Chapter Eleven
“Beneath Your Beautiful”
Labrinth (featuring Emeli Sandé)
Catherine
Startled, I woke to someone beating on my door. I had fallen asleep on the couch in my jeans and bra.
More knocking.
Quickly I reached for something to cover myself with. My choices were a damp, used towel or the new shirt. I started to run to my drawer for something, but the knocking was loud and insistent so I quickly threw on the new shirt as I forced myself up to the door.
“Who’s there?” I demanded sleepily.
“Your Superman,” came the voice, teasing and sexy.
Sam!
“How the hell did you get up here?” I pulled the door open.
He stood, leaning in the doorway. His dark hair was dripping wet while his soaked, brown Lucky t-shirt stuck to his torso like a second skin. He had definitely gotten caught in the rain.
“I’m friends with your doorman,” he said then winked.
“You’ve met him once.”
He came in without invitation, dropped his backpack and circled around me, studying every inch of my body with his eyes. “You’re in your new outfit.” He smiled like he was proud of me, or like he was hungry, I couldn’t tell. Then he reasoned, “You were going to come to my show tonight, weren’t you?”
“I tried,” I said, feeling my face blush red.
He let out a hot breath. “I like it.”
“You like what?” I whispered, feeling my body responding to his.
“You, in those clothes.”
“Have you been drinking?” I smiled a little and closed my eyes, feeling the heat emanating from him.
“Um … I just played in one of the biggest clubs in Seattle—missed you by the way—and yes, I have been drinking.”
“How did you get here?” I hoped he hadn’t driven drunk.
“Taxi.” He smiled cockily.
I was relieved. “And why are you here at …” I peered over at the wall clock. “Three a.m.?”
“I already told you,” Sam said, walking away and making himself comfy on my loveseat.
“No, you didn’t.”
“No you didn’t.”
I laughed. “No, I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”
“I did. You’re not thinking,” he accused playfully.
“What was it then?” My sleep-addled mind wasn’t computing.
“I already told you,” he said, teasingly impatient. “Now, aren’t you going to offer me a towel? And a drink? I could really use a drink.”
“You could really use a towel,” I laughed. “And maybe some coffee.”
“No way, I have to get some sleep,” he protested then saw my half empty glass of wine on the coffee table. “You only have wine, don’t you?”
“That is all, amigo.”
“Fine, I’ll take the coffee. But with lots of cream and sugar so it’s like melted ice cream.”
“Okay.” I went into my kitchen area and put on a pot of coffee.
“Whaaaat … iiiiis … thiiiiis …?” When Sam spoke, he drawled out each word to make it last, like a little kid who stumbled on something they shouldn’t have.
“What is what?” I liked him drunk. Some people were dicks, but Sam was funny. Of course, I thought.
“I could most certainly help you with number six on your to-do list.”
“Now what are you talking about?” I smiled, putting teaspoons of sugar into his cup.
“‘My Master Goal List.’” I heard him read aloud. “‘One. Wear clothes that I like.’ Look, you’re doing it.”
OH MY GOD! I had left the headshrink’s list on the table! “Hey! Don’t read that!” I screeched.
“‘Two. Go to three places you’ve never been before in Seattle.’ That could be arranged.”
“SAM NORTH!” I shouted and moved to pounce.
He was too quick. He jumped over the back of the love seat and used it as a wall against me. He held the paper up in front of his face while he kept his other arm out was strong in front of him to fight me off. “‘Three: Get drunk. Four: Dance in the rain.’”
“Sam, that’s none of your business. I’m serious! Give it back!” This was making me mad fast.
“Hey!” He held his hand out towards me like a stop sign. “Relax. I’ll stop reading it, but only if you tell me what it’s about.”
“It’s a goal list.” My eyebrows creased in frustration and embarrassment.
He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”
“It’s from my headshrink.” I swallowed nervously.
“Okay, so the clothes were number one,” he stated like it was no big deal.
Shit. “Yes, the clothes were number one,” I affirmed, more embarrassed than angry. Embarrassed that I had a list to tell me how to live, and Sam had found it.
“That’s why it’s checked off.” He sounded proud.
“You’re a mastermind,” I jeered.
“Let me read it?” He asked, and his voice was like a warm spoon dipping into cold, hard butter and honey. I’m sure he was very accustomed to getting anything he wanted with that voice.
I was about to say something when he cut me short.
“Don’t get all mucked up, it’s a fun to-do list. And I’ll tell you, six is my all-time favorite. I’d like to read more.” His eyes were on me now. He was asking for permission. The game was over and he was giving me a choice.
I didn’t want him to see how fucked up I was on paper. But he was trying to be my friend.
“Read it,” I said, giving in, and turned back to the kitchen area to pour the coffee.
“‘Four: Dance in the rain. Five: Go to a movie. Six’—did I mention this one’s my favorite?—‘Get laid’ …” He stopped to catch my eyes. “You have an awesome psychiatrist.”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing.
A moment later he said, “Jolie, I could do all of these activities with you.” He contemplated the list thoughtfully.
