“Sam!” My name explodes from her lips in frustration. “That’s only because you let him think we were a couple!” She throws her arms wide in aggravation. “Of course he was going to back down.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I shrug my shoulders. “Listen, if I was interested in some chick, I’d pursue her until she told me herself that she wasn’t into it.”
FYI- Violet has never come out and said that she wasn’t interested or into it.
I’m just saying…
She rolls her dark brown eyes at my guy logic. “I think you do this just to mess with me.”
I’m tempted to shake my head, but don’t bother. Violet’s a really smart girl but she is totally clueless sometimes. Especially where I’m concerned. She doesn’t get that I have feelings for her. That I’ve always had feelings for her. It’s like she’s put me in some little box marked with big bright colors- just a friend and refuses to let me out. After eight long years, it’s driving me fucking crazy. Something’s got to give. And I don’t want it to be my sanity. Because I’m precariously close to snapping.
Short of spelling it out for her, I don’t know what else to do. I want this girl so damn much and yet, here she is trying to hook up with some random dude rather than consider for one freaking moment that the friendship we have could be a solid basis to starting something more, something deeper, something infinitely more meaningful.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her why I’m constantly cock blocking her but I rein it back in at the last moment. Instead, I say in my best cajoling tone, trying to placate her, “I just don’t want to see you get tangled up with the wrong kind of guy.”
For instance- one whose name is not Sam Harper.
Sounding exasperated, she huffs, “I wasn’t exactly looking for a long term commitment…” she raises her brows before adding, “if you know what I mean.”
Fuck yeah, I know exactly what she means. Hence my sudden arrival on the scene.
Just like I said before- totally clueless. It would actually be cute if I weren’t so sexually frustrated by the situation.
Pulling her into a darkened hallway off the living room, where the flow of people is a little lighter, I finally spin her towards me before asking with just a touch of heat filling my voice, “So you’re just on the prowl, looking to get laid?” My teeth are actually gritted because, needless to say, the idea of her doing that just pisses me the hell off.
Her dark brows knit together as she stares up at me like I’m stupid. “Well, duh!”
My eyes narrow in response.
Unfortunately those words are enough to have my junk stirring with the notion that she wants to get laid tonight. Because there’s only one dude who should be buried deep within her tight heat and that’s me, goddamn it.
Before I can even get one single agitated word out, she snaps, “What? You’re allowed to sleep around, but I’m not?” Her hands settle on the soft curve of her hips as she continues glaring at me.
She’d be shocked as hell to know that I haven’t hooked up with a chick since the end of second semester last year. And that was only because I was completely shitfaced and trying to fuck Violet out of my system once and for all.
Which clearly didn’t work since my main mission in life is to foil any and all of her attempts to get laid.
Anyway… I found a chick who looked exactly like her- long blonde hair, deep brown eyes, nice soft tits and I fucked her about six different ways before finally throwing in the condom and admitting that no paper thin carbon copy was going to diminish the absolute need I have for Violet Winterfield.
I haven’t bothered hooking up since that little unwelcome revelation.
I mean, what’s the freaking point?
If I have the need to… release the poison, as Dylan so charmingly put it, then my hand is as good as anything else. Because, at this point, if I can’t have her, I don’t want anyone else.
And that’s just fucking sad, man.
Plowing a hand roughly through my hair, I admit, “No, of course you can.” Because unless I’m finally willing to nut up, my hands are tied. I can’t say one damn word about what she does.
And yeah… it freaking drives me bat shit crazy.
For the last couple of years, I’ve tried cluing her in to what I’m feeling. Dropping hints, little touches here and there, holding her in my arms, invading her personal space. Even kissing her. Which, trust me, is exquisite torture. But it’s always the same- absolutely freaking nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
Zero.
Zip.
She’s completely oblivious to all my attempts.
A slim brow slowly rises across her forehead. “Then why are you always getting in my way? Is this like some kind of joke or something?”
A fucking joke?
Seriously?
I’m just about ready to go off like a damn shot over here and she thinks this is some kind of joke?
I want to laugh. Hysterically. All the while tearing my hair out.
When I finally open my mouth, it’s on the tip of my tongue to push the words out. To let the cards fall where they may. But… if she’s not into it, where the hell does that leave us? Would my feelings make her uncomfortable? Would she start avoiding me?
Christ. I don’t think I could stand that.
Instead of purging myself of the truth, I slam my mouth shut before shaking my head.
Yeah, yeah… You don’t have to say it. I already know.
Biggest.
Pussy.
Ever.
Got it.
Sensing my agitation, but clearly not understanding where it stems from, she lays a gentle hand on my forearm before squeezing it. Her eyes are liquid pools. “Look, Sam, I appreciate you watching out for me, I really do. But I can handle myself. If I want to go home with someone at the end of the night, I’m going to do it. Okay?” As she says the words, I notice all the pent up anger that had been vibrating within her slowly start to dissipate.
Unconsciously my hands tighten into clenched fists as I think about Violet getting it on with some asshole that isn’t going to treat her the way she deserves to be treated.
