He pulled back a fraction of a second before she did. His expression softened, the skin around his cheekbones relaxing. He looked at her with something that felt akin to tenderness. Sam’s fingers unconsciously drifted to her mouth, looking for what she hadn’t felt there when he’d kissed her.
“I don’t have much of a chance with you either, do I?” he asked her softly, his tone wry. “Me and this poor Travis sucker just gonna have to get to the back of the line.”
“Chris—” Sam started on a caught breath. But she wasn’t sure what to say, what reassurances she could give. Because he was right. She knew he was right. Now that Chris had finally kissed her, Sam knew she didn’t want anything more with him than their easy friendship and playful banter.
Chris shook his head gently, stepping back as he took the plates from her. “It’s all right, Sammy.”
“No—I like you Chris. I do. I just…” She rubbed a hand over her brow. “You make me feel safe.”
Chris shook his head with a gruff laugh as he put the dishes in the sink. “Sammy, I can think of very few women in the world who are less in need of a guy to make them feel safe than you are,” he told her, returning to the table to clear the rest of the dishes. He looked up at her, his expression a little resigned, but also displaying a lot of understanding. “I’m a bright enough guy to know I’m not the one you want to be kissing you.”
He carried the rest of the plates to the kitchen and began doing the dishes, true to his word. Sam leaned on her elbows across from him at the kitchen counter, hooking her foot into the stool she perched on, watching him. She was at a loss, unsure of what to say.
“I’m sorry,” she admitted after a moment. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Chris met her eyes. “I’m sorry too,” he shrugged, his smile a little disappointed. “But some things just ain’t meant to be. I’ll get over it.”
Sam chewed her lip, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sure there are plenty of cheerleaders who’d be more than happy to console you,” Sam teased after a moment, unsure of how to lighten the moment.
Chris, ever the gentleman, gave her the out.
“Good thing you haven’t ruined me for cheerleaders,” he joked back.
Sam knew then they’d be all right. He’d smart a little, maybe, but he wasn’t in so deep that he hated her for her lack of interest. On that level anyway.
“It’s Wes, isn’t it?” Chris asked suddenly, eyes meeting hers as he dried the dishes.
“What? No,” Sam denied, shaking her head vehemently. “I haven’t seen him in days.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he pointed out, brow lifting.
“Wes is—It’s not—I don’t even—” Sam paused, her cheeks flaming.
Chris chuckled. “Samantha Wyatt. You’re all tongue-tied and blushing like a school girl with her first crush.”
“I am not.”
“Oh, I beg to differ,” Chris replied, drying his hands on the dish towel. “You know what I think?”
Sam sighed. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
Chris tossed the towel over his shoulder and leaned his elbows on the counter across from her. “When you two are around each other, you’re like polar opposites that can’t help but be attracted to one another, even if you two clash.”
“That’s a great reason to avoid each other, don’t you think?”
“Nah, Sammy,” Chris shook his head. “You two may revolve around each other and occasionally clash, but the connection is so obvious because there’s a weird sort of harmony to it. There are things going on between the two of you that are happening on so many different levels, I don’t think you two even realize them all.” He straightened up again. “Hell, I wish that was going on between us, but I just felt like I was kissin’ a cousin.”
Sam lifted a brow. “Got a lot of experience with that, do you?”
“I’m from Galveston, not Texarkana,” Chris replied with a wry glance. “No, I meant you two have a got a back-and-forth that’s already pretty electric. Bet you’ll feel like you got plugged into a light socket when you finally get together.”
“We’re not getting together,” Sam refuted. “I’ve got a whole slew of stuff going on, and the last thing I need is trouble and heartache with a guy like Wes.”
“You know what’s funny, Sammy?” Chris asked. “Wes is stupid enough to think he just wants what he can’t have. And you’re naïve enough to think you can avoid him just because he doesn’t fit into your plans. You’re both ass-backwards on this one,” he chided.
Sam said nothing. Had a feeling arguing with Chris while he was on a roll would be like pushing a rock back uphill.