Did I really want to take him on that deeply personal journey? These tasks were so heavy for me emotionally. Could I trust him? And what if I had another panic attack in front of him? One time had been humiliating enough. Then there was number six. I knew he was talking about the entire list, but my tongue played over the back of my teeth imagining Sam tackling that task. Oh God! I knew it would be hot! But was he serious? Like friends with benefits? I didn’t know if I could have casual sex like that; especially having to face him again in school. And more honestly, I didn’t know what it would take for me to open myself up to another human being that way, and going back to normal afterward didn’t seem like an option for me.
“Thank you for offering, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
I brought him the coffee and a towel, and sat next to him on the loveseat.
He set the list down, pulled off his shirt and wrapped the towel around his neck. He stared at the list without saying a word, wiped his face, then got up suddenly and went into my bathroom. When he came back out, he was wearing nothing but his black, form-fitted boxers.
Are you trying to kill me, Sam? I thought I had said it out loud, but realized that no sound had come out.
He came over to me and offered me his hand. I took it, dumbfounded, and he pulled me off the couch and walked me toward my … closet?
“W … what are you doing?” I stammered.
“Get in your sleeping clothes, so you can wear those in the morning. We’ve got a big day tomorrow,” he instructed.
Why did I feel disappointed that he hadn’t brought me to the bed?
“Sam, I really had to work hard just to put on the jeans. And even then I started to have a meltdown and—”
He took my face in his hands. His palms were so warm and his face was so close, it made me lose every thought.
“Of course it’s going to be hard for you, you went through something catastrophic that fucked up your whole world. I get it. That’s why you’ll have a much e
asier time accomplishing this goal list with a little help from a friend.”
“A friend.” Right now I was not thinking about goal lists, I was thinking about Sam North not being my friend.
“Yeah, haven’t you ever listened to the Beatles?” His thumbs caressed the skin over my cheek bones. “Now go to sleep.” He kissed me tenderly on my forehead, smiled, then went back over and sprawled out on my loveseat.
I didn’t move. I could still feel his hands on my face and his lips on my skin when I heard his breath change.
Sam was sleeping over for the second time. I shook myself and thought sensibly enough to cover him with a blanket.
After I changed into my pajamas I crawled into bed, wondering what tomorrow would hold.
That’s when I got it.
I hitched in a short breath of understanding. “Because he missed me.”
“What do you think, pretty amazing right? Wait until we’re inside and up around five hundred feet!” Sam was hopped up on excitement.
We stepped underneath Seattle’s massive Space Needle, between the steel scaffolding and then into the outside elevator lined with glass windows.
He’d had the sleepover thing planned, because he had a fresh pair of clothes in that backpack of his, along with his personal items like a toothbrush, deodorant and aftershave.
He had insisted I wear my new clothes, and I did. I was still being careful and hadn’t looked in any mirrors.
“Are you scared of heights?” Sam asked, catching my eyes.
I bit my lip and shook my head no.
“Well if you get scared, you can hold my hand,” he offered.
I smiled at his offer and stared out the window as we were lifted two hundred feet. We were about even with the tops of the city’s buildings.
“How aren’t afraid of heights are you?”
“Is that a real phrase, master’s student?”
“You’re not my professor here. Answer the question.”
“I’ve never had a hard time with heights, planes, high rises—it’s all alright by me.”
“What about sky diving? Or parachuting?” He had that edgy tone of excitement to his voice.
“Really?” My interest piqued. “I’ve never tried.” I gasped, my attention shifting. “What a beautiful view of Mt. Rainier!”
“Everything’s beautiful from up here,” he said, close to my ear. I had a feeling there was a double meaning to his words. “It’s like you’re on top of the world.”
“You like heights,” I observed.
“I went bungee jumping this summer, my brother Will and I go zip lining as often as possible, and my brother Jake runs an extreme sports business teaching people to skydive and parachute.”
“I might like to try any of those someday,” I said dreamily.
“That sounds like a date,” he purred into my hair.
We reached five hundred and twenty feet and exited the elevator onto the observation deck, where we stood next to the huge windows and peered excitedly over the city.
“They call Seattle the Emerald City. Over there, poking up from the cloud cover, you can see the outline of the Cascade Mountains.” Sam pointed into the distance.
We stood there for a long while, quietly watching a ferry inch across the sound, taking in the jagged snow covered mountain range.
“It’s so quiet up here,” I said. “Peaceful. You can hear yourself think.”
“I get a lot of creative ideas when I’m up high like this,” Sam added to my thought. “Hang gliding is one of my favorite altitude sports. Parachuting is a wicked thrill, so is zipping, but when you hang glide you have some control over your movements and momentum. I think it feels the closest to free-flying there is.”
“I’m hungry,” I said, staring out the windows as his words sparked in my mind.
“Good, ’cause this place serves the best food in the city,” he bragged.
“Not for food,” I qualified. “You make me feel hungry, Sam, and I haven’t felt hungry for years.” I turned, leaned my back against the glass and looked into his inviting brown eyes.
