Always Was

by Amabel Daniels

  Heavy aches disturbed his worries, though, because what he felt toward Sammy didn’t strike him as a short fling of emotions, or a spontaneous flash of physical desire. She’d always mattered to him, and her pull over him was only strengthening in new ways.

  Sammy finished off the night of day of driving. While he was carefully scheming how to repay the favor, he intended to make no haste, to prolong her pleasure and get a good, long taste for himself to remember until he was a wrinkly, dirty old man.

  “How about that one?” he asked, pointing to a sign for a motel.

  “Looks good enough for me.”

  She parked and walked Ink while he went through the now-familiar process of registering for a room. Key in hand, he returned to the car, leaning against the trunk as he watched her throw a miniscule ball for Ink in the stretch of grass off the side of the parking lot. They were the only ones out there in the semi-dark, and he relaxed his back as he studied Sammy.

  The bold way she’d gone down on him… He rubbed the back of his neck. No more kid gloves around her. If he had any remaining struggles of viewing her as an adult and not the teenager he’d left behind, her gift of road head obliterated them. She was a tempting and generous female who knew, stiltedly, what she wanted, and if he had to guess, the more confidence she gained, the more she’d be a classic heartbreaker.

  “Wanna get something to eat?” she asked, ending her playtime with the dog and approaching him at the car.

  How about you?

  Again, he reminded himself to let her dictate the speed of their … well, whatever it was they were doing. He found it best not to label it.

  “I’m starving. What do you have in mind?”

  They argued-bickered-debated three restaurants before settling on a pizza place. Conversation still flowed naturally between them, good humor and teasing adding entertainment to their dinner. But he still couldn’t help but see her in a new light. Sure, she was sexy, gorgeous in superficial ways now that he could see her without so many layers of too-big clothes hiding her small frame. But she was sexual, almost daring, not promiscuous at all, but seemingly eager to act on her curiosity about intimacy between man and woman.

  He leaned over to wipe marinara sauce from the corner of her mouth, stalling with his thumb just barely tracing her lip. Memories of what those lips had done earlier had blood rushing to his dick so fast he winced as he sat back down. When he glanced at her, he guessed her thoughts were running along the same path as his, her pink blush spreading on her cheeks.

  Just you wait, Sammy. I’ll pay you back all right.

  After they’d eaten their dinner and returned to their room, Adam claimed the double bed on the left of the room, leaving it up to her to interpret his meaning. So they’d snuggled and slept in each other arms the night before. He wasn’t about to get possessive and assume they’d rest in the same bed again.

  Surprising him, though, she changed into a flimsy little cami, lavender this time, and magenta bikini panties, so help me God, and climbed beneath the sheets next to him.

  They’d put in a lot of miles across the Rust Belt of the nation, and he wasn’t shocked she was ready to lie back and relax. Lying down, feet up, it felt good to be horizontal for a change. Instead of simply chilling, watching TV, or anything more adventurous in the nude, Sammy answered a call from her agent. After that-hour long conversation, with her lying tucked at his side as he’d played Solitaire on his phone, Clare called.

  On speakerphone, he let Sammy introduce him—as an old friend, a description that both jarred and pleased him, happy he was more than just some car-mate, but saddened he was still categorized in the friend zone—and he spoke with the elderly woman who had come to mean so much to Sammy in such a short time. He’d been expecting a feeble, frail voice of a senior citizen, and he was amused at the vibrant, bouncy chatter of a lively female. He could envision her reading at her storytimes, capturing and demanding everyone’s attention just as Sammy had explained.

  Sammy switched off speaker as she continued to talk to Clare. Adam set his phone on the nightstand, tired of the absent distraction of digital cards, and turned off the light. Listening halfheartedly to Sammy discussing details about her earlier call with their agent, Adam closed his eyes, basking in her closeness.

