At the image his words painted, Sam couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She snorted and covered her nose, embarrassed.
Connor smiled, clearly pleased with her reaction. “If you tell me to get lost and my clothes get stolen because Ben is too slow, then tomorrow I go clothes shopping.” He put on a mock-serious expression. “And I hate clothes shopping. But it’ll be worth the sacrifice if you’ll do this one small favor for me.”
Her curiosity mounting, Sam hopped off the washer and walked toward him, arms folded. “Okay, what’s the favor? Tell me what it is, and then I’ll decide whether to send you packing. And shopping.”
“It’s kind of dumb— and believe me, not my idea.” And he sounded entirely serious, which piqued her interest even more. “But it’s for a good cause.”
She stood right in front of him. “Try me.” If the favor was really silly, it would make an even better story to tell Tara. No matter what it ended up being, it would not be a story her parents would ever hear about.
He pointed to her sweatshirt, which she’d left on a washer. “Could I put that on and...”
“And... what?” Sam asked, looking at the faded— way too small— sweatshirt.
“And take a selfie... with you... while I’m wearing it?”
“Um, I guess so...” Sam said, confused. “Can I ask why?”
He hemmed and hawed. “It’s for a bet with a— I don’t know what you’d call Trevor, but he’s not a friend.” He set his hands on his knees and tried again. “I’m supposed to wear an article of clothing that belongs to a woman I didn’t know before tonight.”
“Guys are weird, but the favor could have been so much weirder,” she said, confused and amused at the same time. “Would you rather wear something more obviously feminine? I mean, if the bet is more along the lines of Caitlyn Jenner—”
“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, waving both hands. “At least, that wasn’t in the rules. It’s the first in a series of dumb challenges to raise money for a charity. If I win, anyway.”
“Okay.” Sam lifted one shoulder and let it drop in agreement. She grabbed the sweatshirt and tossed it to him. “Knock yourself out. But do try to avoid stretching it out.” She grinned, hoping it was clear that she was kidding.
He didn’t laugh. Instead, he rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Actually, there’s more.”
“Are we talking several favors now?” That’s not what he’d suggested, but Sam didn’t mind. She had nothing better to do while waiting for her favorite outfit.
“I need to post the selfie online.”
Steve. How would he react to seeing her with another guy— and that guy wearing her sweatshirt? Then again, what were the chances he’d see some random picture on a college student’s feed?
“See,” Connor went on, “for it to count, you need to be in the picture with me.”
“For it to count... for the bet,” Sam clarified. A tiny bell of recognition went off in her head, but it was faint enough that she couldn’t grasp it before it vanished.
“It’s kind of a, um... public challenge... thing.” He cringed.
Anything posted online never went away, but it wasn’t as if she were agreeing to do something lewd, illegal, or offensive. Nothing that would hurt a future job interview. Taking a selfie with some random guy wearing a too-tight university sweatshirt— where was the harm?
Sam tilted her head again. “How public are we talking?”
“I probably should have led with that part.” He blew out a breath and shoved both hands through his hair. “Here’s the deal. Are you at all familiar with The Trevor Dudes or another channel called—”
“Wynn Rocks.” Her hands flew to her mouth. Sam’s eyes widened so much, they must have made up half her face. “Oh my gosh. You’re— you’re— Connor—”
“Wynn. I take it you’re familiar with my channel.” He got off his washer and held out a hand. “And you’re Samantha...”
She stared at his hand as if a ghost had appeared before her. “You’re Connor Wynn. The Connor Wynn.”
Chapter Four
No wonder she’d felt as if she knew him. She did know him— so much about him— even though they’d never met. How had she not recognized Connor Wynn right away— his face or his voice? She played his videos all the time, but only in her apartment. At a laundromat, the context had been all wrong to put the pieces together.
Who would have ever thought she’d run into the Connor Wynn of Wynn Rocks in the middle of the night? Because of his videos and locations of many of his outdoor adventures, she knew he lived in the Rocky Mountains— but not a few blocks from her.
“The selfie is the first task of The Ultimate Bachelor Challenge,” Sam said, the conversation becoming clear in an instant.
“So... you are familiar with... all of it.”
“Um, yeah.” She wasn’t about to mention how familiar.
She turned around and raked her fingers through her own hair as he had. “Oh, wow. This is crazy. Tara will die. Utterly and completely die.”
“Look, never mind. I totally understand. I mean, millions of people will see it, and—”
Sam spun around. “No, I’ll do it. Trevor is a slimy jerk. He can’t win.” She tossed Connor the sweatshirt. “If wearing that helps take him down, do it.”
“Really? Thank you.” Connor’s worried expression softened into relief. “You have no idea— or, actually, maybe you do.”
She extended her right hand as he had a minute before. “Sam McKinley. If you’re going to wear my clothing, I figure you should probably know my full name.”
He shook her hand warmly. “A pleasure.”
A delicious thrill went up her arm. “I can hardly believe you’re the Connor Wynn. I mean, you and Trevor have millions of followers between you. Heck, you have millions of fans of your own.”
“Which brings me to... Are you sure you want to be part of this?”