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I think you’re just so used to looking out for me, you sometimes take it too far.” Stepping closer, she twines her arms around my neck. Once again, the soft curves of her body press up against all my hard lines. “But you don’t have to do that anymore. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
I have to consciously remind myself to unlock my tightened muscles before snaking my arms around her and hauling her closer.
“I love you, Sam. You’re my best friend.”
My heart sinks like a massive bolder at her softly spoken words. Not because I don’t want to be her best friend, I absolutely do. I love that we’re friends. That we’ve been able to stay close throughout the years, that nothing has managed to separate us. I love that I’m the first person she turns to when something is going on in her life.
But it’s just not enough anymore. If I’m being completely honest, it hasn’t been enough for a while now.
I want more.
I want to be Violet’s everything.
But this conversation has me seriously wondering if that’s ever going to happen. Maybe I’ve just been fooling myself all these years by holding out hope that at some point, she would finally wake up and realize what’s been sitting right in front of her the entire time.
Oblivious to the thoughts churning within my head, she leans up onto her tiptoes before pressing her mouth softly against mine. Because I have absolutely zero self-control where Violet Winterfield is concerned, I sweep my lips slowly across hers until she hesitantly opens for me. Even though it’s not much, it’s more than enough for my tongue to slip inside her deliciously warm mouth and mingle with her own.
For just one moment.
One fucking moment.
Not really wanting to, I draw away
before it can get weird. Maybe I just need to accept the fact that Violet is never going to want me the way I want her. I’m doomed to be a friend and nothing more.
As she holds my gaze, there’s just a hint of confusion shadowed within her eyes. Like I’ve totally thrown her for a loop by slipping her a little bit of tongue action.
But the truth of the matter is that whenever she presses her lips against mine, I have a hard time resisting the urge to deepen it. So, for just a fleeting moment or two, our tongues will touch. Maybe I’m hoping to spark something within her. Or maybe I’m completely masochistic.
At this point, it’s anyone’s guess.
All I can say is that it hasn’t done one damn bit of good.
Slowly Violet unwinds her arms from around me as those thoughts continue rolling around inside my head. Looking a little unsure, she takes a hesitant step away as her fingers slowly buzz her lips before those chocolaty hued eyes lock on mine.
Sounding distracted, she finally says, “I, ah, need to find Mia. I think we’re probably going to be heading out soon.”
Not knowing what else to do, I murmur a quick, “Sure, okay.”
Turning away, she throws one last searching glance over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Sam.”
I jerk my head in response. As she leaves, I watch her melt into the crowd of rowdy students blowing off steam on a Thursday evening. If she has plans on leaving this party with some other dude, then I hope to hell I don’t see her do it.
Chapter Three
Sam picks me up from Stoughton Hall, the dorm I live in, around eleven o’clock before we head over to my grandparent’s house on the other side of town. It’s about a twenty minute ride from campus which means that I can pop over anytime they need something.
Or whenever I’m craving a home cooked meal.
Normally Sam and I banter the entire way there. But not this time. This time he’s being oddly silent. Dare I say contemplative? Even though I don’t know for sure, and he certainly hasn’t mentioned anything about it, I’m kind of thinking this has something to do with what happened at the Sigma party Thursday night.
Which is strange. Because that was hardly the first time Sam has run off some guy who’s been hitting on me. More like the fortieth. And I’m probably being conservative with that estimate.
So what’s up with the weird vibe?
I don’t know.
Furthermore- I don’t like it.
At all.
It leaves me feeling twitchy and nervous. Two things I never am when we’re together. There are only a few select people I can actually be myself with. Mia. My grandparents. And Sam. With them, I can strip away all the protective armor I wear for the world and just be me.
Violet Winterfield.
As I dwell on Thursday night, that damn kiss nudges its way back into my thoughts for, oh… about the hundredth time. Which is completely and utterly ridiculous because it was hardly anything at all.
Certainly not something to obsess over.
So he slipped me a little bit of tongue…
Who cares?
It’s not like we haven’t kissed before.
Hell, Sam Harper was my very first real kiss.
Eighth grade.
It happened at a party in the dingy, cobweb infested closet of Cooper Staub’s basement.
Seven minutes in heaven.
And that wasn’t the only time we played that game either. It was incredibly popular with the middle school set. Of course, anything that involved getting your hands on the opposite sex was hugely popular.
So, after that, we would share little kisses here and there. No biggie. Honestly, I’ve never really thought too much about it. But that particular kiss feels different somehow and I can’t figure out why.
Silently my eyes slide to his. Because I can’t stand the peculiar tension filling the cab of his truck, I hear myself blurting, “Is everything okay?”
Looking thrown by the question, his eyes dart to mine. His fingers tighten just a bit around the steering wheel as he continues driving his Ford F-150, zipping effortlessly through late Sunday morning traffic.