“You’re so beautiful. And here you are, up against the skyline with your back turned to the glass. Most people would never have the guts to do that.” I sensed him coming in closer and was sure he intended to kiss me. My heartbeat quickened and I licked my lips in anticipation. “You, Ms. Jolie, make me a whole new level of hungry.”
“I do?”
“Excuse me,” a man’s voice interrupted, “would you please take a picture of us?”
Sam turned slightly and the man pressed his iPhone into Sam’s hand.
I laughed, bowed my head and turned back to the scenery.
“Dude! You have the worse timing ever,” I heard Sam scold before he took a couple shots of the man and his family.
“This is the most delicious food I think I’ve ever eaten in my life,” I stated matter-of-factly.
We were sitting in the top of the Space Needle at the elegant Sky City, their rotating dining room located 500 feet above Seattle.
Sam ordered for us because I couldn’t decide. Baby spinach and strawberries with goat cheese fritters and almonds was the first course. Next, he chose two entrees for us to share—grilled wild king salmon with a ginger emulsion, fingerling potatoes and carrot ribbons and hazelnut crusted chicken breast with braised greens and feta oregano fries.
We were halfway through the meal when Sam said, “You’ve done pretty amazingly today.”
“Yeah. I think I even surprised myself.” I smiled. “This was a great place to come.” It also proved something, it proved—with the right distraction—that I was able to go somewhere I never had before. There had been no triggers, and I felt relieved.
“I won’t push it, but I want to let you know I have a concert tonight, if you want to come with me?”
I didn’t answer his question. I didn’t want to lose this victorious feeling. “How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was twelve,” he said. “Will took up drums while I took up guitar. What about you, Jolie, ever take up an instrument?”
I wondered what it would be like for him to say my name. My real name. Would I like it? Would it hurt?
“Jolie?” His voice broke through my thought.
“No. I never learned, but …” Leap, just leap. “I do write. Well, I used to … a lot more than I do now.”
“Write? Like what?” He perked up brightly.
“Poems. Songs sometimes,” I admitted.
“Really? Almost half the songs on our set list are originals I write myself. I’d love to take a look at your stuff sometime.”
“They’re not that good, Sam.” I shook my head and took a bite of my food.
“Yeah, I bet they just might be.”
“Okay, you can look at them sometime.” Did I just agree to that? How did he disarm me the way he did?
“You still didn’t answer me.”
“About what?”
“Coming to my performance.”
Electric guitars, screaming speakers, spinning lights … all the people. I doubted it. “Where? Fenix Underground again?”
“It’s a more intimate venue called the Columbia City Theatre.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“There’s a small hardwood stage and a standing floor. But you, my VIP (Very Important Princess), could sit safe and snug inside the lighting booth. Close enough to see and hear, but not right in the middle of it. You’ll be up above everybody,” he encouraged. “It’s the perfect place to wear your threads.”
“The lighting booth, huh?”
“Best seat in the house, and Logan, our manager, and Miles, our lighting tech, they won’t bite. I’ll make sure of it.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. “What kind of songs will you play?”
“Mostly our originals with a few covers thrown in.”
I contemplated his suggestion. They’d be mainly playing music I’d never heard before. That was a positive, a huge pos
itive.
“You’ll get to check off one and two on your list.” He lifted his pierced brow.
I was most convinced that if there were ever a prize for the-most-able-to-get-what-he-wants-by-his-smile, Mr. Sam North would win every time.
“Number two states that I have to go to three places I’ve never been to before. That would make only two,” I reasoned.
“See, I even have a plan for that.”
I felt a spontaneous smile light my face. I had lost count of how many times he’d made me do that today.
Two hours later we were at Sam’s place. The Olivian was one of Seattle’s most luxurious apartment communities.
“You live here?”
“I told you my family was wealthy,” he said like it was no big deal.
“Guess I forgot.” I wandered about, gazing out the gleaming windows, running my fingers over the granite countertops and checking out the elegant modern black and white furniture with a turquoise blue offset. “Did you choose the furnishings?”
“No, the apartment came furnished,” he called from his bedroom. “Hey come here, I could use help choosing which shirt to wear tonight.”
Yeah, okay, I thought as I went into his room. The moment I thought that, however, I remembered the fact that I was his professor. But it didn’t hit me as solidly as it used to. He’d nipped that in the bud fast.
“Really? Which shirt?” I teased.
“Really.” He did actually have two shirts laying over the king sized bed, along with a pair of black jeans. I wondered how many girls in the past three years had gotten to sleep in that bed, or better yet, hadn’t gotten to sleep in that bed.
“The black button down?” He pointed to a slim, black, three-quarter sleeve shirt that had three buttons down the chest. “Or the Sex Pistols tee?”
“Either one would look great,” I conceded.
“So then you think I’ll look great?”
“Yes, Sam. But you already know that.”
“Will I look good enough to make you want to tackle number six on your list?”
Hell, yes! “What time do you play?” I diverted, despite the shot of adrenaline and heat that raced through my body at his mere words. Good God, what would happen if he ever actually touched me like he says he wants to?
He started peeling his clothes off. “I’ll get dressed and we’ll head out so I can introduce you to the band.”
True North Book 3 - Finding Now Kate and Sam Page 10