  Every time she made an “uh-huh” noise in reply, he could feel her body hum against his side. When she tilted her head to the side, maybe in concentration, her hair tickled on his chest and shoulder. Her spontaneous laughs had him smiling. But when she leaned over him to reach for the standard hotel notepad on the nightstand, his casual observations ceased. With her breasts pressed against his pecs, her breath warm on his cheek, he sucked in a deep lungful of air and held it in.

  Slanting her brows, she glanced at him.

  She was so damn close, so warm and inviting. He rubbed his thumbs on her biceps where he had gripped her as she leaned over, not wanting to express a forceful manhandling of her. Under his caress, he watched as she stammered a reply to something Clare said, her heated gaze roaming from his lips to his eyes and back again.

  Good to know I’m not the only one suffering here.

  “Sammy?” Clare’s voice sounded from the phone. “Are you all right? I heard you gasp.”

  Sammy closed her lips, seeming to rethink a kiss … or something more.

  Adam smiled slowly, watching as she figuratively slammed a lid on her lust and returned her attention back to Clare as she sat up with the notepad. He rested his hand on her thigh, rubbing small circles on her smooth skin—not as a tease, more as a comfort, because keeping his hands completely to himself seemed an impossibility.

  Patience…

  His ideas of payback fell in the category of Sammy being totally in tune to him, begging for more. Above and beyond all else, she’d be happy and one hundred percent with him. Not distracted with work and her responsibilities. He could wait. He would wait for her.

  Picking up some phrases from her chat, Adam tried to follow her path for her immediate future. Seeking franchise rights with the best supplier. Agreeing to release dates. Clare seemed absolutely against agreeing to any book signing events until Sammy was finished with school.

  Before he became any drowsier, Sammy finally hung up and wiggled closer to his side, fitting perfectly in his nook, as though her body was designed to immaculately measure up and match to the space at his side.

  “How come you’re bothering going to school?” he asked, tracing circles on her shoulder now.

  Her hand lay over his thudding heart, and he had to wonder if she placed it there intentionally, or if it just fit.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got a career. A job. A future. Why bother with paying for classes and attending? Not like you need the instruction. You’re a natural master.”

  She rubbed her cheek on his chest. “I may not need any formal education, but what’s to say I don’t want it? Mother ridiculed my interest in the fine arts. They never allowed me any structured exposure to art of any kind when I was a kid. Only once I got to college could I have some bit of control. And even then she’d criticized it as a waste of time.”

  She inhaled deeply before continuing. “I knew what was expected of me. Dartmouth. Edgar’s alma mater. Only an institution reserved for the upper echelon of society would be good enough for a Millson—of course! Full-time schedule of classes—Millsons don’t slack. And appropriate clubs to participate in—I didn’t dare fall behind in engaging in proper society. I slipped a couple fine arts electives into my agenda, and Mother reminded me to stay focused on my real classes, my important commitments like sociology, statistics, and economics.”

  “How could she not see how talented you were?”

  “Water under the bridge. But I like my courses now. I’m around other artsy folk. Peers. People I could see myself befriending if I ever took the jump out of anti-social land.”

  Befriending as fellow artists? Or as … boyfriends? He exhaled slowly so as not to groa
n. Jealousy wasn’t becoming of him.

  “And I’ve learned a few tips. So much of my education has come from personal research online. Mother might have never allowed me any development in a classroom or a club, but she wasn’t around. As soon as she saw I was maintaining straight As and I met muster at all the damn functions the family was expected to attend, she didn’t know or care what I did on my own time.”

  Jake either. The Millsons provided material possessions for their offspring, but Sammy and Jake really did have freedom—within the walls of their mansion prison. And Adam remembered exactly what Sammy was explaining. All those times she’d hung out with them, her laptop and sketchbook weren’t far away. Books, those massive tomes of art history and other craft references, were always scattered in her room.

  “But it matters to me. Even if I supposedly have a career, I still want to obtain that accomplishment for myself.” She scoffed. “And if I can secure this trust fund, I really will need to graduate after all—in order to get it at graduation.”

