She and Carey walked the women through several scenarios and defensive strategies before breaking the class up into smaller groups where they could do more interactive demonstrations.
As they were working, Willa Carter, the director for the shelter and a close friend of Sam’s, popped her head in, waving Sam over.
“How’s it going, girl?” Willa asked, giving her a brief hug.
Sam shrugged. “Good as always. A few new girls, so that’s encouraging.”
Willa glanced at Talon and Rush swaddled in pads. “I love it when you bring guys they can beat on. Really helps with the therapy, you know?”
Sam chuckled. “I can’t speak for Rush, but I think Talon secretly likes it. I never have to ask too much to get him to volunteer.”
Willa rolled her pretty blue eyes. “Yeah, that boy’s one sick puppy. I asked him to help me get some boxes out of the truck once, and he asked me if I’d repay him with a kiss. I told him he could kiss my ass, and I’m not kidding you, that boy bent right over and did! Right there in the parking lot! Sicko,” she laughed, making her long braids rustle.
Sam grinned over at the guys. Carey was showing one group of women how to twist out of a choke hold. Rush showed another group how to use their elbows in an attack, and Talon was demonstrating how to effectively knee someone in the groin. Figured.
“So we still on for tonight?” Willa asked, drawing her attention again. “It’s been too goddamn long since we hung out, Ms. I-live-in-Chicago-just-kidding!”
“Yup,” Sam laughed. “See you at eight, Ms. I-guilt-trip-my-friends.”
Willa blew her a kiss and a sassy wink. “You know it! See ya tonight, girl!”
Sam had Rush and Talon simulate attacks on each of the women as she and Carey showed them how to defend themselves with well-placed kicks, punches, elbows, and clutches. Some women remained tentative while others reacted with gusto, working out a few of their anger issues on a hapless Rush and a hyperactive Talon. The guys took the attacks gracefully, though she had a feeling they’d both be sorry for it tomorrow.
“Fuck me, if I take one more hit to the groin—” Talon groaned after a couple hours, laying down on the mat as the last of the women in the class filed out.
“Fuck you, you shouldn’t have been teaching them how to knee your boys all lesson,” Rush laughed, sitting down beside him to pull off his shin pads. “Besides, if anyone needs to get kicked in the junk, it’s you.”
Talon reeled up and landed a hard punch in Rush’s side. Rush tossed the pads in his hands and jumped on him while Sam and Carey rolled their eyes. Rush, an accomplished wrestler, had Talon flipped over and in an awkward pin within seconds while Talon punched him hard in the shoulder and neck, trying to gain purchase. Rush took the punches, grunting and ducking his head, using his lower body to pin Talon closer to the floor, rendering him ineffective. Carey went back to packing up the gear while Sam watched the guys struggle for a few seconds longer before picking up her gym bag and heading to the door.
“Boss, you coming out with us for drinks later?” Talon called out, shoving Rush off.
“Nah, not tonight, fellas. I got better things to do than watch you guys trying to nail every skirt in sight,” she teased, waving over her shoulder. “See you Monday!”
Carey followed her out into the lot. “You sleep last night? You look a little rough.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “You always say the sweetest things, Bear.”
He shrugged. “I sent you an email but just wanted to confirm that Michaelson and Henri should have the contracts signed by Monday.”
She nodded. “That’s good news. They give you a bead on anyone else?”
“Yeah. Michaelson will be giving me a list of guys he thinks will want to join us, starting with Cameron Kurt, that ex-Green Beret I told you about.”
Sam smiled, unlocking her car. When she sensed Carey still standing behind her, she turned around, head tilted in question.
Carey shifted, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Saw you chatting with Willa earlier. You two going out tonight?” he asked.
Sam watched him for a moment. “Bear, when are you going to tell that woman you’re in love with her?” she asked, leaning against her car. “You just need to suck it up and ask her out, you great big scaredy-cat.”
Carey shrugged, looking like a bug pinned under a magnifying glass. A giant, six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-forty pound bug. Squirming nonetheless.
