AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I actually like painting.”
“I know, you’re reliving your A-Plus glory days,” I said. “But seriously, I’m not that nice toyou. I don’t understand why you would be nice tome.”
Sam stared up at me, his brush still in his hand, as though forgotten.
“Drip!” I said, just in time for him to stick the brush back in his cup of paint. His gaze didn’t move from the cup for a moment, as though he’d just had a near miss with death and was contemplating the meaning of his life so far.
“I think I need a break,” he said. “Any chance you have more of that pie?”
I didn’t, but we shared the last packet of cinnamon brown sugar Pop-Tarts, eating them untoasted directly from the foil. Thanks to the lack of furniture in the common areas aside from my writing desk, there weren’t many seating options, but Sam said he wanted to stretch his legs anyway. Meanwhile, I’d take any excuse to get off my feet, so I settled into my desk chair and hoped I could find the energy to get back out in a few minutes.
“What makes you think you’re not nice to me?” he asked finally, his voice so casual that I almost didn’t connect his words back to our previous conversation.
I shrugged. I didn’t want to enumerate all the ways I was probably a bitch, to remind him of the few he may have already forgotten about.
“Niceis a bullshit word, anyway,” he said. “Niceis just surface politeness. Screw being nice.”
I blinked a little at how emphatic he was. I didn’t disagree—far from it—but it was surprising to hear him of all people express that sentiment. “Okay,” I said, “but literally you came over here to help me paint, and I called you a nerd. There has to be a happy medium somewhere between surface politeness and insulting someone to their face, and I’ve never been able to find it.”
“Iama nerd,” he said. “I’m not insulted by that at all. If I seemed sensitive about it... well, it was basically why my last relationship ended. But you wouldn’t have known that. It’s not your fault.”
“Your ex dumped you for being anerd?” I could’ve phrased my question more diplomatically, but I’d been too shocked to put any filter on. This must be the ex-girlfriend Conner hadmentioned, the one who’d broken up with Sam right before Christmas. “Honest question, but is it even possible to be a true nerd anymore, now that Disney ownsStar Wars?”
He smiled at that. “Deeply uncoolwere the words she used,” he said. “To be fair.”
“Did she see you in those coveralls?” I asked. I’d meant it as a joke, a little sarcasm to lighten the mood, but it came out more sincere. His words had wrenched something deep in my chest. I hated the idea that someone would say anything like that to Sam, especially someone he’d trusted and cared about. Probably even loved.
I got up to grab the roller and start painting again, hoping my sudden panic didn’t show all over my face. I’d always known I was protective of my own heart. It was unthinkable that I’d be so protective of his, too.
“Tell me more about this arbiter of cool,” I said, pleased that my voice sounded so steady. “Did she have a tongue ring or something?”
“A nose ring, actually,” Sam said. “How did you know that?”
I’d just been going back to high school and trying to think what could make someone seem intimidatingly badass. For me, a lip or tongue piercing always signaledI don’t give a fuckandThe music I listen to would make your eardrums bleed.But maybe I should update my rubric.
“How long were you together?”
“Two years,” Sam said. “We met at a bar—I was playing guitar in my friend’s band, and Amanda heckled us from the front row. I think that was part of the problem. She had this image ofme as some kind of rock star wannabe, but I’d only been filling in while their usual guitarist spent time with her new baby.”
Images of Sam from the past few weeks flickered through my mind—standing barefoot and disheveled in front of me at two in the morning. Holding a bag of Kit Kats in his doorway wearing a ridiculous tropical shirt. Plucking out “Farmer in the Dell” at the music store. Wearing those stupid fucking khakis.
I could see how the reality of him didn’t quite fit a rock star stereotype, despite his love of music. But the reality of him was also a lot better than that.
“Did you play the tambourine up there, too?” I asked. “Because you gotta see how that would give a girl the wrong idea.”
Sam had returned to painting, too, which was a relief. He was on the stepladder, focusing on edging around the ceiling, which gave me the perfect excuse to check out his butt. Briefly. Tastefully.
It was a very nice butt.
“Do you think you would’ve married her?” The question was out of my mouth before I could think about it, andwow. One hundred percent not my business, and since when had I cared about anyone’s potential marital status, anyway?
Sam didn’t answer right away. He was looking down at the cup of paint while he dipped his brush back in it, and I stared at the exposed skin of his neck, trying to glean what he wasn’t saying.Yes, I was madly in love with her?
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’d never really considered it, and then we broke up, so I guess I’ll never know for sure. Either way, it’s obvious that we weren’t meant for each other.”
“Is anyone?”
It was taking him a long time to reload that brush with paint. “Do you really believe that?”
