Definitely testy.
“I think I got it.” I kept talking quietly.
“Gonna put on the game, you watch baseball?”
“Not unless there’s someone wandering by my seat offering to sell me a beer or cotton candy.”
The firmness that had set into his features softened and his lips tipped up. Then he turned, walked to the table beside Cooter’s easy chair, nabbed the remote and snapped on the TV. Then he looked at the chair. Then his eyes came to me.
“This where he sat?”
Oh man!
I nodded.
Then I felt my lips part when Sam tossed the remote on the couch at my feet, he rounded the chair and shoved it across the living room. Then he opened the door and shoved it outside, going with it. Five seconds later (I counted), he came back.
Then, without a word, he retrieved the remote, sat in the cushion at my feet, stretched an arm along the back of the couch, stretched his legs out in front of him and turned his eyes to the TV.
All right, it was safe to say I had no idea what to do with that, any of it starting with Sam not sharing (again) when I turned the direction of the conversation to him and ending with the rather dramatic act of shoving Cooter’s chair in the front yard.
I sifted through all of this in my head, trying to decide which one I had the courage to tackle.
Then I noted, “Uh… I don’t have an HOA but I’m thinking my neighbors are not going to be hip on me having an easy chair in my front yard.”
Yes. I wimped out.
“I’ll get rid of it tomorrow, first thing, on my way to the gym,” Sam replied, not taking his eyes from the TV.
“Okay,” I said softly.
Totally wimped out.
Then I went back to my albums. It took awhile but I got through them all, dumping all the photos in the bag Sam provided for me all the while not sure how I felt about that. Sam was clearly in no mood for me to disagree with one of his decisions and one could not say Cooter’s parents were dear to my heart but it didn’t do anyone any harm taking the high road.
Still, they weren’t burned or dumped yet and maybe the next day Sam would be in a better mood and I could approach him about it, explain where I was coming from and then talk to Dad about taking them over to Cooter’s parents’ house.
When I set the last album down, Sam’s voice came at me.
“Hopeful.”
My head turned and I saw his eyes were on me.
“What?” I asked.
“You looked hopeful.”
My brows drew together. “Sam, I’m not following.”
“In your wedding picture.”
Oh God.
I pulled in breath.
“Now, something good happens to you, you look surprised and like you can’t believe it and you act like you’re preparing for it to go away. That piece of shit took that from you too and, until I saw that picture, I didn’t get it. Now I do. And it pisses me off.”
Well, I was glad to know what was behind his mood except for the part about me not knowing what to do about it.
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” I told him the truth.
“That makes two of us, honey, ‘cause the asshole’s dead and I can’t hunt his ass down and cave in his face.”
Yikes.
“I survived,” I reminded him quietly and added, “And I’ll heal.”
He didn’t speak but something was working in his eyes, I saw it and I waited but again he didn’t give it to me.
Instead he muttered, “Right.” Then he looked back at the TV.
I licked my lips then pressed them together, calling up the courage and when I had it, I called, “Sam?”
His eyes remained glued to the TV. “Yeah?”
He didn’t want to talk, it was clear. Sam always wanted to talk but he didn’t now and I debated pushing it but decided against it. If he needed space, I had to give it to him and find a more appropriate time to try to get him to open up to me.
So I asked, “You want a beer?”
“No.”
“Okay,” I whispered got up and got myself a beer.
This was a mistake. My body was used to being asleep at that time and after Mom’s meal, during which I’d consumed a beer, and compounding it with another one, I passed out on the couch. And I did this at the opposite end of the couch from Sam. Sam not touching me, Sam not cuddling me and I didn’t like not having either. It was the first time Sam and I watched television together but he was tactile. If I’d been asked to guess, I would have guessed he’d snuggle, even during baseball games. And I suspected his mood was what held him distant.
The next thing I knew, I was being laid on my bed in the dark.
“Sam, honey,” I muttered sleepily.
“You awake?” Sam asked.
“Kind of,” I answered.
“Good,” he murmured then he kissed me.
His kiss was a shock, not an unpleasant one, but one nonetheless. This was because it was not gentle; it was not leading up to anything. It was already there, wet, hard and demanding.
Instinctively, I gave.
His mouth took more and I gave more and then his hands got in on the action and they took too, first my clothes then everything else. In no time I was heated, dazed by the sensual onslaught, pulling at his clothes to get to his skin. Sam helped, yanking them off and when we were both naked, I went at him. We rolled, we kissed. We rolled, fingers swept, tongues tasted, teeth bit, limbs tangled. We rolled and more of the same and Sam, his hands, fingers, lips, tongue, teeth not to mention him giving me access to his body so I could use all the same, took me beyond the need he always made me feel.
It was desperation.
And my voice dripped with it when I was on my back, his finger rolling at my clit, his tongue rolling my nipple, my hand cupping the back of his head and I breathed, “I need you inside, honey.”
Sam didn’t delay, shifting so he could hook the backs of my knees around his arms, holding me wide, he positioned and drove in, looming over me, powering in fast, hard, deep, oh God… God. It… felt… great.