  Not like it’d be a hardship for her. With her skill, she’d fly through any art course.

  “What do you mean supposedly? How do you not have a career already?”

  She shrugged, nudging his side. “I haven’t mapped out my life. You’re not the only one struggling with the overwhelming pressure of the big bad future knocking on your door.”

  Thanks. Thanks for reminding me.

  “I sort of fell into the Landy stuff with Clare. I never took it on as a mechanism to make money. And I enjoy it, mostly because Clare and I are friends first. But if it were ever to seem like a job, an obligation, I might not be so crazy about continuing. Besides, I know Clare is, uh, on in her years. And, well…”

  Instead of letting her elaborate, knowing exactly what dread Sammy was not saying out loud, he kissed the top of her head and hugged her closer.

  “I wouldn’t be sure I could do it on my own. And I know for a fact I couldn’t do Landy with another writer.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out then.”

  She laughed and then yawned. “Yeah? Enlighten me then.”

  “You’ll take it one day at a time. That’s all we ever can do.”

  “Such a wise old man, you.” She kissed just above his nipple. He smiled at her sweet affection.

  Lying there together, he debated his own advice. Because nothing could be truer of anyone’s life. One day at a time. No point dwelling on the past, as Sammy seemed to be accepting as she moved on from her fears after her assault. No benefit to planning out a future, living life through a series of steps, like a lifelong workbook page of a dot-to-dot diagram.

  One day at a time. It’d been his motto for so long.

  Hearing Sammy, a woman close to his age but still younger than his twenty-six years, speaking about royalties, fees, taxes, and payments, he was reminded of his own lack of solid funds. He’d never worried about money, earning not-too-shabby paychecks in the service, selling his car when he’d left, and never too lazy to pick up an odd job for income. Much of his daily expenses were still covered by the slight lump of cash his dad had left him in his will. But his tactics weren’t reliable for a long term. And as awful as veterans were treated by big government, he’d always known he’d pave his path for his own resources instead of relying on anyone else.

  Sammy had passed him in relative leaps in bounds, even acknowledging and learning about end-of-life costs, insurance rates, the differences between Medicaid and personal IRAs. Of course that all came from her single-handedly looking out for Clare, a task most college students wouldn’t deal with. But she was maturing, owning up to adulthood. And he was … stalling.

  While Sammy was looking forward to multiple book contracts, expected to last months, years in the future, he couldn’t even pinpoint where he might be on the face of the earth, much less how he’d be paying his way through his adventures.

  Once again, as he’d mused at MGM in Vegas, waiting for Sammy, his attitude toward his lifestyle struck him as juvenile. He didn’t really expect to float through life on a never-ending vacation … and he didn’t feel any desire to do so either. Half the time, he felt guilty for dismissing himself from the military, slacking on his patriotic duty. But on the other hand, he heeded it a wise decision to leave when he could because not everyone was cut for serving. Just because his dad was a lifelong soldier didn’t mean that lifestyle was meant for him, too. But if he wasn’t in the military, then what? Hesitation to take on the offer to deploy with the new unit could only mean one thing. If it wasn’t an immediate, “Yes, sir!” then his gut instinct was informing him not to commit to the Army again. Right? He had to have an answer in just over a month.

  One day at a time, he thought again.

  But he only had two days left with Sammy. He’d appreciate every minute of her at his side, and save the heavier worries for another day—Procrastination 101.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Davenport, Iowa

  Ink finished lapping her itsy-bitsy tongue and looked up at Sammy, wagging her teeny tail.

  For the thousandth time, Sammy wondered how a breeder could have been so heartless to ditch the little dog, casting her out as a less-than profitable animal to sell simply because her left ear refused to stand up. Such an adorable pint-size critter to cherish.

  “Little more,” she encouraged. Ink lowered her head and licked Adam’s chin again, still excited to dish some love on someone who had been quickly being puppy-whipped. So he’d had a dream of owning a massive gray Great Dane one day. There was no denying Adam had warmed to Ink on the trip, though. Dog-lover thick and through, just like her.