“You ever been in love?” Chris asked.
I think I am. That’s why I’m so scared.
“No. You?”
“Three years,” Chris answered somberly. “High school sweetheart. Just about thought I’d die when I found out she’d been steppin’ out on me with my best friend at the time.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Sam told him sincerely. “She’s clearly an idiot.”
Chris shrugged, though she saw the momentary flash of residual hurt in his eyes. “My point is—love ain’t safe, Sammy. It’s the scariest, most amazing emotion there is. And definitely one that you can’t trust,” he told her frankly. “But that’s also what makes it such an exciting ride.”
Sam thought of Wes’s bold good looks, the unpolished edges, his unapologetic charm. He made her feel hot and bothered and irritated and worse—out of control. There was nothing soothing about him. Not like Chris with his open expressions and his amiable easiness. Why couldn’t she just like Chris? Why couldn’t she let him tear her clothes off on the kitchen table?
“Hate to break it to you, Chris, but you’re not really doing a good job of selling the sentiment,” Sam pointed out, wry.
Chris leaned forward. “Ask me if I regret it.”
“Well, do you?”
“No,” he answered firmly. “Once you’ve felt that good, it’s almost worth it to feel so damn bad. I miss love,” Chris admitted, rueful. “I miss it enough to chase after a girl I knew from the get-go was outta my league.”
“I’m not out of your league,” she denied.
“That kiss tells me otherwise,” Chris murmured. “But it ain’t the end of the world, is it?”
“You’re not mad at me?” Sam asked quietly, reaching forward to squeeze his hand.
Chris smiled, squeezing her back. “You just made me a delicious dinner, and because you’re my study partner, I’m definitely getting an A in Hammond’s class. How could I ever be mad at you, Sammy?”
“You’re a good guy, Chris.”
“I know it.” He smiled and winked at her. “Now how about giving me your girl Rita’s phone number? Is she a cheerleader?”
“Yeah—no,” Sam chuckled. “A cheerleader that girl is not. But she can put you in a headlock faster than you can say, ‘Go Aggies!’” she quipped. “Will that work?”
*
September—Same Night
Dixie’s Bar, College Station, Texas
W E S L E Y
Vin Stephens sat down at the bar Wes was polishing, a lopsided grin on his face.
“Took you long enough to call,” he said to Wes.
“You sound like a chick,” Wes answered, pouring him a beer.
“I feel like a chick. You haven’t been to one of my poker games in a few weeks,” Vin tutted. “That ain’t like you. Was it something I said?” he joked, batting his eyes.
Wes smiled, sliding the beer in front of him. “All work and no play…” he shrugged.
Wes and Vin had become friends freshman year through a mutual and shared appreciation of poker. Vin had started up a little underground game first thing, being the Nevada boy he was, and though he was firmly in with the ROTC cadet crew, Vin was the kind of social chameleon who attracted all types—specifically all types who liked to gamble. His card games were now one of the most s
ought-after to get in on, and Wes was typically a regular. But between classes, his projects, work, and chasing Sam, he hadn’t made it to a game since the start of fall semester.
But that wasn’t why he’d called Vin and asked him to meet him at the bar. He’d called Vin because his buddy also had another predilection: pot. The stickier the bud, the better. Vin called himself a connoisseur of the fine, mellifluent high, and though Wes was no dealer and didn’t really go for it himself, he had plenty of pothead friends in Austin who were more than happy to hook him up with the good stuff. And Wes wanted the good stuff as soon as he realized he’d need a man on the inside, what with Sasser kicking him out.
“I got you a little gift,” Wes told him.
Vin sipped his beer. “Yeah?”
“You had White Widow yet?”
Vin’s brows shot up in surprise. “You serious?”
Wes smiled.
“Man, that is some beautiful shit,” Vin sighed, his eyes getting glassy at the thought of it. “A long, intense high. Some of the highest percentages of THC you can get in weed these days. Where’d you get it?”