Sam pulled up Instagram on her phone and searched for the contest hashtag. “Trevor hasn’t posted anything yet. Let’s put up a selfie so you win the first task. I’d love to make someone like Trevor help a women’s shelter.”
“Wow. You’re really familiar with my stuff.”
“Of course,” Sam said. “I also know that Trevor hasn’t announced his charity, which seems a bit sketchy if you ask me.” She pointed at the sweatshirt. “Put it on.”
Connor hesitated, as if waiting for her to withdraw her assurance. When she didn’t, he set his phone aside and opened up the bottom of the shirt.
“Don’t stretch it out,” she said. He froze, arms inside the sleeves, and hair poking through the collar. The sight of him stuck half in, half out, got her laughing. “I’m kidding,” she said between giggles. “Really. But I don’t know how you’ll fit.”
She helped tug the opening over his face and then pulled the bottom edge as far down his chest as it would go, which wasn’t far. His arms stuck out at his sides, the sleeves barely reaching his elbows. “Technically, you’re wearing it,” she said through more laughter. “Selfie time. My camera or yours?”
“Mine,” he said.
She turned to face the camera and eased in close enough for them both to fit in the frame, which meant her back pressing against his chest. She wished she’d had on makeup and something a whole lot cuter than yoga pants and a ponytail. But hey, she’d met Connor Wynn. Who cared what she looked like? She’d be cute later for Steve.
Connor adjusted the camera angle, then took several pictures of them with a variety of poses and expressions— everything from the classic teen duck face to horror then laughter. When their mini photo session was over, he held his phone out so they could both see the images. They picked their three favorites, quickly made them into a collage, and posted it.
After he’d officially claimed the win, they high-fived. Sam texted Tara, telling her to check the Wynn Rocks Instagram feed ASAP.
Connor cued some music on his phone, blasted the volume as high as it would go, th
en put the phone in a plastic cup he found in a window sill, creating an effective speaker. She didn’t recognize the artists, but she and Connor danced around like little kids for three tracks.
For the moment, she forgot that it was the wee small hours of Valentine’s Day, and that in a few hours her boyfriend would arrive for a visit. Then a metallic vibration echoed through the music, and Sam realized her phone was ringing, vibrating on top of a washer. Probably Tara or MollyAnne freaking out over Connor’s post.
But when she grabbed her phone, the screen showed Steve’s face— he was making a FaceTime call.
Gripping the phone, she walked to the other end of the room, muttering, “Crap. Crap-crap-crap-crap.” Steve wasn’t supposed to see her like this. He wasn’t supposed to see her until she was at least showered and preferably primped for a Valentine’s date. And possibly more.
“You going to answer that?” Connor asked. “At this hour, it’s probably something important.”
“Um, yeah.” Somehow Sam’s trembling thumb found the answer button. She cleared her throat as she put the phone to her ear before remembering that it was FaceTime. She tried to smooth out some frizzy wisps of hair, which only stuck out again. Nothing she could do about that now.
“Hey,” she said cheerfully.
“Why hello, Miss McKinley,” Steve said.
“Is... everything okay?” Sam asked.
Did she sound breezy, as she intended? Or did her voice come off strained, which was what she actually felt? Her eyes darted Connor’s direction. She hadn’t mentioned Steve to him. She hadn’t said anything about being single, either, but now the whole sweatshirt thing felt a little flirty. She hadn’t exactly hidden her excitement about meeting him; he probably assumed she didn’t have a boyfriend. How, exactly, did she handle a conversation with Steve in front of Connor?
I guess we’re about to find out.
“Everything’s fine,” Steve said. “Great, actually. Why?”
“I didn’t expect to hear from you for a few more hours, that’s all.”
He checked something on the desk beside him. “But it’s nine o’clock. I said I’d— oh, wait...” He rolled his eyes at himself. “I apologize. I was so excited that I completely spaced the time difference. It’s what, two in the morning there? I’m surprised you answered. Where are you, anyway? That doesn’t look like your apartment.”
“I’m just doing laundry. And of course I’d answer, no matter when you called.” Sam stopped herself before adding anything about how a girlfriend always answers the phone when her boyfriend calls. For some reason she couldn’t identify, she didn’t want to say boyfriend in front of Connor.
When Steve texted that he wanted to see her face, she’d hoped he meant in person, not over the phone. The excitement she’d felt earlier whooshed out of her like air from a balloon. Steve was clearly not in town, but she didn’t want her disappointment to be too obvious. Steve might still be planning to pop the golden question.
“So what’s up?” she asked. “What did you need to talk to me about?”
“Well...” Steve took a deep breath. “Remember what you said over Christmas break?”
She searched her memory but couldn’t pinpoint any one particularly meaningful conversation. “Remind me.”
“You said that you admired how I didn’t care what others thought of my passions, and that you were proud of how I chased after them, even when other people thought they were silly.”
“Oh, of course. I still think so. You know that.”
Steve had two older brothers who fit the “manly” mold a lot better than he did. One had been an all-star football player in high school and now played on a college team. The other was about to graduate from law school and already had a job lined up at a big firm, a position that would likely lead to a partnership. And then there was Steve— the singer, the dancer, the thespian.
