Page 82 of A Matter of Time

“J?” Sam called from the bedroom. “Why don’t you come in here and⁠—”

“I’m in the living room.” I cut him off, and because I knew he’d just gotten out of the shower, I was kind instead of the bitchy I felt like being. “And you have guests.”

“What?” He came around the corner, half-naked, all those rippling muscles on display, the sculpted chest and the washboard abs. His jeans rode low on his tapered hips, top button open to reveal the white of the briefs underneath. He should have been on a billboard somewhere; the man was that mouthwatering. His smile as soon as he saw everyone was huge. “Oh, hey,” he said, chuckling, pointing back to the bedroom. “Just gimme a sec.”

It took an excruciatingly long time for him to find a T-shirt, because the silence was oppressive. Jeff was downright glaring at me, and Donna just looked like she was going to burst into laughter at any second. Christine had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly unhappy.

“Hey, sorry,” Sam said as he came back into the room. He walked to my side and put a hand on my shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Dinner,” I told him, turning to look up into his face. “You told Christine⁠—”

“No, he told Jeff,” Christine corrected me, smiling at Sam, moving to stand a little closer to him.

“Oh,” I murmured, stepping away from Sam so his hand dropped off of me. “Sorry. You told Jeff that tonight would be good for dinner. Did you remember to pick up wine and salad on your way home?”

His grin was just out of control, flirtatious and evil at the same time. “You’re pissed.”

“What?”

“You are.” His eyes were sparkling as he turned from me to Jeff. “I’m sorry, man, I completely forgot about this. With all the shi—stuff going on at work, I just spaced it. Can we reschedule?”

“Christine made her specialty,” I informed him. “It’s on the stove.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Okay. Well then, I can run and get something now if you guys aren’t in a big hurry.”

“No, we’re not in any hurry.” Jeff smiled at him. “I’ll go with ya.”

“No, no. It’s freezin’ outside, man. Stay here and I’ll just run over to the Jewel. You guys want, like, antipasto and some Chianti?”

“Sounds great,” Christine said gently. “I can make the run with you. I don’t want you to go alone.”

He turned and looked at me. I shrugged before I said, “It’s veal.” And tilted my head to the side with a snap of my neck. I knew the attitude was just dripping off of me, but I didn’t care.

“Veal?” I saw his jaw muscles flex. Apparently, he didn’t like to eat babies either.

“Mm-hmm,” I replied cheerfully.

“Huh, okay.” He clipped the words, turning back to Christine. “Okay, let’s go.”

I was left alone with Jeff and Donna, who immediately sort of closed ranks and started talking in low whispers. It was really very rude, and even when I offered them each something to drink, they just declined and went back to talking. Instead of standing there getting mad, I walked around the apartment I’d still not really explored.

Sam lived in Lincoln Park, and his apartment was on the fifth floor and had one of those cool old elevators that you had to close two metal grate doors to get going. The apartment itself was very cozy, lots of brown, tan, taupe, black, and rust colors everywhere. The black leather couch and chair, Navajo-print rug, cherrywood coffee table, and butcher-block kitchen table with tall straight-backed chairs flanking it caught the eye immediately. It was a clean, clutter-free space.

In his bedroom there was a sleigh bed in cherry and matching armoire, a leather weave rug, and a down comforter. Paintings of the desert adorned the walls, and there was nothing decorative, nothing unnecessary—no knickknacks or little dishes to hold stuff like a watch or a ring—anywhere in his place. His home exuded a masculine vibe without details like candles or scattered pieces of art.

In the second bedroom were his computer, weights, and a daybed covered in brick and burnt orange colored pillows. In the living room the TV, DVD player, PlayStation, and stereo were all housed in a huge cherrywood entertainment center that was flush against the wall. There were assorted shelves on the walls beside it, and I walked over to those and looked at the faces of strangers who were all apparently dear to him.

I gazed at a wedding picture, another of some men at a firehouse, a black-and-white studio picture of his parents—his mother a vision, his father very dashing—more wedding photos, and one of him and all his buddies from his days spent in the Marine Corps. There were a lot of framed shots, and I found that I liked that there were all these people in his life who loved him.

“So, Jory, how do you know Sam?” Jeff asked, walking over to me.

I looked up at him. “We go way back,” I lied.

“How far back can you go?” Donna winked at me, stepping around the other side of me. “What are you, all of eighteen?”

“Twenty-two,” I corrected her.

“Oooh, that’s ancient,” she teased me.