Page 103 of Scandalous Lover

Well, I know the feeling.

I look over at Sam and he grins back, his eyes already on me. I sigh and turn back to the view out the passenger door, heart aching.

We’re heading to the island village, Saubry, for breakfast after sleeping late and having coffee on Dom’s magnificent patio. I was nervous to suggest the trip to town. After all, secretly sleeping together is very different than parading around in public, but Sam was quick to agree.

He pulls up in front of a low, gray, cinder block building, the same place Reina parked when we came to town together last week.

He doesn’t help me out of the car or hold my hand as he leads me down the sandy path through the open fence of a restaurant and bar. There’s an outdoor seating area with tables made of plywood and colorfully painted golf cart tires, and a fire pit surrounded by low stools made of the same.

I smile at the clever recycling idea and pause to take a few pictures. They would be better if I was in them, as pictures of people always perform better, but I don’t want to bother Sam to take my picture sitting here like some kind of tourist.

Instead, I quickly pocket my phone when he pauses in the doorway and looks back for me, rushing up to his side—too close—before remembering myself and taking a step back.

He just leads the way in as if I wasn’t having a complete social anxiety meltdown over how I should be acting right now.

“Do you want to grab a table?” he suggests. “I’ll get you a menu.”

I choose a seat on a bench at the end of a long, empty table, figuring it will look less like a date that way. Sam slides in across from me and lays a laminated menu down in front of me.

I smile up at him. “You don’t need a menu?”

“Nope,” he says, grinning. “I always get the same thing. I think the cook might have a heart attack if I tried to order something different. She’s probably already getting it ready for me.”

I get stabbed by a pang of longing, something that’s been happening more and more. This time it’s for the simple familiarity of his words. To be known by someone—in real life. To show up at the same place and order the same thing enough times that it’s some kind of tradition.

It’s never that way in my life. Once I’ve been somewhere and been photographed eating the food or posing in front of the stylized fireplace, there’s not much point in going back. I always needsomething new.

“Well, maybe I should just get the same thing you always get,” I say, glancing over the menu but not being able to process the words over the chattering in my mind.

“It’s not a bad choice,” Sam responds.

I push the menu toward him and drag a happy smile back onto my face. “Perfect.”

He places my order at the bar and comes back to the table with two waters in plastic cups and sits down on my bench instead of across from me.

“Slide over,” he laughs when I stay frozen to the spot.

I obey and he keeps sliding until he’s right next to me.

“You sure you want to be seen so close to me?” I ask, even though I tell myself not to.

“I’m not afraid to be seen with you, Naomi.”

“Because your friends are all in a different country?” I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m having a lot of feelings right now, and most of them aren’t good.

I’m just jealous, I guess.

Jealous of this life Sam gets. A life of real friends and community and self-assurance.

Jealous of the girl I was pretending to be in the golf cart. The girl who got to live this life with him.

Because I sure as fuck am not that girl.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I blurt out, practically jumping to my feet.

I’m sure Sam noticed something was wrong, but the last thing I want to do is make a scene in his favorite bar and embarrass him in front of all the people who clearly know who he is.

I cross the sandy floor and lock myself in the tiny, hot bathroom stall, leaning back against the wooden door. I hate that this is the reaction I’m having. We just did it for the first time, and it was soamazing and fun.

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