Even with the push for girls in STEM fields, Sam understood what it was like to be a round peg trying to fit into a square hole. Even though she’d always aced her math classes, she regularly had guys trying to mansplain advanced calculations— problems she often ended up tutoring them on later in the semester. She’d chosen a predominantly male field, so of course she’d support Steve’s passion in an area that wasn’t traditionally masculine.
“I really took your words to heart,” Steve went on.
“I’m glad. You’re incredibly talented. Before long, the whole world will know your name, you’ll have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and I’ll be able to point to movie posters and say I knew you when.”
That is, unless she was walking the red carpet with him.
Steve looked to his right for a second, smiled sheepishly, then looked at the camera again. “Remember how I said I have something to tell you? I have some news. And a question for you.”
“Yeah?” Sam’s heart sped up, and she tried not to let her hopes rise, too.
He gestured to someone out of frame to come closer, and a moment later another man appeared— Steve’s roommate, maybe? Her brow furrowed in confusion.
“This is Garrett,” Steve said. “He’s from Liverpool. We met rehearsing A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“Hi,” Sam said with a bewildered wave. “Nice to meet you, Garrett.”
“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you,” Garrett said in a smooth British accent.
Steve and Garrett scooted closer to each other. Two spots of pink bloomed on Steve’s cheeks, and he seemed flustered. “He’s my... um... you see... we...”
Garrett broke in. “We’re engaged,” he said simply.
The world seemed to come to a screeching halt. Stunned into numbness, Sam didn’t know how her arm was still extended, holding her phone, and why she hadn’t dropped it. She couldn’t feel her body or move her hand or say a word. It took Connor’s approach, combined with his concerned expression, to break her trance.
She blinked several times before managing, “Wh— what?”
“I know it’s unexpected,” Steve said. “Although you’ve known me so long that I’m sure you’re aware that I’m, well, not like other men.”
“No, no you’re not.” Suddenly, old conversations and experiences held entirely different meanings. Like how Steve always critiqued People magazine’s choice of Sexiest Man Alive and gave alternate— heated— opinions about who should have been selected instead. She used to think that his teenage obsession with D. H. Lawrence, Oscar Wilde, and Marcel Proust meant he loved deep, high-brow literature. Back then, the fact that they were all gay authors was nothing but a strange coincidence.
A flood of other moments, both small and large, came to mind, one after the other, as if she were watching her life play out with an entirely different script, and bright, neon highlights on things she’d never noticed.
How did I not put the pieces together?
“Sam, I should have been more forthcoming with you, especially when I was home over Christmas. But the truth is, I’m not... I’m not...” His voice trailed off weakly.
“You’re not straight,” she finished. He didn’t even have the courage to say the words himself.
Garrett put his arm around Steve. “And we’re getting married.”
As if the first landmine hadn’t been enough, Sam felt as if a grenade had exploded beside her. “O— oh.”
Did she say the word? Or did only a strangled noise escape her throat? Either way, she wanted to hang up, crawl into a hole, and cry her eyes out.
I was so blind.
She’d gotten snarky questions about Steve and his orientation, and she’d always defended him, saying that of course he was straight. Not being built like a linebacker didn’t automatically make someone gay, she argued, and neither did a love of the arts. She and Steve had chemistry... or she’d thought they had. They didn’t make out all the time or anything, but he’d always been affectionate. In private. He hated PDA. Or so he claimed.
“You are my best friend in the world,” Steve said.
“I hope you know that.”
She felt herself nod. He’d said that before, but she hadn’t realized what it meant.
“My question is for my best friend. If you need to think about it before answering, just say the word. And I’ll understand if you say no.” Now that Sam had completely lost her voice, he seemed to have found his. “I’d like you to be my best man— or best woman, I suppose. You really are my best friend. You’re the one who helped me find the path to being true to myself, even if you didn’t realize it.”
“I don’t know, Steve…”
“Just think about it for a while. The wedding isn’t until spring, and I have enough miles that I could cover your plane ticket.”
That was his big question? It did involve an engagement, just not hers.
At some point, the call ended. Had it dropped, or had she disconnected it? Had Steve? She wasn’t sure. Maybe Connor had, because somehow he now held her phone. Maybe her stunned fingers had lost their hold, and Connor caught it before it hit the floor. She felt as if she were in an alternate dimension, standing a step apart from reality, in a dimension where sights and sounds were muffled and confusing.
“Sam?” Connor said gently. He slipped the phone into her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. His touch was warm and strong— solid and real. It brought her back to the moment.
She tried to breathe normally, feeling as if she’d just returned from a bizarre dream, only to realize that she’d really woken up from a fantasy and now faced the real world. She looked down, where Connor’s hand was still wrapped around hers.
With her world shifted off its axis, she might have fallen over. For the moment, the only thing that felt solid was Connor’s hand encompassing hers. The rest of her seemed to be sinking into emotional quicksand.
Don’t let go, she silently begged of Connor.
“Sam?” Connor said hesitantly.
She blinked and looked up at him. “Yeah?” Her voice sounded far away.
Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19) Page 18