Rikki

by Abigail Strom

  It had been a couple of hours since the rum and I was a lot more sober now, but I was still drunk enough to answer that question before I could think about it.

  “Sam.”

  “Sam?”

  I was as surprised as he was. But before I could make sense of my own feelings, I had to deal with Jason’s.

  He sat back, his expression frustrated and disbelieving. “You have to be kidding me. This was his idea.”

  That made absolutely no sense. “What was his idea? What are you talking about?”

  “He said I should ask you out.”

  It was sort of like getting a deep cut, where you see it before you feel it. You know it’s going to hurt but in the first moments of shock you don’t feel a thing.

  When I spoke, my voice sounded far away. “Sam told you to ask me out?”

  “He said you were interested. He said—”

  But I didn’t wait to find out what else Sam had said. I was already gone, heading back into the club fueled by more rage than I’d ever felt in my life.

  He wasn’t in there. I hadn’t seen him for a while—not since I’d caught sight of him at the bar.

  He must have gone back to Bracton.

  I couldn’t find Dyshell, who’d driven me over here. But Julia had a car, too, and she was still sitting at our original table, listening to the music.

  “These guys are good, aren’t they?” she said.

  I was too mad to know if they were good or bad. “I have no idea,” I said. “Is there any chance you could give me a ride back to Bracton?”

  Julia stared at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Physically, yes. Mentally and emotionally, no.”

  I was pleased that I was able to articulate that much of what I was feeling, but I wasn’t sure what Julia’s reaction would be. Maybe she’d think I was still drunk and blow me off, or something. She didn’t know me very well and had no reason to go out of her way for me.

  She got up from the table and grabbed her purse.

  “Let’s go,” she said cheerfully, and my guilt kicked in retroactively.

  “But you like this band. You should stay. I’ll find someone else to—”

  “Everyone else is either dancing or in a corner making out. Come on, Rikki.”

  Ten minutes later we pulled into the dorm resident parking lot. Three minutes after that I was pounding on Sam’s door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I didn’t have to pound for long. The door jerked open and Sam was standing there in sweatpants and no shirt, his hair mussed and his eyes dangerous.

  “I think you’ve got the wrong room,” he said. “Jason’s across the hall.”

  I felt the force of my attraction to him like a physical blow. Maybe it was because I still had alcohol in my system, maybe it was because my emotions were so intense, but it felt as though a blindfold had been torn from my eyes.

  I wanted Sam. I wanted him, and the only defense I had against my own desire was the hot anger raging inside me.

  He started to close the door but I pushed past him. I went to the middle of the room, turned, and faced him.

  I was so mad I was shaking. “You told Jason to ask me out.”

  Sam had slammed the door shut and looked ready to rip into me. But after I spoke, his expression changed.

  “He told you that?”

  A part of me had hoped he might deny it. That Jason had made it up for some reason.

  But it was true.

  The pain was everywhere, and I couldn’t stand it. I stormed forward until I was less than a foot away from him.

  “I know you think I’m a coward. But I didn’t realize you think I’m a loser, too—such a loser you have to play matchmaker for me.”

  Sam didn’t look mad anymore. He looked guilty, which only made it worse.

  I’d always been able to take it when Sam was mad at me. That was a dynamic I understood; a battle I knew how to fight.

  But I couldn’t take the idea that Sam felt sorry for me.

  My voice shook. “You think I’m pathetic. You think—”

  “No! I don’t think you’re pathetic. I thought… I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  Sam had actually backed away from me, something he’d never done before. He was standing with his back to the door, his arms folded as though protecting himself from something.

  From me.

  I tried to process what he was saying. “You thought I wanted…”

  “Jason.” Sam’s jaw tightened. “You said you were interested in him. I thought going out with him would make you happy. Guys like Jason and Derek… they seem to be what you’re looking for. So I told Jason—” He stopped.

  “What? You told Jason what?”

  Sam closed his eyes and leaned back against the door. He looked defeated, which was something I’d tried to accomplish for the last six years. I’d tried to defeat him in academics, in mental jujitsu, in whatever other way I could. I’d fought against him for so long, and the best I’d ever been able to achieve was a draw. All those years, my strengths and defenses had accomplished nothing more than a stalemate.

  And now, when I felt at my weakest and most vulnerable, I’d somehow managed the impossible.

  I had Sam Payne on the ropes.

  “What did you tell Jason?”

  Sam’s eyes opened again. “I told him you’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met. The smartest, sweetest, sexiest girl on campus. And I told him he’d be insane not to take a chance on you.”

  My hands curled into fists until my nails dug into my palms. My heart was thudding against my ribs.

  “If you thought that, then…”

  I couldn’t ask him. I couldn’t. I—

  “If you thought that, then why didn’t you ask me out yourself?”

  It was out. It was out, and I couldn’t take it back. No matter what happened for the rest of my life, the question had been asked and I’d never be able to erase the memory of it from Sam’s neural pathways.

