At odd moments a reminder would pop into her head that this was not her normal. She’d become so comfortable with the routine they’d established these last few weeks, it took effort to remember a time when dating wasn’t this easy. Daniel had a way about him that made everything feel relaxed and uncomplicated. And natural. Something about this felt so natural.
It also made her anxious to move beyond foot rubs. Their decision to take things slowly had been supplanted by her need to have those strong fingers massaging something other than her feet.
Eventually.
There were still too many factors to consider before they took that next step. For one thing, she and Daniel had started going out only a couple of weeks ago. When it came to pleasure, she fully endorsed the idea that a woman should choose when, with whom, and which way she wanted to receive it. But as for her personal dating life, Samiah preferred to take things slow. She didn’t have a standard timetable—at least not anymore—but she had to be sure about a person before she allowed things to get physical.
At the very least she and Daniel should wait until after they were done with the Leyland Group project, just in case Owen Caldwell decided to sneak a no-fraternizing rule in the employee handbook while she wasn’t looking.
Yes, she should wait. Waiting was the proper thing to do—the smart thing.
Samiah still wasn’t entirely convinced her reasoning held much water, but it was the only rationalization she’d managed to come up with that explained why they were on this sofa instead of in her bed, burning off the calories from breakfast in the most naked, sweatiest way possible.
She tore her focus away from the sight of the subtly defined muscles undulating underneath his T-shirt as he kneaded her soles, bringing her attention back to the laptop resting on her thighs. She’d spent an hour collaborating with Daniel on the best solution to address the Leyland Group’s security vulnerabilities, but then Samiah had switched to working on Just Friends. She’d made a commitment to herself to get this app done, and she was no longer willing to compromise.
She’d been struggling with this latest design issue for days now. For some reason, whenever she tried to toggle between users, it would lock up on her.
Samiah growled.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his forehead furrowing beneath the rim of his eyeglass frames. She’d learned about the glasses only when he’d lost a contact during their hike in Bastrop last weekend. She’d asked him to keep wearing them because Daniel Collins in glasses was the sexiest fucking thing she’d ever seen in her life. He rubbed her foot. “You hit a roadblock?”
“Just a speed bump.” At least when she compared it to the other headaches waiting for her. “It’s driving me crazy because this was supposed to be the easy part.”
She picked up the sticky-note pad and began to jot down thoughts.
“Uh-oh,” Daniel said. “I know things are getting serious when you break out the Post-its.”
“Ha ha.” This wasn’t the first time he’d teased her about her obsessive use of sticky notes. “I told you, using the different color Post-its helps to organize my thoughts when I brainstorm. I’ve been trying to make the transition from one user to another smoother, but it’s just not happening. I can’t figure out why it keeps timing out.”
He glided his hand higher up her leg and looped it around to cup her calf. Giving the muscle a gentle squeeze, he said, “You do realize that no investor will expect this to be perfect straight out of the gate, don’t you? It’s a prototype. You’re allowed to have glitches.”
“No, I’m not.” She shook her head. “I can’t half-ass this. It has to be perfect.”
“No it—”
“Yes, it does!” The words came out sharper than she’d intended. “Shit.”
She took a moment to regain her composure, then reached over and cupped his jaw, bearing the familiar burden of having to offer comfort when she was the one who wanted to be comforted right now.
“Look, I know it’s hard for you to understand, but you haven’t been in my shoes, Daniel. Do you have any idea how steep the hill I have to climb is just to get people in this industry to take me seriously? So many write me off the minute I walk into a room, or when they learn that the S in SBrooks at Trendsetters dot-com stands for Samiah and not Samantha or Sarah or some other ‘nonethnic’ name. I’m not a perfectionist because I want to be one, it’s because I have to be one.”
He studied her face for several long moments before softly whispering, “I get it.”
It suddenly occurred to her how insensitive it was to think that he, as a biracial man, couldn’t understand where she was coming from.
“I’m sorry,” Samiah said. “Of course you get it. I’m sure you’ve had your share of similar experiences.”
“No, don’t apologize. I have had my own experiences, but I won’t even try to compare them to what you’ve endured.” He shook his head. “They’re not the same. People don’t doubt my abilities. If anything, they expect me to be better than I really am—as if the half-Asian dude must be a genius when it comes to computers—which I guess is the flip side of the same coin.” He took her hand and placed a gentle kiss in the center of her palm. “It’s different for you. You have to be twice as good to get half as far.”
Her eyes fell shut, her throat thickening with a swift wave of emotion. Relief overwhelmed her; having her feelings validated brought unexpected solace to her battered soul.
“Yes,” she choked out on a whisper. “That’s exactly it.” She opened her eyes to find Daniel’s beautiful face filled with understanding. “Thank you for acknowledging it.”
Samiah sucked in a deep breath, then released it. It was difficult to grasp just how freeing it felt to tell her truth without fear of being branded a complainer or excuse-maker or any of the other labels people slapped on her when she tried to explain the pressure she’d been under to perform.
