“The serious ponytail definitely helps me focus. It might be coming out later. The glasses are just for, you know, vision.”
Mallory chuckled quietly. “Okay. So what gives? Is it Bentley? You two looked really good together out there. I counted three dances. Are you interested?”
“Not really,” Samantha offered a small smile at the memory. “He gave me his number, though. He wants a proper date. And I have to admit, it was nice to be noticed that way. You know, really noticed.”
“Why do you say it like that? You’re a very noticeable girl, Samantha. You don’t give yourself enough credit. And I think you should call him. Bentley, I mean. Don’t let the whole Libby scenario take you down. You’re a romantic, and I’ve always loved that about you.”
“Thanks.” Sam nodded, considering Mallory’s words. “I’ll think about it.” But Sam knew she wouldn’t be calling Bentley. There hadn’t been that draw she felt with Libby or the spark she felt with—nope. Not going there.
“But my advice is don’t stress about it. Start off casual. Low pressure. You’re just coming off a big heartbreak and you need to allow room for yourself to live a little, to—”
“I slept with Hunter.”
Holy Hillary Clinton!
Had she just said that?
She hadn’t intended to confess to Mallory, but the words apparently had a mind of their own.
Mallory stopped in her tracks on the sidewalk and tilted her head to the side in confusion before giving her head a little shake and smiling. “I’m sorry. I think I hallucinated for a second. It happens. I’m not even going to repeat what I thought you said. Could you run that by me again?”
There was no turning back now, and the rogue words tumbled out of her mouth without preamble. She blamed the alcohol. Or maybe just her stupid subconscious. “I slept with Hunter. I did. We had sex. And it was good. Astronomically good.”
Mallory didn’t say anything. Her lips parted slightly, but that was the only indication that she’d taken in any sort of information.
“Mallory. Talk back now. Your turn.”
She shook her head slowly. “Can’t. Still processing.”
Samantha shook Mallory’s arm a bit. “It’s not the end of the world, right? I mean, friends sleep together sometimes. Right? I mean, right?”
“You and Hunter were together?”
“Yes.”
“On purpose?”
Sam stared at her. “Well, we didn’t just accidentally bump into each other, if that’s what you’re asking!”
“Oh, God.”
“I know. I’ve been ‘oh, godding,’ too. Take a minute and do some. I’m trying to be mature about this and move on from the godding, so I’m not gonna join in. It’s kind of my lot in life, maturity, and yours, too, by the way. So where are the mature words of wisdom, Mal? Because I’m counting on them.”
“This is bad.” Mallory took a deep breath. “We should sit because I don’t know what else to do with myself.”
Samantha scanned the street, craning her neck around the random guy dressed as the Green Lantern. She shook her head. This city on Friday night. “There’s a bench outside the coffee shop a block up. Do you want some coffee?”
“If it comes with a bench, I do.”
“The bench is part of the agreement.”
Mallory took a deep breath. “Great. Take me to it.”
Ten short minutes later, and Samantha presented Mallory with a hot cup of coffee and held on to one for herself. She blew into the cup, watching as the steam rose and disappeared into the air around them. She took comfort in the cozy visual and warmed her hands on the toasty cardboard. Finally, she stole a look at Mallory. “Listen, I’m sorry I sprang that on you back there. The thing is, you’ve always been someone that I admire, Mal, who has a head on her shoulders. I guess I really needed your input on this. Whether I knew it or not.”
“Is it serious between you?”
Sam shook her head. “Pshhh. No. I was attracted to her. That part is true. Hell, everyone is attracted to her.”
Mallory turned on the bench to face Sam. “But you’re not everyone. You don’t just jump into bed with people because you think they’re hot. So it makes me wonder if there’s something more to this.”
This was a valid point. “Well, she’s my friend, too. And I care about her a lot. And maybe I’m a little bit in rebound mode. And she was there for me.”
“Oh, I bet she was.” And then a thought seemed to occur to Mallory and she straightened. “Was that your issue tonight? It was, wasn’t it? It wasn’t Bentley that had you all worked up, it was Hunter.”