“You want it or not?” Wes countered.
“Hell yes, I want it,” Vin replied quickly. “I almost feel like crying, I’m so happy. I haven’t had any good produce since the summer,” he confessed.
“How much?” Vin asked.
“It’s a gift. On the house.”
“I’m from Vegas, man,” Vin replied, frowning. “I know for a fact there’s no such thing as free, and anything the house gives you, you’ll always have to pay for.”
“Well, you might be right about that,” Wes admitted. “I need a favor.”
“Figured as much.” Vin sipped his beer. “This got anything to do with the article you’re writing?”
Wes leaned on his elbows. “Sasser pulled my access. Cited some crap about negative publicity if y’all don’t win.”
“That’s pure bullshit,” Vin countered. “We always win.”
“You would know,” Wes agreed. “You’re looking good for making the cut.”
Vin shrugged, but Wes caught the gleam in his eyes. Vin knew he was close to the top. He had skills from growing up military, and he was tight with all the top cadets—deeply entrenched. As good as gold.
“So what do you need?” Vin asked Wes carefully. Wes could see him doing the calculations, weighing the benefit of the trade.
“What’s the final elimination round?” Wes asked.
Vin glanced around casually. The bar was moderately busy, but the Wednesday night rush wouldn’t happen until closer to eleven, once people got done with studying for the night. There were only a few tables and a few people playing pool so far. No one close to them.
“I’m not one-hundred-percent certain, but De Soto thinks it’s a nighttime field exercise this weekend,” Vin admitted. “That’s the only major event we haven’t done an FTX on yet.”
That’s right, Wes recalled. Stephens is close to Alejandro.
“What’s up with De Soto’s beef with Sam Wyatt?” he asked, careful to sound only mildly curious.
“Why you asking?” Stephens countered. “She your girl or something?”
“Nah, man,” Wes replied casually. “I just noticed a shitload of tension between those two, especially during that hostage exercise. I saw him almost shoot her with an enemy gun to get her disqualified.”
“Aw, man. That was so fucked up,” Vin agreed. “Wyatt did some seriously creative thinking during that exercise. We’d all have been disqualified if it wasn’t for her.”
“So what’s the deal there?” Wes pressed.
“De Soto’s a good guy,” Vin told him. “He’s just kinda old school. Doesn’t think women should be actively serving on the front lines. Then Wyatt walks in freshman year, and that girl—jeez…” Vin shook his head. “She’s just a natural-born killer. Got instincts I’ve never seen.” He took a sip of beer, thinking. “I think he sees she’s a real contender—not just here, but on the outside—when shit gets real.” Vin shrugged. “I think De Soto’s afraid she’s as good as he is.”
A waiter dropped an order on the bar in front of Wes, interrupting their conversation. Wes filled the tab quickly, but it gave him a moment to think. It was clear Vin admired Sam, but Wes doubted Vin would actively cross his boy, Alejandro.
“You think she’ll make it into the Rangers?” Wes asked when he returned to Vin.
“If anyone can, it’s that girl,” Vin admitted. “But she’s got to get into the Challenge first. She’d be the first sophomore like… ever.” He eyed Wes. “What’s this about, Wes? What’s the favor you want in exchange for the weed?”
“I want you to be my unofficial source on the Challenge,” Wes told Vin frankly.
“That’s worth a hell of a lot more than a bag of bud.”
Wes tilted his head. “I thought you might say that. The next three baggies are on the house. That’ll keep you squared for a while.”
Wes watched Vin mull it over from the corner of his eye as he filled another drink order, but he had a good poker face. It was hard to tell which way he’d land.
“What kind of guarantee do I have that you’ll keep me anonymous?” Vin asked when Wes returned.
“Ask yourself, Vin—what the hell would I have to gain by screwing you on this? We’ve been friends since freshman year, and you’re my ticket into the best underground gambling ring on campus. You think I’d risk getting blackballed for an article?” He wiped the counter. “Besides, last thing I need is to make an enemy out of a guy whose friends all do hand-to-hand combat for a regular workout,” he added with a grin. “I may be wild, but I ain’t crazy.”