  He stared at me, and I stared back.

  As the seconds ticked by, it seemed obvious that Sam wasn’t going to answer.

  “Oh, God,” I whispered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  And then the brief surge of nausea was replaced by a hot wave of anger.

  I pressed my cold hands to my hot cheeks. “I hate you, Sam. I hate you. I—”

  “That’s why.”

  His voice cut through my words like a knife.

  “What?”

  “That’s why I never asked you out. Because you hated me. And even when we got to be friends, it was obvious you weren’t interested in me. You found plenty of ways to tell me that.”

  “You hated me,” I said, my voice shaking. “You hated me all through high school. And then, here at Hart… you found plenty of ways to tell me you weren’t interested, too. How many nights did I sleep here after you broke up with Mena? You could have made a move anytime. And… and…” I took a breath. “I modeled for you in my underwear, and topless, for God’s sake. We were in that studio for hours, just the two of us. You could have made a move then.”

  Sam shook his head slowly. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am. I was an idiot to think we could be friends. An idiot to think you could ever want me. An idiot to think—”

  “I’ve wanted you for six years.”

  My brain looked at that statement, tried to process the information, and threw in the towel.

  My mind had officially called it quits. That left my heart and my body, neither of which was ready for this.

  It was my turn to back away. And this time, Sam followed me. He matched me step for step, his eyes never leaving mine.

  When I bumped up against his desk, I knew I’d retreated as far as I could. There was nowhere else to go.

  He stopped when he was about a foot away from me. “What kind of asshole do you think I am? Did you think I’d take advantage of you when you needed a place to crash, or
when you were helping me out with my art class, or when you were upset about your parents?”

  “I guess I thought… if you were really attracted to me, then… you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. Or something. So I assumed… you weren’t.” I remembered his hard-on, and corrected myself. “Or that if you were, it wasn’t… you know, a big deal. I thought it was just biology or hormones or… something that didn’t mean anything. Because I thought… I was sure… that you weren’t interested in me romantically.”

  “So because I didn’t attack you like some rabid animal, you decided I wasn’t interested?”

  He closed the distance between us and put his hands down on either side of me, trapping me between his arms, the desk, and his body.

  His face was only inches from mine. His eyes were more intense than I’d ever seen them, but in spite of the fact that he was ten times stronger than me, I didn’t feel afraid.

  Not physically afraid, anyway.

  “I didn’t attack you because I care about you,” he said. “I would never hurt you—and that includes making a move when I thought you weren’t interested. Because I’m not an asshole. And I’ve had six years of practice at hiding the way I feel about you. I’ve wanted you since junior high. I’ve dreamed about you. I’ve fantasized about you. And all that time, I knew I could never let you know.”

  He closed his eyes and opened them again. “You want to know how bad it is? That day I came over to your house last year—I stole a pair of your panties that day. I might not be an asshole but I’m not a saint, either. I have a pair of your panties, Rikki. That’s how bad it is.”

  I was trembling all over, fighting to stay in some kind of control. “I knew about the panties.”

  That actually brought him up short. He pushed away from the desk and took a step back, staring at me. “You did? But then—you must have known how I felt. How could you say you didn’t know?”

  “I thought… I thought…” I was starting to hate the sentences that began with those words, because they all seemed to be so wrong. I seemed to be so wrong—about everything. “I thought you took them because they were a girl’s panties. I mean… I didn’t think it mattered that they were mine.” I bit my lip. “I didn’t think you could really be attracted to me like that. And the one time I thought maybe you were… that you might want me… that was the day I…”

  I could feel the admission tumbling out of me, and I tried to stop it. But the look in Sam’s eyes, the things he was saying, were ripping away all my defenses.

  “That was the day I… tried to seduce you.”

  “Seduce me?”

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, listen. I might not be a genius when it comes to relationships, but I’ve been hot for you a third of my life. If you had ever tried to seduce me I would have noticed it.”

  Just thinking about it made me cross my arms across my chest defensively. “It was the last time I modeled for you. When I… wasn’t wearing my bra.”

  Sam looked at me like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That was you seducing me? But you were pissed off at me that day. You looked so mad…”

  “I was mad.”

  “But—”

  “That was after I found my panties in your drawer. I’d been thinking about it ever since, wondering if it meant you wanted me or… if any girl’s panties would have done. All day I’d felt…” I closed my eyes. “I’d never felt that way before. I was so excited to see you again. And then when I did see you, I realized…”

  “What?” Sam asked softly. He was looking at me like I fascinated him, but not like a math geek fascinated by a logic problem.

  Like a man fascinated by a woman.

  Something in that look gave me the courage to say it. “I realized I wanted you.”

  Sam’s mouth twitched, and I glared at him. “You think this is funny?”

  “A little bit. Realizing you wanted me made you mad?”

  I lifted my chin. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Once again I answered honestly. “I don’t know.”

  For a moment we just looked at each other. I studied the flecks of gold in his eyes, and the way his sleep-mussed hair tumbled over his forehead.