She and Carey rarely discussed their love lives. It was like talking about sex with a sibling, and she could think of about fifty other things she’d rather do than have that discussion, but he’d held a flame for Willa ever since they’d met her at a fundraiser two years ago and started volunteering at the shelter. Sam wasn’t sure why he’d never just gone ahead and pursued her, but she was also the last person to meddle in his romantic pursuits.
“Willa’s, uh, she’s just…” He stopped, at a loss. “You know.” A deep blush started crawling up his neck. Sam saw Carey embarrassed so rarely, her eyes actually widened.
“Carrick Nelson, are you telling me you’re too shy to ask Willa out?” she asked, astonished.
“She’s just—” He faltered, swallowed hard, and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s such a spitfire. She’s so damn fiery and mouthy and tough. And she talks a mile-a-minute and—”
“Bear, I have seen you make grown SEALs break down. You wrangle two-thousand-pound cattle like it’s nothing—and you find Willa Carter intimidating? You have got to be kidding me!” she chortled.
Carey turned around like he was going to walk off and then he stopped, rounding on Sam. “It’s different with her. She’s different. I just don’t really know what to say when I’m around her. Not like she lets you get a word in edgewise anyway,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.” He turned back toward his SUV.
“Carey, wait!” Sam said, gathering her breath. “Stop. I just haven’t seen you nervous over a girl since…” She looked up. “Well ever. Took me by surprise is all.”
The color still high on his cheekbones, Carey glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for another joke.
Sam should have felt contrite for teasing him, but she was still a bit taken aback to see Carey nervous. Those moments were so rare. Her giant, stalwart Bear had shown nerves only a handful of times in all the years they’d known each other.
“Yeah, I’m having dinner with Willa,” she nodded. “We were going to go to Avec, then maybe Buddy Guy’s to see some blues. Do a little dancing. You want to meet us?”
“You’re not gonna give me shit for this, are you?” he asked, tone foreboding.
“I sure will,” she retorted, tossing her bag in the ’vette. “But not in front of her,” she winked.
Carey just wagged his head as she started her car up and backed out, waving.
*
September—Saturday afternoon
The Whitney, Chicago
J A C K
Jack woke slowly, blinking against the warm light filtering through the windows of the balcony and terrace. The late afternoon sun bathed the living room in a soft, golden hue. He knew immediately he wasn’t home, but it took him a moment to gather his wits. He was sprawled out on Samantha’s sofa, covered by a soft quilt, a pillow tucked under his head. He could barely recall falling asleep, but he felt more rested than he had in a long time. As he sat up and stretched, glancing around, he could tell from the quiet stillness that he was alone. He saw a note on the coffee table for him that told him to go to the kitchen. In the kitchen, he saw another note folded up in a coffee mug next to an espresso machine.
Jack,
Welcome back. Turns out I didn’t have the heart to kick you out after all. Decided it was better to let you enjoy a little well-deserved rest. Press the button on the machine and you’ll get the best coffee you’ve had in your life. Enjoy.
-Sam
Jack turned on the machine, rubbing his eyes as he waited for the coffee to brew.
Glancing at the clock, he realized he’d slept the day away, and he wondered where Samantha was, if she worked on the weekend or was out with friends. He spotted the bottle they drank sitting on the counter, deciding to take it with him so he could order a couple cases. He’d give one of them to her as a thank you for letting him crash at her place.
After the coffee finished brewing, he took a sip, groaning in pleasure. She wasn’t kidding. Samantha didn’t have much in her home yet, but she had all the essentials down pat. He grabbed the pen she’d left on the counter and flipped over the note.
Samantha,
You’re a lifesaver and a saint, and I owe you one. In the meantime, I plan on bribing your housekeeper, stealing your wine, and buying a replica of that sofa. Looks like that’s all I need to get a decent night’s rest and wake up feeling human again. Well, that and you. Got any plans Sunday afternoon?
-Jack
He smiled, warming at the possibility of seeing her again so soon. He scribbled his number at the bottom of the note before finishing his coffee and rinsing out the mug.