Vin smirked. “Next five bags.”
Wes didn’t have any plans to score more pot for the guy than he already had. Didn’t want to chance it, but he could probably stretch out what he had to make Vin happy.
“Four, and that’s my final offer,” Wes replied.
“Deal.” Vin stood, rubbing his hands together. “When can I get it?”
Wes picked up a bottle of Coke and slid it toward him. The baggie was stuffed inside. Impossible to see or detect beneath the Coca-Cola. “Why don’t you swing by Monday? I’ll be working the bar, and I’ll have some questions about how your weekend went.”
Vin swiped the bottle off the counter with a grin. “You got it, man. If this shit’s as good as I hope it is, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about the training exercises.”
*
September—Same Night, A Few Hours Later
Wes and Chris’s Apartment, Texas A&M
W E S L E Y
Hours later, Wes pushed open the door to the apartment, surprised to see Chris still up, his feet on the coffee table as he played Final Fantasy VII on their PlayStation. He’d finished his shift at midnight, lucky not to have to close the bar tonight.
He’d normally have stayed to have an after-work drink, but he wanted to get some more work done on the articles now that he was going to have to rejig things a bit without his first-hand perspective. Wes would have to tell Purcell what was going on sooner than later. Figured he’d rather have a good Plan B in place by the time that conversation rolled around.
“What are you still doing up?” Wes asked as he dropped his keys on the table. “Don’t you have practice in the morning?”
“I was up waiting for you, butthead,” Chris replied, eyes on the video game as he concentrated on trying to kill off Sephiroth onscreen.
“You want a beer?” Wes asked, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of Shiner Bock.
“Nah,” Chris answered, pausing the game.
Wes shrugged, popping open the top and taking a long pull.
“I kissed Sam tonight.”
Wes coughed and sputtered, nearly spitting the beer out across the room. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he fought not to see red. “You—what?”
Chris put the controller down. “I kissed her,” he repeated. “Wanted to
see what it would be like.”
Wes swallowed hard. He wanted to launch himself across the room and punch the living daylights out of Chris for kissing Sam. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t his. And Chris was one of his closest friends. He had no right. Wes took a deep breath, staring down at the counter.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice low as he struggled to maintain control.
“Because it was like kissing a relative.”
Wes’s head shot up as he met Chris’s eyes.
“I wish I could tell you it was the hottest hook-up of my life, but really, it was just—let’s just say it became really clear to me it wasn’t ever going to work out between us. Even without you in the picture,” Chris admitted, crossing his hands behind his head as he leaned back on their sofa.
Relief wasn’t the word for the emotion that washed over him with that disclosure. Wes realized in that instant how much the prospect of getting together with Sam behind Chris’s back had been weighing on his mind. He’d never told Chris about taking her home, about the near sex on her table. He’d never said anything about pushing her up against the wall at Dukes that night a few weeks ago, when all he’d wanted to do was wonderfully bad things with her, his drunk-ass best friend be damned.
“You don’t need my blessing, obviously,” Chris continued. “Sam’s her own girl. Always will be. But I wanted you to know from me—there’s nothing there but friendship between us. But if you hurt her, swear to God, Wes, I will break your bones.”
Wes was across the room, swiping up his keys before Chris even finished his sentence.
“Where you going?” Chris called out as Wes opened up their door.
“You know where,” he replied, heading for his bike.
Chapter 20
September—A Few Minutes Later
Sam’s Apartment, Texas A&M
S A M A N T H A
Sam lay in bed, long after she and Chris had finished dinner and their study session. She normally slept like a baby, gifted the with the ability to sleep almost anywhere, anytime, but Sam had already been lying there for a couple hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what Chris had said to her. He’d called her naïve, which made her bristle, but he’d also made her question why she felt the need to hold onto her plans so tightly, like there was safety in the grasping—in being so rigidly buttoned up all the time.
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