Tell Me Not to Go

by Victoria De La O

  Jan points to my work space, which is like all the others. There’s no one at the desk next to me right now, but I check out the photos on it to get an idea of what my neighbor looks like. There he is at the top of Machu Picchu, and then with a bunch of guys on a rafting trip. A mug from his impressive alma mater is nestled next to his computer. I think I get the gist. I’m a little less enthusiastic about putting up the picture of my last hunting trip with my dad. But I will anyway.

  After I figure out how to log in to my computer and fill out my paperwork, I head to the kitchen, knowing that’s the best place to meet people.

  Sure enough, there are some women hanging out by the coffee machine. As I pour a cup, one of them bumps into me, and my coffee sloshes over the rim onto the counter.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, grabbing a paper towel to mop up the spill.

  “No harm, no foul.”

  She turns to look at me and I can’t help but notice how cute she is. Glossy brown hair, pretty hazel eyes. She looks younger than me by a few years—maybe right out of college.

  “Are you new here?” she asks.

  “First day. I’m Jeff.” I reach out and shake her hand and she blushes the tiniest bit.

  “I’m Andrea. Mr. Paulson’s assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you.” We make the usual pleasantries; she asks where I’m from, I ask how long she’s worked here. She seems nice enough, but I need to dive into some actual work, so I make an exit.

  At noon, Andrea pops into my office space. “I figured since it was your first day, you might want to head out to lunch with some of us.”

  “Thanks. Sounds good.”

  Networking is going to make up about seventy-five percent of this new job—maybe more—so now is as good a time as any to start. I grab my coat and follow Andrea to the lobby, where she introduces me to a few other people, including Eli—a short, stocky guy who, strangely enough, high-fives me.

  “So Jeff, how the hell did you get here from Utah?” Eli asks me after the waiter delivers our food.

  “I followed the opportunity. Plus, my sister lives here, so I knew y’all had fabulous weather.”

  “Your sister must be happy you moved,” Andrea says leaning into me a bit. “You have other family in Utah?”

  “My parents and three brothers.”

  Eli whistles. “Big family.”

  “I think that’s nice,” Andrea says. “My family lives here, and we’re really close.”

  Warning bells go off in my head.

  There’s something vaguely familiar about Andrea. Buttoned cardigan, classy jewelry, perfect hair, and a sweet, unassuming smile. Andrea is like every girl I’ve ever dated; she’s looking for a guy who’s permanent. I tell myself I’m being a judgmental prick and try to enjoy my meal.

  “You like hockey?” Eli asks. “I have Sharks season tickets if you want to check out a game sometime.”

  “Yeah, I played hockey for a while back in school.”

  Eli nods. “Cool. We’ll probably spend most of the game mingling for work, though. Never fails.”

  “Does every social thing become work?”

  He laughs. “Pretty much. It’s all about expanding and leveraging your network.”

  “No doubt.” I take a long drink of my water.

  “Don’t worry. It’s an exciting place. I think you’re going to like it.” Andrea’s smile brightens.

  I head back to work and try to forget about her flirtation, but at the end of the day, Andrea wanders by again.

  “Nice meeting you,” she says.

  Yes, that’s me. Nice.

  When I finally get back to campus, it’s well past dark. I want nothing more than to collapse on Lizzie’s bed, but the next-door neighbor needs help bringing in groceries since her arm is still in a cast. I carry her bags in and then put the heaviest items away for her.

  Once I’m finally in the suite, I throw my keys on the counter and groan as I loosen my tie.

  “First day was that bad, huh?” Sam asks, coming out of her room. It’s rare to find her home at this hour. The girl keeps the craziest schedule. She’s already in her form of pajamas—cotton shorts and a tiny top with a rainbow peace sign on it—even though it’s only eight thirty. I really wish robes were still a thing—big fluffy ones that hid everything tempting.

  I sigh. “No, it was fine. There’re going to be a lot of long days ahead of me.”

  She points to herself. “Four years of med school. Probably seven more of residency and fellowships. So I feel you. Want a beer?”

  “Thanks. And that much school sounds awful, by the way. You sure you want to be a doctor?”

  “Yes, unfortunately I’m very sure.”

  Sam heads to the fridge and grabs one of the beers I bought. Like Lizzie, she doesn’t drink, so it’s sweet that she’s getting it for me. But to reach it she has to bend over to the bottom shelf, and I suffer silently. Forget the robe, this girl would need a floor-length muumuu to hide her assets.

  “Thanks,” I say when she hands me the beer. “Any sighting of my sister?”

  “She’s still riding the Jude Express.”

  “Why do you say these things to me?” I take a long pull from my bottle.

  She snickers. “Actually, she’s working tonight. I just really like messing with you, though.”

  “Yeah? Because you’ve been ignoring me for the past week.”

  Her face falls, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she throws open the refrigerator again and starts pulling food from it. “I’m starving so I’m making steaks. Want some?”

  “Always. But you don’t need to cook for me.”

  “I’m happy. I cook when I’m happy.”

  “What’re you so happy about?”

  Sam throws mushrooms and potatoes on the counter. “I got into Carver and I want to celebrate.”