When he got back to his place, he looked more closely at the bottle of wine. The label was rustic, like it had been printed on a simple press. The logo was a scrawled G with a flourish at the end, like a masculine signature. At the corner, under the vintage, the word appassionata. Lover. He looked up the vineyard on his phone, leaving a message asking them to call him back so he could make a special order of the vintage.
His phone was ringing by the time he got out of the shower. He picked it up, toweling his hair dry.
“You rang about the wine?” a man’s voice asked at the end of the line.
“Yeah, it’s delicious. I’d like to get a couple cases of it if possible,” Jack replied.
“How did you get it?” the man asked, his voice sharp.
Jack hid his surprise at the gruff response. “A friend of mine turned me onto it,” he responded casually. “She said it was a garage wine from Mendocino. Is that right?”
“Yeah, but that was a small batch. Specially made,” the man answered, his brusque voice softening slightly. “Was it Sam?” he asked after a beat.
Jack’s eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t even know who was on the other end of the phone. “Who is this?”
“Grant Gallo. I own the vineyard,” the man said. Another long pause. “How is she?” he asked quietly.
Jack squeezed the towel, pieces snicking into place.
“She’s good,” he answered. “She’s happy.” The minute he said it, he knew he’d stepped over a line, an invisible boundary into Samantha’s past he had no right nosing into. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself, realizing who this man had been to her. Who she had been to him.
The man said nothing. Jack got the distinct feeling they were staring each other down over the line.
“That’s good,” Grant breathed after a minute. “I’m glad for her,” he said, seeming to come to a decision. “I have about four cases left of that small batch. I’d be willing to send them all to you if that’s what she wants.”
Jack thought about it, debating.
“She’d like that,” he heard himself answering, not entirely sure she’d like any such thing.
After they’d settled the details on the shipment, Grant said, “Look, I’m sorry if I was a little rude earlier. I just—” He took a breath. “It’s been a long time. Tell her I said hi. That I wish her well.”
Jack paused a beat, realizing then that she’d probably broken this guy’s heart. There was something in his voice. An unsaid longing, a regret. They’d shared something, at least six years ago, going by the vintage. It should have been nothing to him, but it was. It was vitally important to Jack to know that there was someone she might have loved once.
“I will,” he responded. “Thank you for the wine.”
“Take care of her,” Grant said before hanging up.
Chapter 8
September—Saturday night
South Loop, Chicago
S A M A N T H A
“Oh, heeeell yes, you’re gonna get all up on that!”
Sam nearly choked on her beer mid-draw, quickly covering her mouth with a napkin as she tried vainly to shoosh her friend. But no one shooshes Willa Carter. If anything, that just makes her louder.
“Fuck it, just give me his number. I’m calling him up right now and telling him to meet you at your place in ten minutes. You can book it if you leave now. Why are you waving your hand at my face?! You better put that hand back on your side of the table before I put it back there for you. Oooh GURL!” Willa smacked Sam’s hand away from her face, using her other hand to grab Sam’s phone off the bar table. “I’m calling him. I’m serious!”
“Jesus,” Sam muttered, snatching her phone back and shoving it in the back pocket of her jeans. “You are a goddamn menace! Quit yelling my business out in the middle of the bar!” she hissed.
Willa’s brow arched and her neck rolled. Sam could almost feel a lecture coming on. “You need to get off your ass and get on top of that man, missy. Listen to Madame Willa.”
“You are watching too much psychic network,” Sam said, shaking her head at her friend. “I didn’t tell you about Jack so you could pimp me out to him. I was just sharing. Now pipe down and drink your margarita.”
“And sharing is caring, hunty,” Willa declared sagely. “For instance, I care that your super-ridiculously-hot-sexual-white-chocolate-man-candy of a neighbor is clearly interested in you and you’re tripping like you’re not going to do shit-all about it!” She drained her margarita and grabbed their waiter’s attention with the swing of one long, bangled arm. “Yeah, I’m gonna need me another one of these!” she called, pointing at her empty glass.
