,” I whispered, and then his tongue was in my mouth and I didn’t think about words again for a while.
?SAM TRIED TOconvince me to stay the night, but I was worried about leaving Lenore that long.
“Not that she pays any attention to me,” I said. “But she’s actually using the litter box and I’m convinced she’ll stop just to be a brat if I’m not there to monitor her.”
“Sounds about right.”
We were lying in his bed, his arm under my neck, his fingers idly playing with my hair. It would be so tempting to roll over and go to sleep, but it seemed important to make this distinction somehow, and not just because of the cat. One of my fears with having a boyfriend—if that’s what Sam was—was losing myself, focusing so much on the relationship that I let go of important parts of me. And then if the relationship ended—whenthe relationship ended, an insidious voice whispered in the back of my head—would I be able to find those parts of myself again?
“I can hear your brain working,” Sam said.
I rolled over, propping myself up on my elbows so I could look down into his face. He smiled at me, a little bemused, until he seemed to sense that my thoughts were veering down a more serious path. His hand dropped from my hair, and already it scared me, how much the loss of that brief contact caused something to hollow out in my stomach.
“I need to finish my dissertation,” I said.
“Okay.”
“I had a chapter due to my advisor like, a week ago,” I said. “And then I still have another chapter after that, and a bunch of work on the conclusion and the bibliography and god, the formatting, it’ll be a nightmare because I’ve been copy-and-pasting citations in as I go... and Conner is coming over tomorrow to help with the house, and I know he’s going to want to debrief about the proposal fiasco and brainstorm new ways to do it. All I can say is if he’s planning a flash mob or anything involving equestrian dressage, he’s on his own, because I don’t dance and I’m not getting on a horse.”
“You’ll get it done,” Sam said. “And if I can help, I will. Not with the dissertation, because my only contribution would be to Select All and then make the font the same, and I assume you know how to do that yourself.”
“I do,” I said. “They taught a whole class on it my second year.”
“Well, there you go. I’ve already proved my ability to edge a tight corner with paint, and I’d welcome the opportunity to show off again. If that’s me swinging my dick around too much, just let me know.”
I gave a surprised snort of laughter. Already I could see what a bad influence I was on Sam. I would’ve made that kind of crass comment when we first met, just to shock him. But now here he was, although even in the dark I felt like I could see the color slant across his cheeks. I hoped he never lost that.
“I’m just saying I may need some space,” I said, suddenly more serious. “Not in a Taylor Swift kind of way. I do want to be with you... I just have a lot going on. I need you to understand if I have to hole up next door for a couple days to finish a draft or whatever.”
“Phoebe,” he said. “I get it. I don’t expect you to drop everything to be with me. We can take it slow, okay?”
I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
“If you still want to head back next door, though, you should probably do it. That position is not conducive to me giving you space.”
I glanced down. My arms were pushing my breasts together, making my cleavage look even deeper than usual. “Oh my god,” I said. “My tits look amazing.”
“I know,” Sam said. “That’s my point.”
“They may never look this good again. Take a picture.”