  Then Sam took a half step forward and reached for me. He moved slowly, carefully, as though I were a wild animal caught in a trap. And I watched him the way a wild animal would, not knowing if this person’s touch would be the end or the beginning.

  “I think I know,” he said softly—and then his hand was in my hair, and I shivered all over. “You were mad because it was something you didn’t understand. Something you couldn’t control.”

  Sam’s hand moved gently, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone. I couldn’t look at him while he was doing that so I closed my eyes.

  “You think I’m a control freak?”

  “I’ve known you a long time, Rikki. I know you’re a control freak.”

  All my awareness was centered on his touch. I’d never known that a person’s head could be an erogenous zone, but every time his fingers combed through my hair I felt a thousand tiny prickles on my scalp that skittered their way down my spine.

  “What makes you think I—”

  “Do you remember the project on ancient Rome you did in ninth grade?”

  I was a little thrown by the new topic, and I opened my eyes. But one look at Sam’s expression made me squeeze them shut again.

  No guy had ever looked at me like that before.

  “I remember,” I said cautiously, keeping my eyes closed.

  Sam had both hands in my hair now, and I was very, very glad I was leaning on something. His fingers cradled the back of my head and his thumbs caressed my jaw line, and my knees were so weak my legs wouldn’t have held me up if it wasn’t for the desk behind me.

  “You’d made the most detailed model I’d ever seen. A whole city in miniature. And then, while you were doing your presentation, I realized something.”

  It was hard to pay attention to his words when his touch was making me feel so much. And then his hands slid down, his fingers on the back of my neck and his thumbs on my throat. Random facts about pressure on the carotid artery drifted through my mind, and I was vaguely aware that Sam could render me unconscious in about ten seconds by pressing just a little harder.

  But it wasn’t fear that made me tremble.

  “What did you realize?” I managed to ask, my voice shaky and breathless.

  His hands moved again, and now his palms shaped themselves to my shoulders and his thumbs brushed over my collarbones.

  I felt fragile, and precious, and beautiful.

  “I realized that you wanted the whole world to be like that,” he said softly. “Miniaturized. Comprehensible. Susceptible of analysis. And you’d prefer it if other people—and your own feelings—were like that, too.”

  His hands drifted down, down, down over my collarbones and toward my breasts.

  He moved slow enough that I could say no, if I wanted to.

  But I didn’t want to.

  He paused for just a moment. And then, when I didn’t say anything, his hands slid onto my breasts and stopped, his palms cupping me over my T-shirt and his thumbs brushing over my nipples again and again and again and…

  Nothing had ever felt this good. I was afraid that if I opened my eyes it would stop, so I didn’t open my eyes.

  “I wanted you to touch me like this,” I whispered. “The last time I modeled for you. That’s why I asked you to take my bra off. But I didn’t know how… how to say…”

  When he spoke again, his mouth was closer—right by my ear.

  “How to say you wanted me?”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak that time, so I just nodded.

  “So try it now.”

  His breath tickled my ear, and the sensation was like my own personal kryptonite. It made me weak, defenseless, powerless.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Bec
ause if you don’t tell me you want me, I’m not going to touch you anymore.”

  I opened my eyes then, because he pulled away. He took a step back and stood there looking at me, his hands at his sides.

  All this time I’d been thinking about what I needed. But now I realized that Sam needed something, too.

  He needed me to tell him how I felt. What I wanted.

  There’d been times I’d fantasized about a guy taking charge, making me want him, overpowering me with the strength of his desire so that I didn’t have to say a word.

  Maybe that was the other side of being a control-freak—fantasizing about a guy who wanted me so much he would take control away from me.

  But Sam would never be that guy. He needed to know we were in this together.

  And that meant I had to tell him what I wanted.

  It should have been the easiest thing in the world. I knew he wanted me—that wasn’t a secret anymore. All I had to do was say I wanted him, too.

  So why was it so scary?

  I’d told him I’d wanted him that day in the art studio, but that was in the past tense. Apparently I was capable of that. Was it really so different to tell him in the present? Not I wanted you, but I want you? Did two letters really make such a difference?

  Yes, they did. Because if I said I want you I wouldn’t be describing something that had happened in the past. I’d be describing something that was happening now. Something that seemed bigger than I was, something I couldn’t control.

  Something that made me vulnerable.

  I took a step forward and laid my hands flat on Sam’s bare chest. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and his breath uneven. A moment ago he’d seemed so in control of himself—but I realized now that he was hanging on by a thread.

  Was I really going to snap that thread?

  “I want you,” I whispered.

  He didn’t move or say anything, and I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me.

  But saying the words had made me realize how true they were. I wanted to say them again.

  My voice was louder this time. “Sam, I want you.”

  And then, suddenly, I couldn’t stop saying it.

  “I want you. I want you. I—”

  “I heard you the first time,” he said, sliding his fingers into my hair. “I just wanted to hear it again.”