Samantha covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know what happened there. She was dancing with those girls, but she always dances with those girls. Yet somehow…”
“You were jealous,” Mallory supplied. “Because there’s this whole new dynamic between you now. You can’t just sleep with someone in a vacuum, Sam. There are repercussions in life.”
“There doesn’t have to be with this.”
Mallory held up a finger. “Unless you actually have real feelings for her.”
Samantha sent her the same look she would have if she’d just announced Apple was selling at four dollars a share. Because it was so not the case. “No, Mal. You’re not listening. It’s lust. I’m lusting after one of my best friends on the planet and I should probably find a way to stop doing that. I need therapy.”
Mallory stared at the sky. “And now I do, too. This is big! Do you know how big this is?”
Sam held up a hand. “You’re kind of shouting. And yes, I know how big this is.”
Mallory set her coffee cup down next to her. “Well, I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t freak me the hell out in regard to Savvy. The four of us have this perfect little balance in place. I don’t want to upset that and see it all fall apart because you two can’t keep your libidos in check. It’s too important, Sam.”
“I won’t let it come to that. It will not upset the balance. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You have to make sure this never happens again. It’s too important.”
Samantha took in the words. Mallory was right. It wasn’t fair to just consider her and Hunter’s take on the situation; Savvy had to come first. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good. The two of you are going to be alone in the office a lot this next week. You going to be able to handle this?”
“Of course. Who do you think I am?”
“I’m not sure I know right now.”
*
When Sam arrived home that night, Hunter was once again on the couch reading her book. She knew Hunter’d left Showplace ahead of her, but she’d been fairly confident that she’d headed off to a second location. She’d been in party mode, and that usually, in Sam’s experience, meant late nights.
“What are you doing here?”
Hunter looked up from her spot on the couch. She was wearing black cotton short-shorts and a red tank top. The fact that there was so much skin on display just served to annoy Samantha that much further. Because seriously, she was over all the Hunter thoughts and anything that prompted them. Done.
Hunter shrugged and returned her attention to the book. “I live here.”
The apartment was chilly, both literally and figuratively, and as Sam was already cold from the night air, she moved to adjust the thermostat. “I just figured you’d be out with one of your many groupies. You know, bumping and grinding until the wee hours of the morning at some new club.”
“As you can see, you were wrong.” Hunter glanced up this time, but it was barely a flick. For whatever reason, the lack of engagement was beyond frustrating and only propelled Samantha further.
“You know, we probably need a system for when you bring one of them back here, some way that I know to stay clear of your room. Because, Jesus, can you imagine? A scarf on your door would work. It’s ridiculously clichéd, but probably necessary now that we live together.”
“Yea
h, I’m not into systems.”
Samantha shrugged in a patronizing manner as she faced Hunter, her annoyance at the situation flaring. “What’s it like to just pick one out at the end of the night? Is there any sort of criteria or just eenie meenie miney moe when the clubs close?” Her tone wasn’t the nicest. In fact, she did nothing to hide her judgment. Her anger had spread out and sprouted wings, and there was apparently no holding it back.
“Are you kidding me with this?” Hunter stared at her, eyes blazing. Oh, she had her attention now. “I’ve lived here for over a month. Have I once brought a girl home with me?”
“I don’t monitor your every movement.”
“Are you sure about that?” She glanced at the thermostat on the wall. “And did you just make it warmer in here? I’m tired of being hot at night. Can you turn it back?”
“My bad,” Samantha said, returning to the thermostat. “I forgot how hot you were. And how important it is that you’re treated as such. I mean, right? That’s what’s important to you.”
Hunter closed the book and leaned forward. “What is your deal right now? Something you want to discuss, Sam? Or are you just trying a new personality? Quite frankly, I’m not a fan.”
“No, I’m good.” She headed for her bedroom as if it were the most casual thing in the world. Outside, a siren blared past the building, and inside felt just as chaotic. Everything in Sam’s world was off, askew. She hated it.
