Sam’s house definitely wasn’t the bachelor pad I’d expected. It was unnaturally clean. I had a full-time maid and his place made mine look like a stable.
What single guy keeps a house this neat?
I gasped. “Oh my God, you’re married!”
“Shh! You’ll wake up my wife,” he replied, touching his lips to my temple. “Don’t worry. She’s okay with you being here. You were on the top of my celebrity sexception list.”
A laugh escaped my throat. He waggled his eyebrows as he moved to the small table next to the door. After flipping through the mail, he extended an envelope in my direction.
“Text my address to Devon. I don’t need the SWAT team breaking down my door when he realizes I didn’t take you back to your place.”
He had a point. And, given my situation, Henry would probably stroke out too.
Upon retrieving my phone from my back pocket, I sent a message to Henry and asked him to pass the word along to Devon as well. His reply pinged in my hand, but I didn’t bother reading it before powering my phone down.
“You want a beer?” Sam asked, bypassing the fridge and heading to a sliding glass door off the back of his kitchen.
“Sure.”
“Okay. Be right back.” He disappeared out the door.
Less than a moment later, a black lab came barreling in.
“Sampson!” Sam yelled behind him.
I immediately backed away. He didn’t exactly look ferocious, but I’d become too fond of my legs to chance having them gnawed off.
“Sit,” Sam ordered, appearing in doorway with four beers cradled against his chest.
The dog skidded to a halt then dropped to his hind end less than an inch away from me. His tail thumped against the hardwood as he eagerly stared up at me.
“You have a dog?”
“Very astute observation. Levee, meet Sampson,” he laughed, twisting the tops off two domestic beers.
“Your dog’s name is Sampson?”
“Yep,” he said before tipping the beer to his lips and offering one in my direction.
“Your name is Sam and you named your dog Sampson. That’s a bit egotistical, don’t ya think?”
“Well, the guy who does my ink wouldn’t give us matching tattoos. I was really limited in my narcissistic options.”
“Right.” I reached down to scratch behind Sampson’s ears.
“I got him at the pound a few years back. I saw the name tag on his kennel and took it as a sign.” He whistled and Sampson rushed to his side. Tilting his beer toward the couch to signal for me to sit down, he asked, “You a dog person?”
Following his unspoken order, I settled on the end of the couch, slipping my heels off so I could tuck a leg underneath me. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted a dog, but by the time I could afford to take care of one, my life was chaos. I travel way too much.”
“Gotcha,” he said, sitting beside me on the couch.
With a snap and a point from Sam, Sampson lumbered over to a dog bed in the corner, grunting before flopping down.
We both stayed silent, awkwardly drinking our beers. Small talk was officially over, but it seemed Sam wasn’t any more excited to start the heavy conversation than I was.
“You hungry?” he asked as I nervously polished my beer off.
“I’m good, thanks.”
He nodded and went back to staring into space. “Sooo…” he drawled but didn’t say anything else.
Without looking at him, I broke the silence. “Are you positive that we can’t just start with sex?”
Chuckling, he dropped his head back against the couch and turned to look at me. I met his gaze with a grin, hoping he was about to give in. Instead, his smile fell and his eyes softened.
“I’m sorry I stormed out the way I did, but I really can’t apologize for telling Devon. Levee, I have a really fucked-up past, and it terrifies me to start something with someone like you.”
Someone like you.
I swallowed hard, trying not to flinch from the sting of his words. “Oh.” I scooted to the edge of couch and slid my shoes back on.
He caught my elbow before I had the chance to push to my feet. “Hear me out. Please.”