  “Where is that?”

  “University of Iowa. Very respectable program. I’m still hoping for some other schools to come through, but it’s a solid option.”

  “Congratulations.” I lift my bottle, so she grabs her water and clinks it in a toast. Her mouth turns up in a smile, and a thrill runs through me. I like this relaxed, joyful version of her, although the snarly, sarcastic Sam has her upsides, too. “Are you going to specialize in something?”

  “Cardiology. But I feel a little guilty about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Because I’ll probably end up in private practice.”

  “So what you’re saying is you feel bad that you’re going to make a ton of money.”

  Her frown means I’m onto something. “I want to help people who need it, not just who can afford it.”

  “Well, you can volunteer. But the people who will be paying you need care, too.”

  “Obviously. But so many people have little or no access to good healthcare.”

  She moves about the kitchen prepping the steaks and potatoes as I sit at the small counter and watch her. I like the way she moves—full-bodied, careless, lots of motion. She doesn’t seem like someone who does anything in half measures. And yet, as she cuts the mushrooms, I notice how precise her hands are. I feel those careful fingers running the length of my body, and I clear my throat.

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean you should feel guilty for earning good money. You’re going to have to work damn hard to get it.”

  She shrugs. “Accumulation of wealth doesn’t seem like a good thing to me. Rich people suck.”

  “Says someone who’s never gone without anything in her life.”

  She rears her head back. “Seriously? You don’t know anything about my life.”

  “So have you?”

  Her face scrunches. “You’re seriously annoying, you know that?”

  My grin is self-congratulatory. “That’s a no.”

  “Still different than having a lot more than you need. No one needs to be wealthy.”

  She just denounced capitalism, the backbone of my industr
y, but I drop the subject. That’s hard to do, not because I want to be right, but because sparring with her is fun. The last thing I need, though, is to add conflict to this tentative friendship we’ve got going. And it shocks me that I think of her that way already—like someone I can talk to.

  Sam focuses on cooking, her espresso-colored hair swinging in her face as she works. She shrugs one shoulder to move it out of the way.

  “Here,” I say, holding out the hair band that’s sitting on the counter.

  “My hands are covered in steak. It’s okay.”

  I come around the counter and move up behind her. I smooth her hair down with one hand, noticing the contrast between us—rough and soft, light and dark. I gather the locks in my palm and pull them gently into a ponytail. Sam’s lungs expand and then go still, as I tie the elastic band around her hair three times so the ponytail will stay in place.

  “How do you know how to do that?”

  “Mom used to make me braid Lizzie’s hair for school. And I can’t believe I just admitted that.”

  Sam laughs, and it’s a breathy, sexy sound that shoots south in a hurry. I’m staring at the caramel skin on her neck, and I want to bite into it so bad. Not hard. Just enough to make her melt. I can’t drive the thought out, and my lips move closer to the goal.

  “Jeff,” she says in a bewildered way, which amps up the hum coursing through me.

  “Um hmm.” My lips vibrate against her neck, and she drops her spoon.

  “What are you doing?” Her neck arches slightly. The sight of that curve snaps whatever control I had.

  I put my mouth where it should be, and when my lips and tongue meet her skin, we both groan. Her knees go weak, so I catch her around her waist. Somehow, my mouth is now sucking and nibbling and she is sighing and moaning, and I need need need her mouth. I snake one arm up to tilt her head back and to the side, and then I’m claiming her lips.

  And, Lord help me, she kisses like nothing I’ve ever known. The first time we kissed it was soft and light—like we were trying to make a connection. But now it’s full lips, soft tongue, no restraint. The kiss deepens and changes, and my pulse is jumping like a cat on hot concrete. Without meaning to, my hips thrust forward, seeking her.

  She gasps and goes completely still. It takes me a second to register her resistance, and then I back away from her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because I know I should be. “That was . . .”

  Her hand shoots up. “Don’t say anything.”

  She finishes cooking, and we eat in awkward silence—me tapping my foot the whole time, her staring down at her plate. When I get up to do dishes, she rushes off to her room.

  The old Jeff feels guilty for kissing Sam. The new, more defiant Jeff doesn’t want to apologize. I know she wants me, but she has her reasons for resisting it, not the least of which is probably my sister.

  I knock on her door. Sam’s expression is carefully neutral when she opens it.

  “What is it?”

  “I promise I won’t try that again. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” Well, damn, I hadn’t meant to say that second thing. But if nothing else, we’ve always been honest with each other.

  She bites her bottom lip hard, like she’s wrangling words she’s afraid will get loose. “Goodnight, Jeff,” she says, shutting the door in my face.

  Chapter 5: Sam

  Saturday is a relief and a curse. I don’t have work or school today, but that means I have no excuse to avoid Jeff. Especially since he waylays me when I come out of my room in the morning.

  “I’m going for a run,” he says. That would explain the sleeveless shirt and the athletic shorts. “I know you run, too, so come with me and show me the best route.”

  “I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

  “I’ll make some while you get dressed.” He scans me up and down but doesn’t linger. “Come on. It will clear our heads.”