“Back when I was in high school, I tested out of all my regular classes and was placed in AP ones,” she started, her voice raspy. She took a moment to swallow down the emotion that still overwhelmed her. “No matter how hard I worked, it was never good enough. While my other classmates were praised, teachers asked me why I didn’t do this, or how could I miss that, or wouldn’t it have been better if I’d done it this way instead of that way?
“I’ve had to deal with those questions my entire life, Daniel. But I discovered that if I don’t give them the chance to ask them—if I do whatever I can to make it perfect on the first try—then I’ve taken away their power. They can’t doubt my abilities if I don’t give them that chance.”
His eyes roamed her face. “I wish I knew how to fix it.”
Desperate to lighten the mood, she pinched his cheek. “Well, you are a genius and all…”
“There’s a genius in this room, but it’s the one who’s creating a kick-ass app from scratch.” He caressed her cheek. “I just hate that you’re under so much pressure to get it right. It’s so fucked up. Everyone gets the chance to make mistakes.”
“Not me.” She shook her head. “I’m not afforded the luxury of making a mistake. When I mess up, it just makes it that much harder for the next bright young black girl who has so much to contribute to this field. I refuse to get in her way.”
“Why are you so amazing?”
“Because I have to be,” Samiah said with an overly bright smile as she willed herself into a better mood. “But thank you for noticing.” She picked up the tablet, determined to get this right. “And thank you for listening to my bitch-and-moan fest. Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, maybe I can get through the rest of the night without pitching this thing out the window.”
She woke up her laptop, but before she could click into the software, Daniel took hold of it and set it on the end table opposite of where she could reach it.
“What are you doing?”
He lifted her feet from his lap and placed them on the floor. “Come on,” he said. “You need a break
.”
“I don’t have time for a break.”
“So we’ll make time.”
“Daniel—”
He captured her cheeks between his palms. “Samiah, you’re driving yourself crazy. You’ve been so focused on this app that you’ve probably worked yourself into programmer’s block.”
“Programmer’s block?” she deadpanned. “Really?”
“It’s a thing. I swear it is. It’s like writer’s block, but for geek heads. Give this a rest for a few hours. Once you get out of your own head, you’ll be able to focus.” He nudged her. “Why don’t we check out a club? I’ve been here nearly two months and haven’t stepped foot on Sixth Street. You can give me the local’s view of Austin’s night life.”
“I’m not local, remember?”
“You’re more local than I am.”
She narrowed her gaze, but when it came to curbing her laugh, she couldn’t do it.
“You know I’m only agreeing to this because of those dimples, right? They’re pretty hard to resist.”
“My best weapons, by far.” That already irresistible grin had the nerve to get even sexier. “Make that my second best.”
Her stomach quivered, a shudder rushing through her as his bold assertion triggered an earth-shattering reaction throughout her bloodstream. Maybe they shouldn’t leave her condo after all.
Don’t go there.
But, goodness, she was ready to go there. So damn ready.
“Go on.” Daniel nudged his chin toward her bedroom. “I keep a change of clothes in my car in case I go for a run. I’ll go get it while you change.”
“Fine. I’ll go clubbing with you.” She stood. Starting for her room, she threw over her shoulder, “But you have to promise to dance.”
“Wait.” Samiah felt herself being pulled by the hem of her shirt. She turned to him. “I don’t dance,” he said.
“You do now.” She stuck her tongue out, then took off for her bedroom, more excited than she’d felt about anything in a long time.
Neither of them were feeling the first two clubs they tried. She hadn’t realized just how dramatically her taste in both music and atmosphere had changed until faced with the prospect of listening to that head-thumping beat for more than ten minutes. It was a good thing Daniel had an old soul when it came to music; he didn’t launch a single complaint when she asked to leave.
She was surprised when he agreed to join her at a salsa club, and even more surprised when she dragged him on the floor and he salsaed better than she did.
Strobe lights illuminated the dance floor with streaks of magenta, amber, and violet, the rich hues whirring to the rhythm of the high-energy Latin music pulsing like a heartbeat throughout the club. Samiah hadn’t had a particular purpose in mind when she’d pulled on her favorite Betsey Johnson midi dress with the ruffled hem, but it turned out to be the perfect choice for tonight. The flouncy fabric caressed her thighs with every twist and twirl. She felt sexy. Alive.
Free.
She had never felt so fucking free. Her makeup had long since melted off, and her hair was no doubt a mess from their nonstop dancing in the sweltering nightclub. But she did not care. Not even a little bit. The only thing she cared about right now was soaking in as much fun as possible.
“You owe me an explanation, mister,” she said when she twisted toward Daniel.
“What for?”
She made a turn and spoke over her shoulder. “I thought you said you couldn’t dance?”
He caught her wrist and pulled her in close. “I never said I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t.” He released her, then hauled her back with a reverse cross-body move that set her panties on fire. “Back when I was deployed, we had to find ways to keep ourselves occupied. One of the guys from my squadron was from Miami. He gave free lessons.”