I pushed up to an elbow and reached out with my other hand so my fingertips could graze the silk of his skin at his chest and then down.
“You feel beautiful,” I whispered and I meant all of him, all of him driving deep and all of him I could feel with my fingertips.
“You like my cock,” he growled, planting himself to the root and grinding.
Oh yeah. Yeah.
“I love it,” I gasped.
“You like what I do for you,” he grunted, thrusting hard and fast again.
Okay, that was better. By a lot.
“Love it, honey.”
“Beautiful,” he rumbled.
“Beautiful,” I breathed, pulled in breath through my teeth, arched my neck and prepared for it to wash through me.
Sam pulled out.
My head righted with a jerk.
“Sam –” I started but he was gone then I was moving, he was seated, back to the headboard, he pulled me to straddling him then with an arm wrapped around my waist, he impaled me on his cock.
Oh yes. That was nice. That was freaking amazing.
“Baby,” I whispered, my head tipping forward, my lips touching his.
“My Kia deserves beauty.”
My body stilled, even my breathing.
Oh God.
Sam wasn’t done.
“She deserves hope.”
Oh God!
“Take it, baby,” he whispered against my mouth.
My hands moved to either side of his head and I looked through the dark into his eyes as I moved up and down, slowly then faster, harder, his thumb moved to my clit and started rolling and I sucked in breath.
“That’s it, Kia, honey, fuck me. Take what you deserve.”
“Sam,” I moaned, his thumb put on more pressure, my neck and back arched, it tore through me leaving a wake of sheer ecstasy and I cried out.
Before I was done, Sam flipped
me to my back and pounded deep, his breathing labored, one arm tight around my middle back, the other hand cupping my face.
“Even in the dark, all I can see is how beautiful you are,” he growled.
His words tore through me too and their wake was no less beautiful.
I lifted my head and kissed him. He took over the kiss, his tongue driving into my mouth. One of my legs was wrapped around his waist, holding tight, the other one around the back of his thigh, doing the same. My hands were running along the skin of his back when his mouth disengaged from mine, his head snapped back, he thrust in deep and groaned deeper, the sound rumbling through me spectacularly, its origin not from his throat but between my legs.
And I lay under Sam, listening to his breaths even out thinking of his words, his actions and how they coated my skin, seeping in, reminding me that with Sam, I was invincible.
I held him close as his head tipped forward, his face disappearing into my neck and I felt his mouth move there as his hips moved, stroking tenderly.
God, God, but I loved it when he did that.
My hand drifted up the sleek muscle of his back, his neck and I cupped the back of his head.
Then I turned mine and whispered in his ear, “You make me feel invincible.”
I felt his body still for a moment then he muttered against my skin, “Good.”
I held on, loving the feel of him, his weight, his warmth, all that he’d just given me, allowing myself a moment to glory in that before I did what I knew I had to do and went on, “But I think we have to talk.”
Instantly, Sam pulled away. My limbs tightened to hold him to me but he was stronger. He rolled off and suddenly I felt cold and, for the first time since our first date, I felt strangely alone.
His hand came to rest on my belly and his mouth came to mine. “Later. Now, I gotta crash.”
“Sam –”
His hand pressed in, his head moved back an inch and he cut me off with a quiet yet firm, “Later, baby.”
I stayed silent. This was important, at least to me. And it was growing more important every day.
But Sam Cooper gave a lot and he didn’t take very much. He didn’t want to do this now that was clear. So I felt I had to give that to him.
So I let it go but still whispered, “Promise?”
His hand slid up my body to curl around the side of my neck and he whispered back, “Promise.”
I studied him in the dark and decided Sampson Cooper would honor his promise.
“Okay, honey,” I said softly.
Then I lifted up, touched my mouth to his, pulled away then rolled off the bed. I went to the bathroom, cleaned up, went back to the bedroom, tagged my nightie from under the pillow, located my discarded underwear, tugged on both and joined Sam in bed.
Without delay, his arm shoved under me and he curled me into his side.
Yes. Okay. Everything would be okay.
I settled.
Memphis jumped up on the bed and sprawled on the side I wasn’t using considering I was on Sam’s side.
Then Sam crashed.
Then Memphis did.
A little later, so did I.
Chapter Seventeen
You Okay?
Eleven days later…
“You okay, babe?”
I turned my head from watching Sam standing in my yard, talking to my brother Kyle to Paula who was standing beside me, holding my plastic cup refreshed with lemonade, part of the many refreshments my mother brought to see us through the day.
It was early afternoon of my yard sale and after we finished up, Dad, Kyle and Sam were going to haul anything left to the Goodwill. Then we were going to Paula and Rudy’s for a barbeque. Then Sam and I were driving to Indianapolis, staying the night at the Hyatt and getting on a plane headed to North Carolina late the next morning.
Not that there would be much to go to the Goodwill. Firstly, an everything must go sale stated pretty clearly that the person having it wanted everything to go and not many people were adverse to a bargain. Secondly, everyone in America knew I was with Sam, which included everyone in Indiana so practically everyone in Indiana showed up.
We had our first person arrive at five thirty in the morning.
