Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.
I straightened and, eyes narrowed, peered into the darkness. Didn’t work. I couldn’t see a thing. But I heard him take one step. Then another, the sound seemingly loud in the night.
Ominous.
And though I knew it was Sam, when he appeared, stepping out of the shadows like a ghost, his dark hair and clothes blending in with the night, a chill gripped me.
“Sam!” Remembering how late it was and really, really not wanting either of my sisters to come out and see what was going on, I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. The boy shrugged—like it was no big deal he’d been skulking around my trailer at midnight—and leaned against the wall. “I’m waiting for you. Like always.”
I raised my eyebrows at how bitter that last part came out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Another shrug, though only one shoulder lifted in a quick, ticked-off jerk. “It means exactly what you think it means.”
His breath smelled like beer.
“Have you been drinking?”
He straightened, and while it wasn’t exactly graceful, he remained upright, if a bit unsteady. “I had a couple beers.”
His tone was belligerent and challenging, his voice slurred enough that I knew he’d had a few more than a couple.
This was bad. This was really, really bad. And I had a feeling—and a horrible fear—it was only going to get worse.
I grabbed his arm. “Did you drive here?”
The Sam I knew would never drive after he’d been drinking, but this wasn’t that Sam. This was some continuation of the new version I’d encountered at lunch. A version who asked questions I couldn’t answer. Who said things he had no right saying. Who kissed me and left me reeling and breathless.
He shook his head. “Jack dropped me off.”
That at least was good, but the rest? Not so much. Sam Constable was at my house drunk, skulking, shrugging and muttering.
It was like the end of the world as I knew it.
Because it was so unlike Sam to be this way—moody and grumpy and just a little bit scary. Because I had a feeling him acting this way was somehow all my fault.
Realizing I was still touching him—and remembering what happened between us at lunch today—I dropped my hand and took a step back. Then another.
Getting too close to this version of Sam Constable was not a good idea.
But Sam seemed to think it was A-okay. For every step I took in retreat, he took one in pursuit until my butt hit the railing near the door. He kept right on coming, the porch light casting shadows on his face.
“Where were you?”
It was a simple question. One that didn’t need any explanation or even clarification. It was why he’d drunk too much tonight. Why he’d come here at this hour.
Because I wasn’t with him.
“Sam, I--”
“I called you.” This close I could see his jaw was tight. His mouth a thin line. “I’ve been calling and texting you all night.”
I go cold all over, suddenly, viciously nervous. “I…I don’t have my phone with me.”
I’d left it in my room because I knew he’d call. Knew he’d text.
And I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to ignore him once he did.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I continued, desperate to end this conversation before it went too far. Sam had changed the rules of our friendship when he kissed me. But it was what we said, here and now, that had the power to change everything else. For good. I edged toward the door. “I’ll get Zoe’s keys and drive you home.”
Except when I faced the door, tried the handle, I remembered it was still locked. That my key was somewhere on the floor.
“Were you with him?” Sam asked. “While I was calling and texting you, were you with Colby?”
It was another simple question.
One Sam already knew the answer to.
Unable to face him, I leaned my forehead against the door. “Yes.”
“Did you kiss him?” he asked hoarsely. “Did you kiss him like you kissed me?”
I hadn’t. Hadn’t even wanted to, not after thinking of Sam the entire night. Wishing I was with him instead of Colby. But I couldn’t admit any of that. Not if I wanted things to go back to normal between us.
Biting my lower lip, I turned slowly and kept quiet, knowing my silence would be answer enough.
Knowing he’d think it was as good as a yes.
He flinched and dropped his gaze.
I stared at the top of his head, my fingers twitching with the need to slide through his hair. To offer him some measure of comfort and care. To give him just that small bit of truth.
I curled my fingers into my palms and kept my hands at my sides.
“What do we do now?” he asked, still staring at the ground.
“I take you home,” I said, firm and resolute and certain it was the right course, “and we pretend this never happened.”
He lifted his head. “This?”
“You coming here tonight and…and what happened earlier.”
“Earlier?” he repeated, eyes narrowed. “You mean when I kissed you? When you kissed me back?”
Yes, Sam, that’s exactly what I mean—as you well know.
God.
Linking my hands together at my waist, I nodded. “We pretend it never happened and we go back to how we used to be.”
“I’m tired of pretending. And I don’t want to go back.”
He stopped as if surprised by his own words. Unsure. But then he shook his head, his spine stiffening, his chin lifted. As I watched, cold with fear and shock, he made the decision that would alter our friendship forever. That would end it.
“I won’t go back. Not even for you.”
It was an ultimatum. One given in a flat, set tone. One delivered without doubt or regret.
Anger flowed through me, washing away the fear, bursting through the shock with painful intensity. I welcomed it. Was grateful for it, the burn that heated my blood, the flash that had prickles stinging my skin. After everything Sam had done—after he’d asked me if I ever thought of being with him, after he kissed me, after he changed everything, every-freaking-thing between us, he had the balls to stand there and offer me an ultimatum?
No. Just…no.
I lowered my arms to my sides, reaching behind me to grip the slats of the railing, the wood rough against my palms. Held on so tightly my hands ached. “You won’t go back to being my friend?”
“I won’t go back to being just your friend.”
“That’s a problem,” I snapped, “because I can’t go forward as anything but your friend.”
“You mean you won’t.”
I shrugged. Hoped it irritated him as much as his stupid shrugs earlier bugged me.
Hey, a girl had to take her revenge where she could get it.
“Can’t. Won’t. What difference does it make?” I asked. “The end result is the same.”
He stepped forward, crowding me again, his expression pinched. “You want us to be friends?”
“You know I do.”
“Do you kiss all your friends the way you kissed me? Do you touch them the way you touched me?”