“Bad news?” She poured it for him, and he watched the froth reach the top of the frosted glass, then settle down.
“Why do you say that?” He took a sip and welcomed the blessed slide of the cold liquid through his body.
“The look on your face. Like something or someone disappointed you.”
“No,” he said, and took another swallow of his beer. “No disappointment.”
She walked away, promising to keep an eye on him and bring him another one when he finished.
“Can’t be disappointed when you expect nothing,” he muttered to himself. The envelope crackled in his pocket. “What the hell.” Sam ripped open the seal and pulled out the sheet of paper, scanning the few lines. Nothing he read made him feel any better, noI’m sorryor any explanation.
If this was what awaited him in the dating world, he hadn’t missed anything by staying at home, and it reconfirmed what he already knew: he wasn’t cut out for the party lifestyle. Maybe Henry signing him up for that life coach wasn’t so wrong, though he’d be damned if he’d tell him so. So much had changed in his life, from the breakup and his retirement to figuring out what the next step in his life might be; it couldn’t hurt to get a fresh perspective.
The third beer went down easier than the first two, and at that point Sam knew it was time to leave before he couldn’t get up from the chair of his own accord. It would not be a pretty sight to have someone come and haul him out of the bar. Weaving slightly as he stood, Sam tossed several bills on the table, and with as much dignity as he could muster in his drunk-ass state, slowly made his way to the elevator and into his room where he hit the bed, fully clothed.
All afternoon, and throughout dinner this evening, he’d planned on having Zach with him in this bed. Last night’s encounter had so far exceeded his expectations, Sam hadn’t known what to think. Everything about Zach excited Sam; his soft mouth with its plush, warm lips and hot, eager tongue, his slim hips and round, perfect ass, and those killer blue eyes framed by long, curling black lashes that pierced right through the calm, unruffled life Sam had created for himself, sending him spinning out of control.
Over the span of his prior relationship, Sam’s sex drive had lessened in intensity and ardor. And whatever desire there had been between him and Andy, if Sam admitted to himself, had burned out long before their breakup; they’d been holding on to the thread of a relationship that had unraveled, without either one of them expressing the desire or having the capacity to sew it back together and make it whole again. He’d been living a farce, Sam now understood. People believed being a policeman meant Sam was a tough bad-ass, incapable of emotion, interested only in the physical. But for Sam the physical part of their relationship was only half the equation.
Making love with Zach, opening himself up to another man, had revived the deeply buried hunger within Sam for a personal connection; for something more than sex. Now, to have lost it when it had been there at his fingertips, giving him an elusive taste of passion that disappeared as rapidly as a virgin’s smile, had him wondering if it had all been in his mind. Lying in his bed, drunk, body aching with want for a man who no longer existed for him, Sam fell asleep.
It was never a good sign to wake up with a pounding head and a furry mouth. The damn bright sun pouring in through the half-drawn blinds had Sam almost whimpering, his fingers clawing at the sheets to pull them over his head, shielding his eyes. Damn, when was the last time three beers had brought him to his knees? Probably when said three beers were consumed within a one-hour time period. He hadn’t bothered with the rubbery chicken dinner they’d served at the awards banquet, counting on some after-dinner snacking from room service that had never materialized.
“Fuck my life.” Several minutes passed before he found the strength to lift his head from the damp pillow. Gingerly, he rolled on his back, grateful his still-attached head traveled along with the rest of his body. The blinking red light on the phone next to the bed caught his eye.
It was safe to move, Sam decided, then grabbed the phone and pressed the button to retrieve his message. He wedged the receiver in between the pillow and his head and listened to his message.
“Hey, Sam. It’s Zach. I, uh, had an emergency at home I had to take care of, so I ended up leaving tonight. Sorry I messed up our plans. Um, well, ah…have a great rest of the weekend. Bye.”.
Coupled with that note which told him virtually nothing, Sam decided to forget about Zach Cohen. If he wanted to, Sam knew he could find out more about the man in a matter of minutes; between his investigative skills and Henry’s—if he chose to ask for his help—the two of them could find out what the guy had for breakfast last Tuesday if they wanted to.
There was no point to it though. Zach had proven to Sam what he’d already feared: that Sam was a one-night stand, and Zach never had the intention to continue on after the weekend. Sam tossed the phone on the bed, pushed himself up to a sitting position with minimal carnage to his remaining living brain cells, and went to the bathroom to try and make himself feel somewhat human again.
Standing under the shower until it ran cold gave him some perspective. Why did he have any expectation other than sex and a good time? That was why he came here this weekend, after all. He turned off the water, dried himself off, brushed his teeth, and shaved. Getting dressed to go home took nothing more than pulling on shorts and a tee shirt and jamming his baseball cap on top of his head.
It took only seconds to throw the few belongings he brought in his overnight bag and leave a tip for the maid. The phone rang, and though he knew it had to be Henry, for a moment he wished it were Zach calling to talk to him and apologize. Angry with himself for dwelling on a man who proved to be less than what he’d seemed to be, Sam grabbed the phone and answered a bit harsher than he probably should’ve.
“Yeah?”
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.” Henry’s cheerful voice grated on Sam’s nerves. “Sounds like someone didn’t get something stroked last night.”
“When are we leaving?” Dull pain throbbed behind Sam’s eyes. Drinking to excess had never been something he overindulged in, and Sam had forgotten the utter misery of a raging hangover. He slipped on his sunglasses, welcoming the darkness. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’m ready. Meet you downstairs in five minutes, okay?”
“Yeah.” Sam replaced the phone in the cradle and glanced around the room briefly before picking up his bag and leaving. On the ride down the elevator, he steeled himself to field questions from Henry, but to his surprise, his friend merely gave him a quick nod hello when they checked out, and nothing more.
It wasn’t until they were on the highway and Sam was fiddling with the radio looking for some decent music that Henry spoke.
“I’ve given you your space so far, you know, because you’re so damn touchy all the time, but are you going to tell me what happened last night?”
Sam’s finger hovered over the button on the dashboard for a second before he jabbed it, and Britney Spears came on. Henry quirked a brow but said nothing.
“There’s nothing to tell. The guy went back to New York and left me a note saying he was sorry. End of story.”
“And you’re going to let it end; you won’t try and contact him when you get back to the city?” A car cut them off, and Henry swerved and swore. “Fucking asshole.”
“Are you talking to me or them?” Sam wasn’t so sure of the answer.