“Yeah, you looked like it by the end of the night. Glad it’s all working out for you.”
She turned back. “Meaning?”
Hunter lifted a shoulder. “You looked pretty content with Bentley is all. Maybe he does it for you more than any of the women I danced with ever could.”
Sam took a minute with the comment and to be sure she understood its implication. The end result stung. “Yes, I did enjoy dancing with Bentley. And that’s all it was, a dance. But the fact that you just made some sort of veiled dig at my sexuality is not only juvenile but offensive as hell.”
Hunter closed her eyes in disappointment at herself. Samantha was right. What she’d just said was horrible. It was one of those fights that took over until it felt like the fight was having you. “Sam, wait.”
“No.” Sam shook her head. “Please don’t assume you know anything about what it’s like to be me—to feel slighted on a daily basis by either the straight or gay community, depending on the day. So, no, I’m not going to wait. I’m ready for tonight to be over. Enjoy your book.”
Hunter sat there on the couch stunned as the door slammed shut. She had no idea what had just happened, how their interaction had spiraled so far out of control. The comment she’d made was totally out of bounds, and the recriminations were already swirling to the point that she felt sick to her stomach.
She’d acted out, attempting to strike back at someone she cared about because she was jealous. When in fact, it wasn’t even representative of how she felt about Samantha’s sexuality at all. It was the low-hanging fruit, and she was embarrassed that she’d gone there. The night’s events and her own realizations had her already in a bad place, and Samantha’s antagonistic comments had just piled on to the point that she was feeling aggressive and a little out of control.
And did Samantha really think she slept around? She was a flirt, that much was true, who wasn’t opposed to after hours activity here and there, when it seemed appropriate. She was still in her twenties and wanted to enjoy them. But she had standards.
She reached for Elvis and stroked his head, but the rest of her felt numb. She hated the way she looked through Samantha’s eyes.
Wild.
Careless.
Unworthy.
And it resonated.
Chapter Eleven
“Thank you so much for agreeing to have lunch with me,” Tanya said, sipping from her water glass. It was Tuesday afternoon, and though Sam had come up with every excuse to not have lunch with this woman, her hand was forced when Tanya finally copied Mallory on the request for a budget consultation. Shrewd, very shrewd.
Tanya had selected a rather upscale restaurant on the Upper West Side, the kind of place with white tablecloths, multiple forks, and women eating from large bowls of lettuce alongside Chardonnay.
“No problem,” Sam said. “You mentioned the budget, so I’ve brought with me some of the details we initially decided upon.” She reached for her leather-bound portfolio until Tanya placed her hand on her wrist, stopping her progress.
“Can we get to that later, perhaps?”
“Oh. Sure. You’d rather eat first?”
“If that’s okay. I thought we could talk a little.” Right on cue, the rather pretentious-looking waiter stopped by to take their order. While Samantha was dying for a cheeseburger, she followed Tanya’s lead and ordered the spinach salad, dressing on the side. Yay.
“So how have you been?” Tanya asked, eyes wide, enthusiasm oozing from every perfect pore.
“I’ve been fine. How about you?”
“Not so great, actually,” she said, her voice cracking. Oh, and there were tears. Not tears, please. Lunch sans tears was what she signed up for.
Obligatorily, she followed up. “Tanya, are you okay? Why are you crying?”
“It’s Libby,” she practically sobbed. “She’s not happy. I can tell. She thinks I’m flighty or too new age or whatever.”
“No? Really?” Shock! Disbelief! Was it bad that she wasn’t completely torn up about this? Because she actually full-on agreed with Libby. But what really came out of Sam’s mouth was, “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks, Sam. I invited you here because I was hoping you had some girl-to-girl advice.”
Oh no. This wasn’t happening to her. Wasn’t there some sort of get-out-of-jail-free card for comforting your ex-girlfriend’s new love interest? Surely she should be spared, under some kind of fine print. “I don’t know that I’m the one to come to for words of wisdom when it comes to Libby. You know how things ended for us.”