She directed her sharp blue eyes back at Sam, examining her like she was crazy. Willa was a striking woman. Amazonian tall with light brown skin, bright blue eyes, and enough braids to resemble Medusa when she was worked up. Willa was a force to be reckoned with, and that was on a normal day. She was especially striking when she was making a point and lit up on the fuel of tequila, like right now.
“I met him a few years ago at a city planning thing involving the shelter, and that man radiates sex. Shit, they can probably track his heat signature from outer space!” Willa leaned forward. “You have had no action since that Mr. Sensitive-artist-from-Wicker Park guy, though what the hell you were doing messing around with that kid, I have no idea.” She rolled her eyes. “The whole cougar thing is overrated. I hate having to teach these puppies how to stay on the lawn. Oh—thank you! Come to mama!” she cooed at the margarita the waiter slid in front of her. He smiled at her obvious pleasure.
“There’s no accounting for enthusiasm,” Sam shrugged carelessly. “And I didn’t tell you about Jack because I’m not intending to hit that. He’s my neighbor. And while we’re on the subject of lawns, you don’t mess around in your own backyard if you know what I mean. I’m not interested in starting something only to finish it and have to look at him every other day. I don’t want weird right next door,” she explained before glancing around the bar. “Hell, I can get that here.”
“BULLSHIT. I call bullshit,” Willa declared. “You are gonna hit that. You two are some of the biggest players I know. The only difference is you’re more secretive about it. Your shit’s not all over the society pages the next day, but that don’t make you any less scandalous, diva. What’s the harm? You aren’t serious. He’s not serious. The only thing that’s serious is the amount of sexual chemistry you two could come up with.”
Two men picked that exact moment to sidle up to their table. Before one of them could open up with “Well, hello there, ladies,” Willa held her hand up and shook her head. “I’m divorced and I run a battered women’s shelter. This one is ex-military and can kill you with her purse strap. Keep walking.” She jerked her thumb behind her. The guys looked at each other, a little taken aback and a lot relieved before high-tailing it back to where they ca
me from.
“You’re such an awesome wing-woman,” Sam complained. “If I keep hanging out with you, I’m going to have to sleep with Jack due to lack of options.”
Willa shrugged as she licked salt off the rim of her glass. “That’s like complaining about getting sent up to the majors. Cry me a river.”
“Why do you give a damn about who I get with anyway?” Sam asked. “You need to keep your eyes on your own paper.”
Willa rolled said eyes. “You’re ridiculous if you think telling me about how this gorgeous, fine-ass man keeps popping up and you’re planning on doing nothing about it means I should sit back and say nothing. If you didn’t want me to say anything, hunty, you would never have mentioned it. Besides, he asked to see you tomorrow. You want me to hold my tongue? Then don’t tell me before a date that you plan on ditching it,” she sassed, turning in her chair to check out the band setting up onstage at Buddy Guy’s Legends. “Gary Clark Jr.! I love that man,” Willa sighed, looking uncharacteristically dreamy eyed. The skinny, Texan blues musician smiled beautifully as he and his band opened with “Bright Lights.”
They listened for a few minutes before Willa turned back toward Sam, a Cheshire grin on her face. “I know exactly what the problem is,” she announced.
Sam’s brow arched. “And what, pray tell, is that?”
Willa leaned back in her chair, crossing her long legs. “You dig this cat,” she answered, rubbing a finger on her chin. “More than you like. More than you’re comfortable with, anyway. Why? What’s so different about him?”
Sam resisted down the urge to shift in her chair. Willa was irritatingly on point. Jack was attractive all right, but the more time she spent with him, the more she saw past the highly burnished gloss and the more dangerously close she came to liking his character. Jack was such an engagingly sexy blend of confidence, introspection, and intelligence. She was unprepared for his depth, the devotion with which he loved his family, the earnestness in his face when he talked about his work, his humor.
Complicated Creatures: Part One Page 12