But I take it as heracquiescence and I turn off my engine and walk around to open thepassenger door, but she's already getting out.I take her handagain, because I can, and I follow her lead as she lets us in andtiptoes up the stairs.
Her mother's bedroom dooris shut tight and Rory sends her a text saying she's homesafe—their rule when she comes home after her mom goes to bedapparently, and she grabs some pajamas from a drawer and creepsacross the hall to the bathroom.
She's back a few minuteslater, all washed up and fresh faced, in tiny little shorts and askin tight tank top.It's like she's torturing me on purpose.Likeshe took myno funny businesspromise and decided to test myself-restraint.
Well that's just fine.Because as much as I remember how mind-blowing hooking up with Roryis, I can't forget how devastating it was to hear her call menothing more than a friend just minutes after we were done.And Iwon't relive it.Ever.
But I can't stop myselffrom raking her perfect form with my gaze, taking in every curve,every visible inch of her flushed skin in the dim moonlight.Shenotices, I know she does, because she flushes even more.Butthere's no discomfort.Of course, she's probably used to the way Ilook at her by now, friend or not.
"I, uh, left a newtoothbrush on the sink for you… if you want.Just, you know, takeit with you after.I don't want my mom seein' it," she murmurs.Southern Rory's peeking out.She's nervous.But not in a bad way.And I relish it.
My lips curl up into asmile as I rise from the bed and make my way around her to head tothe bathroom.I wash up, and when I get back to her room, she'salready tucked into bed.I start unbuttoning my shirt and I takenote of the fact that she watches with sharp interest.I unbuttonthe fly of my jeans, but then I hesitate.
"It's okay, Sam.I wantyou to be comfortable," she whispers.
I exhale deeply.Me too.But that isn't really possible.It's just a matter of choosing mydiscomfort—sleeping in jeans, or losing a protective layer ofbarrier between us.I sigh and shove down the jeans, flinging themover the back of her desk chair to join my shirt, and I stand therein just my boxer briefs.I hesitate as I look down at her, allsnuggled up under her comforter.This is all wrong and so right allat the same time.Ishouldbe in bed with her holding her at night.Everynight.But it shouldn't be platonic.There shouldn't be theseboundaries.But here they are nonetheless, at least for now, andprobably forever.
Rory senses my hesitationand she flips open the comforter behind her in a silent invitationto do what I asked for—just to hold her.And God do I wantthat.
I slide in beside her andwe slip right into our natural position—Rory's head pillowed on mychest, my arms wrapped tightly around her.I pretend it's all justfriendly.I pretend I'm not hard as steel beneath the cotton of myunderwear, and I ignore the way she breathes in the scent of myskin.
"Goodnight, Sam," shewhispers.
It wasn't.A good night, Imean.But it is now.It's a wonderful night.The best fuckingnight.
"'Night, babygirl."
She falls asleep almostimmediately, and though I could too, I don't let myself.I stayawake as long as possible, just feeling her warm breath against theskin of my chest, watching the rise and fall of her own.I strokeher hair away from her face and just stare down at her.I amoverwhelmed by her beauty.She has such luminous skin, and the wayher thick lashes fan out over her cheeks casts small shadows uponthem… it's just captivating.So I watch her, staring.Staring andwatching.When she turns, repositioning herself, I turn with her,covering her body like a spoon, my hand splayed over her flatstomach, holding her tightly against me, torturing myself evenmore, completely in heaven.
Eventually I drift off,and when I wake around five in the morning, Rory is still fastasleep.It's still dark as I slip out of her warm bed, forciblyprying myself from the only place in the world I want to be.But Imade her a promise, and I keep my promises.Especially toher.
Chapter Fifteen
Samis gone when I awaken and thoughI know it was because of my concern about my mother, it stillleaves me disappointed.His scent still clings to my bed sheets,and I roll over and press my face to them, breathing himin.
The sight of Lacey Forbeson the sidewalk of that cobblestoned Manhattan street last nightassaults my memory.It was a shock to say the least.Therealization that Chelsea tracked her down God even knows how longago—that all this time she's been pretending to have moved on fromher weird obsession with me, she's been working on PlanB.
I don't know what her endgame was.Whether she meant to have Lacey accuse me of all the oldstories in front of all my new friends, or if she only cared aboutconvincing one person—Sam.But Sam would never have listened to anyof it.That I know without question.And it's a heartening thing.To have no doubts about a person's loyalty.It's love.One I almostthrew away.
No, not almost.One I didthrow away.But one I have to get back.
I slept well last night.Not only while Sam was here, either, but the wholenight.
When I come downstairs mymother is sitting at the kitchen table reading the news on her iPadand drinking coffee.I make myself a cup and sit across from her.Ihate feeling like I'm hiding something from her after everythingthat's happened.I don't want to do it.
My mother puts down hertablet and offers me a smile, surely about to ask me about mynight.
"Sam slept over lastnight," I blurt out.
Her jaw drops, and sheputs down her mug with unsteady fingers, but she doesn't sayanything, obviously trying to process her reaction.
"Nothing happened," I tellher."We just… it was a weird night and he just wanted to hold me.So I wouldn't have nightmares."
My mother lifts her mug toher lips, sipping her coffee while she thinks of her next words."And did you?Have nightmares?"
I shake myhead.
She nods.She doesn't seemto be mad, which is a huge relief to me."Well that's good then, Isuppose," she murmurs, almost to herself."I was up early.Hewasn't here…"
