“I know where the bed is,” I say. “That’s all I need to know right now.”
“But what about dinner? Our reservations are in an hour. I need to shower.”
“We’ll shower after,” I say, tossing her onto the bed before reaching for my fleece and tugging it over my head. “I’ll wash your back, you can wash mine.”
“Danny, for real.” She pushes up to sit against the heavy wooden headboard and draws her knees up to her chest. “I’d rather wait until after dinner. Take our time.”
I pause with my belt halfway undone. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I know it’s been a long time, but is another couple of hours really going to make that much of a difference?”
I study her for a long moment, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
She just wraps her arms around her knees, hugs her legs to her chest, and gazes uncomfortably out the window into the darkening woods, looking more like I suggested we get his and hers genital piercings than have sex for the first time in almost half a year.
A second ago, I was so hard my boxer briefs felt like they were cutting off my circulation, but as I stand at the end of the bed, half-dressed, with my girlfriend so disinterested she doesn’t even sneak a peek at my chest, let alone invite me to join her on the bed, my erection dies a miserable death and our perfect day takes a turn as I realize what must have happened.
The only time Sam has ever acted this way before was three years ago, when I came back to the island after her graduation from high school to find out she’d cheated with her best friend’s brother at the graduation party. They were both drinking beers in the hot tub when he leaned over and kissed her. She said she only kissed him back for a few minutes and regretted it immediately, but it had obviously fucked with her head. She was twitchy and weird for an entire week before I finally called her on it and she confessed to what happened one day while we were surfing.
Not trusting myself not to completely lose my shit, I paddled in without saying a word to Sam, hitchhiked over to Sherry’s, and drank beer with Bjorn until four in the morning before I threw up and passed out. My hangover lasted for two days—two miserable days that convinced me it was time to get on the wagon with the rest of the Cooney men who were halfway functional and stay there. During those days I spent praying to the porcelain god and begging the world to stop spinning, Sam had called at least fifty times to apologize, but I’d refused to take her calls and let her messages pile up until my mailbox was full.
By the time I finally felt good enough to ask her to come over to talk on day three, she was a wreck. She arrived at Sherry’s house looking like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket, with dark shadows under her eyes and her curls frizzing into a white girl afro. She’d started crying the second our eyes met, devastated sobs so heart-wrenching I couldn’t hold on to my anger or hurt for another second.
I’d just pulled her in for a hug on Bjorn’s front porch, told her I loved her, and that was that. We never did get around to talking about the stupid kiss, but we didn’t need to. We both knew she wouldn’t do anything like that again.
That was the kind of mistake you make one time.
Or at least that’s what I’d assumed…
But looking at Sam now, seeing the tension in her jaw and shoulders, and remembering the way she pulled away from me every time I tried to touch her today, I keep adding up two and two to get four. Cheating would explain why she’s been so strange and distant for the past few months. It would explain why she didn’t want to talk dirty on the phone anymore, and had practically run to the bathroom after I got her off on the airplane.
Cheating might even explain why she’s decided to leave school. Maybe the affair ran its course and things are weird between her and the mystery guy. Maybe she dumped him, and he’s trying to win her back. Or maybe he dumped her and she finds it too painful to be around him. Maybe that’s why she came running to me. Not because she loves me or wants to be with me anymore, but because she needed someone to make her feel better after she got dumped by whoever she was fucking behind my back.
A rational voice inside my head tells me I’m letting my imagination run blindfolded into a condemned building, but my gut is twisting with the certainty that I’ve found the answer to the mystery.
It would explain everything and I’ve been a fool not to suspect something like this before.
A part of me wants to confront Sam right now, but instead I reach for my fleece and shrug it on. “Whatever you want, babe,” I say in a neutral tone. “Why don’t you take the first shower? I’m going to go for a run and do some push-ups and sit-ups on the porch, get some exercise after being cooped up in planes and cars for two days.”
“Okay,” Sam says, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she’s spared the unpleasant task of fucking me until later in the evening. “I’ll start a fire, too.”
“Sounds good,” I lie as I head for the door.
Nothing sounds good right now, but I’m not going to rush into a confrontation like I would have when I was younger.
I’ll let it lie for now, try to enjoy my last meal before everything goes to shit, and then tonight, after the sun has set and we’re tucked into our cabin alone, Sam and I are going to have a long talk about what’s really going on and where we go from here.
Chapter Eleven
Samantha
“Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;
The best of life is but intoxication.”
-Lord Byron
* * *
“Do you really think you should have another glass?” Danny watches me take a long swig of a local pinot noir, studying me intently over his last bite of steak, making my skin tingle with a crazy-making combination of nerves and excitement.
There is excitement mixed in with the anxiety now, and I know the wine is the reason I’ve been able to relax.
So do I need another glass? Yes, I do. I may need two more.
That’s why I ordered an entire bottle even though Danny doesn’t drink. I don’t care if I feel awful in the morning, as long as I can enjoy being with him tonight.
It’s time to jump the last hurdle, to make love the way we used to and prove I’ve truly left the past in the past.
“Why not?” I ask with a flirty smile. “Aren’t you going to drive me home?”
“We walked from the cabin,” he says in a humorless voice.
“I know, Danny,” I say, with a laugh. “I was joking. I’m not drunk. Just…tipsy.”
“I just can’t remember the last time I saw you drink.” He takes a sip of his soda, the tension in his features making me wonder if he’s as okay with me drinking in front of him as he always says he is.
“Are you having a tough night?” I ask softly, not wanting to be overheard by the couple seated at the next table, an older man and woman who are celebrating their anniversary and looking spectacularly bored about it.
They’re the kind of people Danny and I have always sworn we never want to be, but so far our own dinner conversation has been strained to say the least. I assumed it was my fault—I know I hurt Danny’s feelings when I didn’t jump at the chance to get naked with him the way I usually would—but now I wonder if it’s the alcohol that’s to blame. Danny makes staying sober look easy, but I know it isn’t always. I know there are days when he craves a drink as much as any addict craves his drug of choice.