Page 96 of Mud, Love, and Chemistry

I narrow my eyes, but give a playful smirk as I climb in the sedan. As the door shuts, I take a quick second to observe my surroundings. It’s clean. Cleaner than I’d expect for a college guy, anyway.

The way it smells, though, is the worst.

It smells like Sam. Lavender and sage saturate every inch of the interior. I couldn’t avoid thinking about him even if I tried. I breathe deep and close my eyes, allowing his scent to envelop me, but they pop back open as the driver’s side door shuts.

“Where to?” Sam asks, leaning onto the steering wheel. “Home?”

Staring straight through the windshield, I debate my answer. I need something to distract me from Connor. From the tantalizing aroma of Sam’s cologne wafting into my nostrils with every inhale, but if I go home, I’ll lay in bed and sulk.

I shake my head, both in answer to his question and to clear it.

“I can take you to my place.”

I whip my head up to look at him, half expecting to see his eyebrows bobbing. All I see, though, is a sympathetic crinkle in his forehead and concern lacing his eyes. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to throw myself at him. I know he would do a damn good job of distracting me from Connor, and as drunk as I am, I’d let him. But I’m still pissed about this afternoon. The only reason I’m with him now is because when I needed a way to escape the bar, he was it.

My rumbling stomach gives me an idea. “I’m hungry. Can we go to the Double Clutch Grille, please?”

“Where’s that?”

“I’ll navigate. You drive.”

Chapter 30

As Sam drives away from Coyote Canyon, he doesn’t try to engage in conversation with me. He doesn’t prod me about my mood or ask about what happened with Connor. Aside from my directions every few minutes, it’s completely silent in the car. The radio isn’t even on.

I don’t mind. In fact, I’m grateful. My brain is such a jumbled mess of thoughts, I don’t even know if I could hold a coherent conversation. I’m still struggling to process what I saw at Sam’s apartment, and after Connor’s attack, I can’t think straight. I’m angry, hurt, and embarrassed by both men. Yet, here I am, relying on one of them to get me away from the other.

What a cluster-fuck.

When we pull into the parking lot of our destination, Sam’s forehead crinkles. “A twenty-four-hour truck stop?”

“Mhm. They serve breakfast all day,” is all I say as I exit the car.

Sam jumps from the driver’s seat and rushes around to meet me, but I push past him. I’m still unstable on my feet, but he’s not the person I want to lean on. He follows me inside and to a booth in the back corner. As I slide into one side of the booth, he hesitates like he wants to sit next to me, but instead takes the other side.

A server comes over, sets two glasses of water down, and hands us menus. “You kids know what you want?”

“I do,” I say, looking at Sam expectantly.

“Uh…” He scans the menu. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

The server turns her frustrated, exhausted gaze to me. “What’ll it be, sweetie?”

“A pot of coffee and two French toast platters,” I say, turning my gaze away from Sam to hand her the menus.

She leaves with the menus, but returns fairly quickly with our coffee, two mugs, and a little tray with a whole slew of sweeteners. “Cream?” she asks, and when I nod, she brings us a metal carafe of half and half.

Then, Sam and I are alone.

Focusing on slowly tearing open the packages of sugar, I pour them into my coffee. I stir each one before opening the next, staying completely silent. After I’ve emptied my usual four sugars, I pour the cream until my black coffee turns a nice shade of taupe.

“So, this place has good breakfast?” Sam asks, an eagerness to his tone like he’s trying to break the ice.

All I do is nod. My whole body teems with confusion. I’m still angry with Sam, so I don’t want to talk to him, but I’m stuck with him right now. That doesn’t mean I have to look at him. Instead, I watch my hand as I absentmindedly stir my coffee.

Sam clears his throat. “I still don’t know how you can take your coffee like that.”

I lift my gaze to glare at him, but when I find a look of adoration on his face, my shoulders slump. I guess the shock of seeing Connor took all the fight out of me. “It’s better than yours.”

---