  Groans sounded from Adam’s throat as he lightly swatted at Ink’s wake-up call on his face.

  Sammy, for the first time, had beaten Adam’s pesky alarm clock, waking up, doing a round of crunches, push-ups, and burpees while she’d waited for her companion to get up. He was still sleeping when she’d gotten out of the shower, too.

  She thought she’d felt him tossing and turning next to her throughout the night, and she could only wonder what had him agitated. After all, she’d given him a respite from cold showers the day before. Sure the sexual tension remained in their space, but she’d at least abated his desire for a moment. Or did I make matters worse?

  Normally charming and outwardly at ease, Adam didn’t seem like the kind of soul to every worry, to every lose sleep over the ruminations of a nonstop mind.

  “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” she crooned, leaning over him.

  He jerked upright to sit, nearly knocking her backward. In a steady swoop, he gathered her in his arms, bent her over his lap, and gave her a thoroughly harsh and sexy kiss.

  “Good morning, ma’am.” He grinned at her.

  Morning breath or not, she couldn’t help but crumble at his excessively romantic display. “I’ll say.” She giggled and sat up as he released her. “Sleep okay?”

  “I managed. What with you hogging the sheets and all. Snoring like a chainsaw running at—”

  She chucked a pillow at his head. “You slept in. Is it okay if you pass on your run this morning so we can get going?”

  He lost the humor from his smile while he sat up. “How late are we?”

  “Late?” She smirked. “We’re not on a timeline here, soldier. I’m just ready to get going. Could you run later?”

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “You sure? Look kinda cranky there.”

  “It’s, well, I never miss a run.”

  “I can tell.” She studied him lazily.

  A smile started on his face. “Uh huh. It’s just that it’s my routine.” He stood and stretched. His arms wrapped her in a tight hug. “But spending time with you is better. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “I’ll wait on you anytime.”

  “Really? Promise?” He quirked a brow and then headed to the bathroom. “Then give me ten minutes, and I’ll be good to go.”

  She slung her backpack on h
er shoulder and tapped at the bathroom doorframe as she passed by. “Yes, sir,” she mocked with a salute. “We’ll be at the car.”

  They began their day of rolling back the digits on the odometer with goofy jokes, musings about every-day oddities, and arguing over who sang which tune better. Skating around deeper topics like the future, which seemed to send him into a pensive funk, and their mutual attraction weighing on their shoulders, they enjoyed the morning in a carefree, well-worn in friendship.

  After lunch in some roadside town in Indiana, they reentered the expressway for the afternoon drive. A thumping sound and off-balance rhythm to their speed had them eyeing each other with frowns.

  “Flat?” she asked.

  “Sounds like it.”

  When he slowed the car to the berm, the jumping bumps worsened. Standing on the weedy expanse of straggling plants vying for space in the pavement cracks, Sammy studied the rear tire, confirming her guess with a nod. “That looks flat all right.”

  “Got a dummy?”

  “Besides me?”

  “You ever gonna lose that lame streak?” Adam asked with a smile as he headed for the trunk.

  An hour later, they changed the flat for the doughnut. They, much to her happiness. No macho, “I’m-the-man-stand-aside-little-lady” act from him. He’d shown her how to change her first tire, assisting only when she couldn’t loosen one of the lug nuts.

  “Can’t go too far on a doughnut, right?” she asked once they were back in their seats.

  “No. And not too fast. Can you find a garage nearby?”

  She tapped on her phone, found a location, and entered the address in the car’s navigation screen. Within another forty-five minutes, Adam rolled their punctured tire to the garage and received a verdict. An hour wait due to short staff that day. A nail was the culprit, and the required remedy was a simple plug, but no matter how much Adam wheedled and complained that an hour’s wait was ridiculous, the beer-gutted mechanic in filthy overalls pointed at the cars on the lifts and the waiting room full of scowling, foot-tapping, watch-checking, and generally annoyed-looking customers.