“Which is?”
“Me llamo Maggie,” she said in the thickest American accent she could muster.
I grinned. “Me llamo Sam.”
“So, Sam, you want to take a picture? It lasts longer.”
For weeks afterward she teased me about me watching her, but I was transfixed by her drawings. It wasn’t just her name, either. In the middle of lectures, I would find my gaze wandering down her notebook where she was sketching little songbirds in withered tree branches or cupcakes with a thousand sprinkles.
I could never understand what she got from me in return, but every day at the end of the lecture she would rip out her drawing and hand it to me.
“For you,” she’d say and I would tuck it in my own folder, sure that Spanish was the best class I’d ever fail in my life.
From there, everything flowed naturally. I asked her about her drawings, and then her life, and then—when we realized we were both flailing for our lives in class—we studied together, too. We just fit together. We always had.
Like we were fated to be.
I reached the ski lift and hopped on, still deep in my thoughts.
My friends could say what they wanted, but with Maggie this wasn’t just about sex. I wanted more from her than that.
I wanted everything. And if I was going to do this?
I was going to do it all the way.
Chapter Seven
Maggie
I’d spent the whole day getting my face smeared with mud, my feet soaked in steamy water, and my body massaged to the point of becoming as pliable as Silly Putty but, somehow, I still couldn’t bring myself to relax.
On a physical level, my muscles were looser and my skin was smoother. But on a spiritual level? I was a frigging wreck.
My mind was just as topsy-turvy as it had been the day before. In the moments when I wasn’t thinking about the odd comments everyone was making about Sam, I was thinking about Sam himself. The way the smell of his spicy shampoo clung to the air around him. The way he moved in his low-slung jeans and how, when he lifted his arms high, I would catch a glimpse of those abs and that narrow trail of hair that led from his belly button down…
And then, when I’d finally managed to force myself to stop thinking of Sam, I thought of Trevor and how he was nothing like Sam. Trevor, who’d abused my trust and treated me like a doormat to wipe his feet on and then ignore. Trevor, who was still probably sitting outside my apartment door right now, waiting for me to come out and take him back into my arms.
Which, of course, was never going to happen.
Flinging myself down onto my bed, I buried my face in the pillows and debated screaming out my frustration. None of this was going to be solved by me lying here doing nothing. I was going to have to do something to address all these new, conflicting feelings bubbling inside me… I just had no idea what.
Twisting around on the mattress, I pulled my robe tighter just as the door swung open and Sam walked in, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the chilled winter air.
“How were the slopes?” I asked, wondering if the shrillness of my voice had always been there or if I was simply overcompensating for the sudden rush of nerves that washed over me.
Either way, Sam didn’t seem to notice. “It was great. Peter bit it pretty hard toward the end there.”
“Perfect day, then.” I grinned.
“Exactly.” He pulled off his hat and gloves and tossed them on the dresser. His gaze narrowed on my face and he eyed me, his grin fading. “Hey, the guys were talking about going on a tear tonight and I was thinking it might be just what you need. Some booze, loose women, and debauchery might be a good start to getting old what’s-his-name off your mind.” He flashed me that signature grin I loved.
I smiled, unsure how to feel. I wanted to spend the evening with Sam, but the idea of hopping from one crowded bar to the next on New Year’s Eve sounded about as appealing as gouging my own eyes out with an ice pick.
And, even if I forced myself to do it, I would just be a downer, so I settled on, “You know what? You go have fun with your friends. I think I’m in the mood for a more low-key kind of night.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I was thinking the same thing. The idea of standing in line in twenty degree weather to get into a bar where I can’t hear myself think is not my idea of a good time. I’m not twenty-one anymore—hell, I’m not even thirty-one anymore. I’ll text them and tell them we’re not coming and we can chill together.”
I refused to examine what his response was doing to my pulse rate as he shrugged off his jacket and snow pants, revealing the jeans and sweater beneath.
“What kind of night did you have in mind?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Up to you. I’ve got to take a quick shower and warm up; I’m like a popsicle. Why don’t you see what restaurants are around and make us a reservation and we’ll start there?”
“Good idea,” I said and he slipped into the bathroom. I opened my laptop and searched the surrounding area. This would be great. A chance to wipe away all the awkwardness that had been building between us the past couple days and to get my mind off Trevor.
In a resort town like this, nearly every place was upscale and on New Year’s Eve, I knew it would be hard to get seats. I just had no idea it would be impossible.
I called every place in a fifteen-mile radius and literally every one of them was booked.
“Crap,” I mumbled, my stomach grumbling as the tenth hostess hung up on me.
Feeling hopeless, I climbed from the bed and slid into the simple, long-sleeved black dress and black tights I’d brought along for tonight and ran a brush through my hair.
Sam stepped from the bathroom already dressed in a pair of black chinos and an emerald green sweater. A heavy roll of steam followed him into the room as he shot me an expectant smile.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, finger-combing his still-wet hair. He looked delectable and it took me a second to manage a reply.
“We don’t have one,” I admitted with a wince. “Everywhere is booked.”
“Shoot. I was wondering if that might happen.” His chiseled lips pursed. “So, let’s just go down to the hotel bar and grab a drink for now while we talk it over. You game?”
“Not if we’re going to drink and not eat. That sounds like a recipe for—”
“A great night?” Sam cut in.
“A disaster,” I finished.
“Don’t be silly. If they can’t seat us for dinner, we’ll get room service after and watch a movie. Come on, one drink. You have to show off that dress a little anyway.”
His gaze dropped, skimming over the neckline of my dress and lower before flicking back up to meet mine. “You look great, by the way.”
It wasn’t the polite words so much, it was more his husky tone that had my arms breaking out in goosebumps.