I snatch them out of his hand and stick them back under the counter. “That is not amusing.”
“Are you kidding?” he cackles. “That shit’s funny as hell.” He laughs for a moment and then he finally sobers. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed them? I would have gone to the store.”
My eyes jerk up. He’s serious. “It’s kind of a girl thing.” I scratch my nose, trying to find something to do with my hands.
“It’s a boy thing, too, when a boy’s girl needs them. Next time, just tell me and I’ll go get them.” He kisses my forehead.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
He points to his bedside table. “Why is my drawer open?”
“Oh, ah…” I breathe in. He watches me. “The girls were looking for dirty magazines.”
“They’re in the bottom drawer,” he tosses out casually. Then he goes back into the bathroom and closes the door.
I tiptoe over to the night stand and open the bottom drawer. It makes a racket, and I look over my shoulder to be sure he’s not coming out, but I’m nosy and I want to see what he’s talking about.
There’s nothing in the bottom drawer. I push it shut.
He walks back out of the bathroom.
“Liar,” I say.
He laughs and lies back on the bed, resting the back of his head in his hands. “Bottom drawer of the dresser, silly,” he tells me. He glares at me in challenge, a spark in his eyes.
I can’t help it. I want to see. I open the drawer and then freeze. He wasn’t kidding. He has a magazine. And a movie. I pick it up and look at it, and I can feel that blush creep up my face again.
“Want to watch it with me?” he asks innocently. Like he’s asking me to watch Frozen.
“Um…” Considering that I just got my period, watching the movie might be a lesson in torture. “No thanks. Maybe another time.”
“Rain check,” he says.
He tosses the covers back and I get in bed with him. He turns off the light and pulls me to lie on his chest.
He takes a breath. “Seriously, Peck,” he says. “Next time you need something—anything—just tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay,” I whisper. After a moment, I say, “This is kind of weird.”
“Tampons are not weird. They’re necessary. Like shampoo and toothpaste and condoms.”
“Yep.” I got no response to that.
“Why does it bother you?”
“I don’t know.” It just seems to be very…intimate.
He’s quiet. I can feel his chest moving beneath my face. Up. Down. Up. Down.
“Hey Sam, can I tell you something?” I whisper. I lift my face and press my chin into his chest so I can look toward his face in the dark.
“You can tell me anything.” He kisses my forehead.
“I think I might be falling in love with you.”
His breath stalls.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah…”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He shifts under me a little, like he’s suddenly restless. Then he blurts out, “Are you sure?”
He rolls me over onto my back so he can hover over me. I nod. He groans and presses his face into my neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
“Do you think you might love me too? Someday? Maybe not even now. But someday?” My voice quivers.
“Do you realize that you haven’t even stuttered a single time since we’ve been talking tonight?” he says out of the blue.
I sit up. “What?” Of course I stuttered. I always stutter.
“Not once. Not a single time tonight. That’s just about as important to me as your telling me you love me.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you’re comfortable with me. You trust me. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.” He waits a second. “Am I wrong?”
He’s right. I haven’t stammered even once. But suddenly I’m tongue-tied. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
He pulls me back down to him. “Don’t say anything.”
He grabs my thigh and pulls my leg across his hips. I nestle into the crook of his shoulder. His hand slides up and down my thigh and then disappears beneath the edge of my panties. “Sam,” I warn.
He laughs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
As I close my eyes, I realize he never really did say he loves me back.
Sam
I go to the tattoo shop early the next day, because I know Paul is on the schedule and I’m hoping he will be alone. I really need to talk to him.
I push through the door and bells jingle over my head. I stop short when I see Josh sitting across the table from Friday. Friday married my oldest brother Paul, and she’s almost like a mom to us—that is, if you can count a hot-as-hell pin-up with red lips, short skirts, and high heels as a mom. But she’s the closest thing we have.
“Good morning,” Friday chirps at me.
I’m really surprised to see her alone here with Josh. Paul can’t be far away. He’d never leave her alone for very long with someone he doesn’t trust. And this is someone no one should trust. I just have that feeling. He might be in a wheelchair, but he’s hard. Too hard.
“Morning,” I murmur.
Friday points to Josh. “Josh here was just telling me about where he’s from.”