Sam didn’t even open the door. But he and Memphis got out of bed and walked to it then I heard him shout, “Come back on time. Eight o’clock. No sooner.”
Memphis yapped her concurrence.
Then Sam wrote a note, put it on the door and came back to bed. It didn’t stop a few people from knocking but he didn’t get up again. At seven thirty, my posse showed and we started dragging stuff out to the yard. The minute we did, all the doors on the cars lining the road in front of my house and down the side streets opened and they descended en masse.
Half the stuff was gone by nine o’clock.
Another quarter of it was gone by ten thirty.
Now it was two in the afternoon and only the dregs were left. I’d been so busy, I’d barely noticed if Sam was inundated by admirers (though I did notice many occasions he was chatting with people but just like him, he seemed to take this in stride). My house was empty save for Sam and my suitcases. I’d hired professional cleaners to come in on Monday and I’d given Mom power of attorney to close on the house for me, something that was happening on Thursday.
It had happened.
All that was Cooter and I was gone except for the dregs sitting on my lawn. I’d sifted through everything and there was nothing left. I’d even sold nearly all of my clothes except ones I’d bought in the months after he died and when I was on vacation.
I felt relief about this and it ran deep. I also felt a shimmer of elation. It was done. I could move on. Any memories I had were no longer physical, they were only in my head and those would fade.
That said, it was only a shimmer of elation because the answer to Paula’s question was no, I was not okay.
And I was not okay because Sam had broken his promise.
At first, I’d been patient and given him time. We were busy sorting through the stuff in the house, renting a small storage unit for anything I intended to keep and going on approximately three billion, four hundred and twenty-seven viewings with Paula (none of them fruitful, alas). Then there was hauling stuff to the storage unit, dinners at Mom and Dad’s, Paula and Rudy’s, Missy’s, Teri’s or meeting them at restaurants. There was also finding and hiring a cleaning firm. And working with Teri to arrange travel to North Carolina. And also Sam’s workouts and frequent telephone conversations with his crew of badasses and Ozzie.
But after awhile, the hard work was done and it was mostly waiting for the yard sale to happen sprinkled with an occasional (fruitless) viewing.
When we had time on our hands, Sam filled it. He did this by telling me he wanted to visit the places he’d frequented when he’d lived in Indianapolis.
I’d been surprised. I knew he lived in Indy for several years but I didn’t know he held any nostalgia for it.
This was because he hadn’t told me.
So we went to Eagle Creek Park where Sam said he would go and run, he liked it and he missed it though, luckily, he didn’t run when we went there but we did walk for over an hour. We drove around the Circle. We went to an Italian restaurant called Patrizio’s where, the minute Sam walked in, the owner (the aforementioned Patrizio) greeted him like a long lost son. Interspersed with his many duties running a popular but kind of hole in the wall restaurant, Patrizio hung at our table and I learned more about Sam from Patrizio than I did from Sam. But, again, all of it was fun, reminiscing, nothing meaty, nothing profound.
In other words, in our time in Indiana we did a lot, we were together almost constantly but what we did not do was talk as Sam promised we would.
He was no less attentive, no less gentlemanly, no less Sam which meant he was no less guarded.
And that was what it was. I’d figured it out. And I’d figured it out not after the first time I gently attempted to steer our conversation to
him, his intensity about me and where that was coming from, his history, his heart and had been just as gently rebuffed. Nor did I figure it out after the second time I, a little less gently, tried to approach him and was again gently rebuffed.
No, it was the last time, last night, after we’d had sex, were cuddling and murmuring about nothing important when I’d tried to move it to stuff that was important and was not gently rebuffed.
And I did this by cautiously and gently (I thought) asking about his brother Ben.
“Don’t, Kia. Yeah?” Sam had said, his until then soft murmur suddenly holding an edge.
“Don’t?” I asked carefully.
“Don’t,” Sam confirmed.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t push it.”
I pulled in breath then asked, “Push what?”
Sam didn’t answer.
No.
What he did was lift up and twist, coldly dislodging me from where I was lounging on his chest. Then he turned off the light. Then he settled in bed with his back to me.
Yes, that was what he did. He gave me nothing and then he completely shut me out.
After the shock wore off (and this took awhile), I rolled to my back, cuddled Memphis and stared at the ceiling, feeling a pain stabbing close to my heart.
Because I knew at that moment that it wasn’t about us being new, getting to know each other, feeling each other out. It wasn’t about things being intense, our feelings for each other and all the stuff swirling around me. And it wasn’t that we were jetlagged, busy and there were a million things on our minds.
It was that Sam did not intend to share and I couldn’t figure this out. He was demonstrative, affectionate and communicative. He listened, I knew, he always paid attention. He cared what I said about practically everything even if I was waxing on about how awesome pasta was at Patrizio’s.
He just wasn’t letting me in.
The one time I put up what Sam called “a wall” he got seriously ticked and tore it right down. But turnabout was obviously not fair play with Sam Cooper.
He’d broken his promise.
And that hurt.
I looked from Paula back to Sam and suddenly I felt my head start to throb dully.
I was in unchartered territory.