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This was supposed to be fun. Short-term fun.
Grasping for something to ground her in this spiral, she checked the time on the microwave, 8:32. Gemma was an hour behind, Laney and Bronte three hours out in California. Even if she did text them, they probably wouldn’t get back to her right away, so she did the next best thing. She clipped Eddie’s leash on and took him for a walk. When that didn’t clear her head, she grabbed her bathing suit and drove over to the local YMCA. She normally swam laps when she couldn’t get out for a walk, but she needed a little more time to herself to sort it all out.
With every stroke, Sam told herself she could do it. She had faced difficult challenges before; having a quasi-relationship with Mike was no different. If she could come back from a crippling eating disorder, she could certainly have a fling with a six-foot slab of muscle. It was only her heart on the line.
Not an important organ.
She simply had to keep her cool, stay in control, and when their time ended, she’d say goodbye and move on. No problem.
Stepping out of the pool, she wrung out her hair, more determined than ever to keep her guard up. But when she got back to the locker room and checked her cell phone, she had a couple texts from the girls.
Laney: Everybody see the Marine posted a thirst trap?
Laney: Guess he took my advice.
Gem: Your advice?
Laney: I told him he needed to start posting pics of him working out. Show off the goods, show his possible clients he’s good at his job. Plus, you know sex sells.
Gem: I’m looking respectfully.
Bronte: Screenshot it.
Bronte: Wow.
Bronte: For someone not adept at social media, he excels at the gym selfie.
Sam actually gasped when she saw the screenshot of Mike’s post and then immediately opened up Instagram to see the real thing. There it was, his very first thirst trap. With Laney and Gem both leaving comments like the turds they were. But there were other comments too. Some of spicy emojis, some saying how brave he was—whether they meant it for his service or his prosthetic leg, she didn’t know, but either way, it had her rolling her eyes.
She enlarged the photo, bringing her phone close to her face as if she could somehow sink into the post. He had taken the picture in a full-length mirror. Turned on a slight angle, each shadow and curve of his physique on display, his sleeve of tattoos like the marks of a warrior.
With his head tilted, the tiniest hint of a smile, and a smattering of dark hair on his chest, he looked like a god. She’d never paid much attention in her undergrad antiquities class, but if she had, she’d be able to name him the god of strength and power, sensuality and desire. For now, she supposed she would settle for calling him her own personal hero.
So much for keeping that guard up.
Sam: I blame all of you for this.
18
This neighborhood used any excuse to throw a block party, but the Fourth of July was the biggest one of all. There were more people, more food, and generally more shenanigans. Mr. Tadashi brought sushi from his restaurant and laid it out on the table in the shapes and colors of the American flag. Nancy, the cougar from down the street, made Jell-O shots, and she was doing a pretty good job of getting drunk on them by herself. Octogenarians Mr. and Mrs. Winston had their whole family over, two kids, four grandkids, and three great-grandchildren. And, of course, Jimmy was running the activities schedule for the day. He had arrived earlier with a printed-out sign-up sheet for teams and a championship cornhole bracket. Winners got an actual trophy.
“All right, you and I are up,” he said to Sam with a light backhanded smack to her arm, after two younger women she’d never seen in her life lost their game of cornhole to Adam and Maggie. For a preschooler, she had a pretty good arm, and the two strangers, whom Sam assumed were Nancy’s daughters, were too busy dancing, drinking, and snapping selfies to take down the four-year-old.
“Who do we got?” Sam asked, setting down her water. She wasn’t any better at cornhole than beer pong.
Jimmy rubbed her shoulders like he was warming up a major league pitcher. “Albie and his friend Ernie.”
“Ernie?”
He grinned and bent down to whisper, “I think his real name is Tim, but he’s tall with a unibrow.”
Sam bit the inside of her bottom lip to keep from smiling as they took their spot behind the platform, built and painted by Jimmy. Albie, which was short for Albert, and a tall unibrowed guy? They were Bert and Ernie.
Tim/Ernie’s striped tank top didn’t help the cause either.
“We could definitely take a couple of Muppets,” Jimmy said, grabbing a beanbag in his hand and tossing it into the air.
“Yeah,” she agreed, although this was only the first round. Even if they beat Bert and Ernie, she still had to get through the semi- and quarterfinals. “Sure.”
