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Why is this bothering me so much?
She also seemed a little insane. I felt like maybe if she thought something was going on between us, she’d stab me in the throat. I was stupidly thinking Travis and I were moving toward something. Now I know that was just me projecting. He obviously was being nice, so I’d let him stay here. It worked; I’d agreed to another month. Now I’m going to have to endure crazy-pants coming over for a quickie, who knows how many times.
I don’t have a choice, he’s going to stay, but I need to rein in my hormones. He’s got a woman or a fuck buddy at the very least. I’m just his roommate. A girl he had a one-time fuck with ages ago. Doing my best not to dwell on something I have no control over, I switch gears.
There’s always Sam, but I don’t see myself coming onto him like that. I can’t picture sex with him, but I can picture sweet kisses at sunset and holding hands while watching movies. Do I want that, or do I want crazy unbridled passion? Obviously, unbridled passion would win every time, but I do like a good movie watching partner. I can keep the passion in my dreams.
After an hour, I decide to go to IKEA. Getting out of the apartment will help me get the idea of those two together out of my head. I hadn’t had any luck finding furniture anywhere else. I need a shelf and table, at least because the apartment is currently ridiculously bare. We eat everything standing or sitting on the floor, which has to stop.
I grab a coffee on the way to the store. As soon as I get inside, I’m overwhelmed. There is so much stuff, food, lights, candles, and baskets for all kinds of things. I don’t have the money to buy everything I need for the apartment, but at least I can get started.
I spend far too long looking at the tables and bookshelves, having a hard time deciding which I want to get. When I get home a short while later with several boxes, I struggle to get them into the house, damn near killing myself in the process.
Sam is on my mind because I’m trying not to think of Sydney bent over the back of Travis’s car somewhere along their way to the bar. He’s pounding into her, his ass tightening while he fucks her brains out. No. Sam. Picture Sam smiling and bringing you coffee. I get out my phone and text him.
Come over and help me put together IKEA furniture, please.
As soon as I hit send, I second guess my message. What if he thinks this is code for sex? Will he think I mean come over and help me get off? The return text comes in quickly.
Should I bring wine?
I wonder if I should even consider drinking tonight. Then, I think about Sydney needing a shot and a fuck, and tell him yes, bring all the wine. I go into the bathroom and start to make myself look presentable.
A shower is needed as well as a brand new outfit, but there isn’t time for both. I’ll just put on something hot that I don’t wear to work. That way, he’s not seen it before. After digging through my closet, I end up going with a cold-shoulder yellow dress and tall boots.
By the time Sam knocks on the door, I’ve worked myself into a nervous fizzy. I jump a mile into the air and run directly toward the door at the first knock. I seriously need to get my shit together. I’m a grown-ass woman, not some clumsy heroine in a romance novel or some annoying chick from a romantic comedy.
Sam looks gorgeous and so well put together when I open the door. He’s wearing a crisp green polo and khakis, and I’m so glad I put on a dress, although it’s casual.
“You look amazing,” he compliments, holding out a bottle of white and a bottle of red wine. “I didn’t know which one you would want, so I got both.”
“I’m easy,” I smile and then rush to add, “when it comes to wine.” Ignoring my flaming cheeks, I continue, “Come in, please. All the boxes are in the living room. I’m afraid we have our work cut out for us.”
“Good thing I came prepared to let you work me however you want.” My gaze widens, and heat creeps up my spine. Is he coming onto me already? I must stare a little longer than needed because he adds, “You know, for putting the furniture together.”
Man, we are an awkward pair. At work, everything is easy between us because we can chat over our various tasks. This seems a lot more difficult. One on one communication, come on, Nina, you can do it.
“If you’ll open the wine. I’ll find some music. The wine glasses are on the counter near the fridge” Scrolling through the music on my phone, I’m not sure what to pick. Is there really a good music playlist for building IKEA furniture? Shaking my head at the thought, I go with old school alternative, which seems chill but not sexy, that is until Sex and Candy starts to blare through the blue tooth speaker. I skip the song quickly, knowing he heard it.
He brings the wine over, and I take a large gulp. Then I ask myself, do you really need alcohol to interact with men, and is this a healthy habit? We make a slow start on opening the boxes, and I nearly punch myself in the face three times, trying to pull the cardboard pieces back to open them. After the second glass, Sam has taken off his shoes and is wiping his brow.
“Who knew putting together furniture could be such a workout?” I’ve been holding the same two pieces, sitting on the floor next to him while he puts a lot of it together.
“I know, I’m tired too,” I joke.
“You haven’t done anything,” he says as he throws a Styrofoam piece at my head. It hits me in the temple, and I feign a serious injury, lying on my back and throwing my hand over my head. Being the gentleman he is, he’s crawls over to see if I’m okay.
“You’re going to die, I’m afraid,” he says, placing his hand against my head, “that’s a very serious wound.”
“I know, you killed me,” I shake my head and then freeze with my tongue hanging out of my mouth.
“You’re adorable,” he smiles, showing off his dimples.
“No, just silly,” I correct him. “We need more wine.” He’s the first to move, and when I extend my hand out to him, he pulls me off the floor and onto my feet. Coming to stand, I realize we’re a lot closer than I thought. Even though I shouldn’t, I look up at him. He’s leaning into me, and I know he wants to kiss me, but I chicken out at the last second, and instead, hug him like a weirdo. He hugs me back and chuckles into my hair. Why do I always have to make things so awkward?
“I’ll grab the wine,” I exclaim and rush into the kitchen to grab the bottle. Just as I enter the kitchen, I slip and fall to the floor. “Maybe I should get some water instead?”
He comes down to the floor with me again. He crawls over me, and this time, he does kiss me. His lips press gently against mine, and it’s sweet just as I pictured it would be. But there is no passion, no zing, no heat, or anything that screams I need more of this.