“Yeah, of course, everything’s fine.” His brow furrows at the question before volleying one right back at me. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Not quite sure how to put my feelings into words, I find myself shrugging. This is exactly what I’m talking about… The sudden tension that has cropped up between us. Our relationship has always been ridiculously easy. And now… now it feels anything but. “I don’t know,” I finally admit softly, “Thursday night, I guess…” Unsure just how to proceed, my words trail off as I gulp down my unease.
Without taking his eyes off the road, Sam reaches out, interlacing our fingers together. “It’s all good, Vi.” Glancing over, his deep blue eyes pierce mine for just a heartbeat before he gives me that slightly crooked smile I love so much. “Promise.”
Huffing out a relieved breath, all of the thick tension instantly drains from my body leaving me almost limp with relief. I hadn’t realized just how anxious I’d been feeling until he’d said those words.
Sam means everything to me. More than almost anyone else in the world.
A small smile finally tilts my lips upward. “Okay.” Obviously I need to put Thursday night out of my head and just forget about it. In all honesty, there’s really nothing for me to even be dwelling on.
Clearing his throat, he says, “So, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night and you’re right.”
I arch a brow. “I am?” Well… good. That’s exactly what I like to hear. The only problem is that I have absolutely no idea what I’m right about.
His eyes stay locked on the road ahead of him. For some reason, I get the strangest feeling that he’s avoiding eye contact. Which is weird. Sam is usually so straightforward and forthright. “Yeah, you can hook up with whoever you want and I shouldn’t get in the way of that.”
Turning his words over in my head, I study our entwined fingers for a long silent moment. What he’s saying should make me happy. Relieved. Because Sam has been a major pain in the ass when it comes to me being with guys. I swear to god, every time I’m close to sealing the deal, he magically appears from out of nowhere and within minutes, everything is falling to shit and I’m going home solo for the evening.
Again.
A girl can only take so much vibrator action. Sometimes you just need the real deal.
“I didn’t go home with anyone Thursday night.” Why those words are suddenly escaping from the confines of my mouth, I have no idea. But they do. And it’s too late to suck them back in at this point. So I don’t even bother trying.
His eyes slice towards me before quickly bouncing back to the road. “No?”
Is that a hopeful note tinging his voice or am I just reading into this? And why would that even matter? I shrug my shoulders with fake nonchalance before shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Just wasn’t feeling it, I guess.”
“Hmmm.”
Before I can put the kibosh on my wayward thoughts, they’re pouring from my lips. “What about you?” With the breath caught at the back of my throat, I watch him from the corner of my eye.
Continuing to stare forward, he shakes his head. “Nah.”
His answer has me suddenly racking my brain, trying to remember the last time I saw Sam hook up or go out with someone. My brows draw together as I silently turn that question over in my mind. Has he even been with anyone this fall semester? What about over the summer? Unless he was keeping it under wraps for some strange reason, I don’t think so.
Just when I’m about to delve in for more details, he pulls up to the curb in front of my grandparent’s large Victorian. When I was a kid, I used to think it resembled a gingerbread house with all its cerulean blue wood siding and lacy white trim that looked like piped icing around the eves. Deep purple wooden steps lead the way to an inviting beveled glass front door. A gleaming white swing hangs from the covered porch. A round t
urret flanks the left side of the house, spearing up into the sky. It has a comfy window seat with soft pillows piled on top of it. I would curl up there on stormy afternoons or when I just needed time alone. It was the perfect little reading nook. Even though I came here under terrible circumstances, I have nothing but happy memories of living in this house with my grandparents.
They are the absolute best and I’m lucky to have them in my life. I’m grateful they were there for me when I needed them. It’s one of the reasons I decided to stay and attend Barnett. I even offered to live at home and commute to and from school, but they both encouraged me to move onto campus and spread my wings.
I don’t realize that Sam is still holding my fingers until he gives them a gentle squeeze. The movement has my eyes arrowing to his. “Ready?”
“Yep.” Hoisting my lips, I give him a small smile. Even though I still have the feeling there’s something on Sam’s mind that he’s not sharing with me, I decide to put it on the backburner for the time being. Instead, the two of us jog up the front porch stairs and without knocking, I simply throw the door open like I’ve done a thousand times before.
“Hello?” I call out loudly, “Gran? Gramps?”
Sam leans towards me before murmuring just loud enough for me to hear, “You did tell them what time we were stopping by, right?” He waits a beat, his voice dropping even further, “Because I seriously can’t deal with walking in on them getting it on again.”
Elbowing him, I snort. “I thought we agreed never to mention that particular incident again. Do you have any idea just how psychologically scarring that experience was for me?”
His eyebrows shoot up, very nearly hitting the ceiling in response. “Ummm, yeah, I do because I was subjected to it as well. In fact, it still haunts me to this very day.” He shakes his head as if trying to somehow dislodge it.
Yeah, good luck with that, buddy...
I roll my eyes trying to put a positive spin on what should never have been heard in the first place. “At least they’re still active and in love.” This time, I give him a poke in those rock solid abs of his. They’re bounce-a-quarter-off-them tight. “You should be so lucky to be having hot sex when you’re in your seventies.”
Friend Zoned (Barnett Bulldogs #2) Page 3