“But she just thinks so highly of you, Sam. It’s always ‘Samantha says you have to find a goal for yourself and stick to it. Samantha is so levelheaded and has a handle on life.’ Sometimes I think she wishes I were more like you.”
Interesting tidbit that she had to admit she enjoyed a little. “I’m sure that’s not true. You guys are just figuring each other out, probably. Do you want to look at the budget?”
But it was as if Tanya hadn’t heard her. “We are figuring each other out. And don’t get me wrong, the sex is amazing. Mind-blowing even. That part we’ve got down.” Okay, low blow. Sam glanced around in desperation. Maybe she should order one of those salad-Chardonnays. “But I feel this distance growing between us outside the bedroom, and I don’t know what to do. I want to be her spirit animal, the lime to her water, but I’m failing.”
Samantha sighed, hating the fruit/water analogy and wishing she wasn’t having this conversation. She closed her eyes and forced herself to answer. “Have you talked to her about it?”
“No. I’m terrified of what she’ll say. What if I’m right and she thinks we’re a mistake? What if it’s really you who she wants?” Okay, that was interesting information. Was it possible Libby saw things differently now? Samantha wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she filed it away for examination later.
“As much as you may not want to, Tanya, I think communication is the way to go on this one. Avoiding the topic doesn’t make it any less real. And you might be surprised. This whole thing could potentially be all in your head.”
Tanya seemed to like this and sat a little taller in her chair as the salads (dressing on the side) were delivered. “You really are smart, Sam. I’m glad I called you. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
“That’s me,” Samantha said, turning to her salad. “Good old dependable Sam.”
“Should I talk to her before sex or after?”
Ahhhhh! “I’ll let you decide.”
Tanya leaned forward, full of new scary e
nergy. “And now that I have you here, let’s talk about chasing down that glow. I have a lot of ideas.”
“Fabulous,” she enthused dryly, understanding now that the budget had nothing whatsoever to do with the meeting. Samantha checked her watch and did a mad salad-to-exit calculation. It was time to get the hell back to Soho, because life was simply too short to spend on salad-time-with-Tanya.
But an hour later, as she stood on the crowded F train on the way back to work, her mind was still very much on the lunch from hell. What if what Tanya said was true? What if Libby did miss her? She might have a second shot. She hesitated at the prospect. There was a lot of water under that bridge. But then again, this was Libby she was talking about. Libby, who ticked all the boxes.
As she walked the short distance from the train to the loft, there was an extra spring in her step and a slight smile on her face. Life was full of endless possibilities.
*
Hunter stared at the blond woman wrapped in a towel, her head tossed back in surrender as she enjoyed a luxurious mineral bath. Damn, she was tired of looking at this woman, and she ran her mouse across the model’s face several times in angry protest.
She’d been working on the print ad for Serenity for hours but kept hitting the proverbial creative wall at every step. The image of the woman Serenity had supplied them with mocked her with all the relaxation and beauty and stupid luxurious blond hair piled on top of her head. Unable to stand the frustration a minute more, she shut her laptop with a noticeable thud.
Across the Savvy loft, Samantha jumped at the sound, turned, and regarded her calmly. “Problem, Hunter?”
They were alone in the office. And, outside of the occasional polite work exchange or apartment pleasantry, they hadn’t fully engaged in any meaningful conversation since the war that was Friday night. To say things felt awkward was an understatement.
But with Brooklyn and Mallory out on a client meeting, she and Sam were left to hold down the fort. It wasn’t all that unusual, as both of their jobs were mainly office based, though they were on their own more often now with the loss of the Foster account. Hunter pushed up from her desk and moved to the really uncomfortable couch that Mallory insisted looked awesome in the space. Hunter had a love-hate with this couch. It did look great. That part was true. It also was hella-hard to sit on. “The Serenity ad. I can’t get it right and I’m sick of the stupid model mocking me.”
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