She swayed her hips back, then came forward, bracing her chest against his. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “More than you know.”
Her heart rate skyrocketed, her shallow breaths causing her breasts to pulse against his solid chest. An ache she’d tried her best to ignore throbbed low in her belly, an indicator of the pleasure that awaited her. All she had to do was ask for it.
Instead she stepped back and pressed her hand to her throat. “If I don’t get something to drink I’m going to die in the middle of this club.”
He took her by the hand and led her off the dance floor. They made their way toward the large semicircular chrome bar that encompassed the far left side of the club, but as they drew closer she felt the muscles of Daniel’s forearm stiffen. His steps faltered.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Samiah asked.
“What?” He looked at her and then just beyond her to a couple sitting at one of the pub tables in the area surrounding the bar. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just noticed a friend.”
His stride was measured as they approached the table. The guy, whose haircut—shaved on the sides and long on the top—made him look younger than the crow’s feet etched into the corners of his eyes betrayed, stared at Daniel, a curious lift to his brow.
“Uh, hey,” Daniel said. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“What are the chances?” the man returned. He extended a hand to her. “I’m Quentin. And this is my wife, Angelle.”
“Quentin? Your roommate?” It was only after the words left her mouth that Samiah realized how rude they sounded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m Samiah.”
She shook both their hands with a polite smile, but inside questions were ping-ponging like a rubber ball in her head.
This was his Marine friend’s little brother? Who was sleeping on the couch? And had a wife? Why was his roommate married? None of this made sense.
“I thought you said you’d be working at Trendsetters well into the night,” Quentin said. “Decided to take a break?”
“Yeah, we needed a breather,” Daniel replied.
There was a tense, awkward vibe humming in the air, and she wasn’t sure what to make of the forced smiles between the two men. Now she understood why Daniel had never invited her over while his roommate was there. If these last few minutes were any indication, life in that apartment must be hell.
They left Quentin and Angelle after a few more minutes of unbearably uncomfortable conversation, ordered their drinks from the bar, and brought them to a table that had just been vacated on the opposite side of the club from Daniel’s roommate.
Samiah took a sip of the blood orange margarita the bartender had recommended, then set it on the table. Holding up a hand, she said, “Okay, I have to know.” She hooked her thumb back at the table. “What in the heck was that about?”
“What?”
“Um, your roommate? First, why does it look as if he graduated from high school in the nineties, and why is he married?”
Daniel took a long swallow of his club soda. “He and his wife are separated,” he finally said. “He mentioned they were trying to work things out.” He hunched a shoulder. “I guess that’s what tonight is about.”
Based on the way they were holding hands and staring at each other like a couple of teenagers in love, she would say they had more than worked things out. But why would someone who was temporarily separated from his wife expend the amount of time and effort it must have taken to achieve that computer setup back at their apartment?
“And I guess he did graduate in the nineties,” Daniel continued. “He’s forty.”
“When you said he was the younger brother of a fellow Marine, I just assumed he was, you know, young.”
“I probably should have explained this in the beginning. That fellow Marine was my old gunnery sergeant,” he said. “That’s why Quentin is there. You don’t say no to your old gunnery sergeant, even if you’re no longer active duty.”
“Ah.” Samiah nodded. She guessed that made sense.
Of course, if one of her old bosses had asked her to share an apartment
with his or her forty-year-old sibling, that hell no would have shot out of her mouth quicker than a bullet. But she wasn’t here to analyze the psychology behind military relationships; she was here to enjoy herself.
She finished off her drink in a single swallow, grabbed Daniel by the wrist, and dragged him back to the dance floor.
Maybe, later on, she would enjoy him.
Chapter Nineteen
A mélange of bright pinks and blazing oranges streaked across the mirrored windows of the high-rise next door as the setting sun continued its leisurely plummet below the horizon. The nightly ballad of file drawers sliding shut, desk lamps clicking off, and computer monitors drifting into sleep mode played throughout the office as, one by one, his coworkers wrapped up their workday. By his count they were down to less than ten people in the entire office. He could work with that number.
Daniel maintained the appearance of being swamped at his desk, all while discreetly monitoring the stairs that led to Trendsetters’ second floor.
“Are you trying to make the rest of us look like slackers?”
He jerked around. “Hey, John!” Daniel tried to cover his surprised flinch by reaching for his water bottle. “Didn’t realize you were still here.”
“I have to pick the oldest kid up from football practice. Makes more sense to hang around the office instead of driving up to Round Rock then driving back down.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard stories about how seriously Texans take their high school football.”
“Almost as seriously as we take our barbecue,” John said. “My fourteen-year-old freshman made the junior varsity team. My wife doesn’t like it, though, which is why I’m tasked with all football practice duties.”
“Ouch.” Daniel searched for his best good-natured laugh.
John peered at his Apple Watch. “I need to get going. Hey, I’m sorry about this new twist with the Leyland project. That’s how these things go sometimes. It’ll make for late nights for all of us.”
The Boyfriend Project Page 18