  I blow out a breath, effectively giving him a raspberry, but I head to my room to get dressed anyway.

  When I come out, he’s holding coffee as promised. “A little cream, a little sugar.”

  He’s been paying attention.

  I don’t want to acknowledge that—any more than I want to admit that his kiss burned me up inside. So instead, I drain my cup and lead him out the door toward the Guadalupe River Trail. When we get there, we stretch and warm up in silence.

  We work up to a good run, Jeff slowing to meet my shorter stride. Halfway through our route we hit the gardens, which are green but not flowering.

  “This is pretty,” he says.

  “Wait until the poppies bloom. They’re gorgeous.”

  Jeff was right about the run expelling the crap in my mind. As we both begin to breathe hard, I relax and let myself enjoy the weather, the exercise, and the company.

  I hit a patch of gravel and my feet almost go out from under me. But someone up there likes me, because I do not fall on my ass.

  Jeff immediately stops. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Did you hurt your ankle?”

  “I twisted the right one a tiny bit, but it’s okay.”

  He frowns. “You want me to take a look?”

  “That’s so Jane Austen of you,” I snort.

  His eyes narrow. “Why do you hate it so much when I’m trying to be nice?”

  My laughter dies in my throat. “I don’t.”

  “So what’s with the sarcasm?”

  I take a drink of water to stall. “I guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “That’s grim.” He goes from being angry to looking sad.

  I don’t want his pity, so I take off running again, and he follows. I try to sweat out my irritation, but it’s itching under my skin. A half mile goes by, then another. But it’s still there.

  Finally, we stop for a water break, and I try not to take pleasure in watching Jeff throw his head back, the golden highlights of his hair catching the sun, his throat moving up and down as he drinks.

  “I’m only sarcastic because you’re cute,” I blurt out.

  He lowers his head slowly. “What?”

  I lean down and grip my knees. Must have run too hard.

  “Sam . . .” he says, his tone almost a command.

  “Hold on. I’m having a heart attack.”

  “No, you’re embarrassed.” His voice is kinder now.

  “How can you tell?” I ask, peering up at him.

  “You’re blushing.”

  “I am not. I’m brown. I can’t turn pink.”

  He takes a step toward me. “You do.”

  I stand up and hold out my hand. “Alright. Here it is. The bottom line is that I thought you were annoying when I first met you. But you’re like your stupid sister; it’s impossible not to like you. And that would be fine, except you’re cute. And then you’re all over me with the ponytail and the hands and the . . .” I wave my arms around, but that makes me look like a monkey.

  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “You’re Lizzie’s brother.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not looking to get wrapped up in someone right now, but I’m not that into one-night stands, either. Even if I were, you’re the last person I can do that with.”

  “Because it would get messy.”

  I nod. “Exactly. Not that I’m saying you even want to have one. With me.”

  His voice goes to that smoky place I have already come to crave. “We both know I do.”

  “That’s not helpful.”

  He shrugs. “It’s the truth. And it means something, because I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  Must he be so honest? Lizzie always says how polite Jeff is, but for some reason, I don’t think that applies to me. He pretty much says whatever the hell he wants when I’m around. Which gives me goose bumps. Or maybe it’s the idea of being Jeff’s first anything that’s getting to me.


  But when I look up at him, his confidence has deflated, replaced with a guilty expression.

  “You’re probably right,” he says. “I don’t know how Lizzie would feel about us being together.” He looks downright grumpy now. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

  “No. I don’t want you to be sorry.” Never for that. Because it was the best kiss of my life.

  He lifts his shirt and wipes his brow with it. That glimpse of his stomach makes my toes go numb.

  “I didn’t say I was sorry for wanting it, but I’m sorry for making things awkward.” He doesn’t even blink as he says this. Just stands there looking sweaty, getting right to the point as usual.

  “So, can we be friends?” I ask, surprised that I really want him to say yes. “No more avoiding each other?”

  He nods. “Definitely. But for the record, I was never avoiding you.”

  The next day, I insert my key card into the front door, but I can’t seem to push it open. I hear whispering and shuffling, and the door suddenly swings open too hard. Jude is standing just inside, his hands in his pockets, while Lizzie adjusts the strap of her tank top.

  “Were you two doing it against the front door?” I put one hand on my hip, a stance my father calls the “Filipina Flip Out,” because my mom does it right before she lays into him.

  “No,” Lizzie says, right as Jude says, “Yes.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” It’s hard enough not having sex without the hormones from these two clogging the air. If I don’t watch out, I’m going to get secondhand pregnant from Jude’s undoubtedly magical dick.

  I head to my room to give them some privacy, and throw myself down on my bed. I let the cool sheets and cozy comforter calm me. But even here—maybe especially here—I can’t escape the memory of Jeff. Cradling me with his strong body, putting his arms around me. Let’s face it, having his hands in my hair was the most erotic thing that’s happened to me in years—including time spent with guys I’ve actually slept with. Maybe because I really like him.

  There’s a knock on my door.

  “You shall not pass,” I shout.

  Lizzie pushes the door open. “I get that reference. Star Wars, right?”