Page 54 of Maid of Dishonor

Because how am I supposed to resist her? How am I supposed to resist Sam when she looks at me like that? And why did I forget that I have no right to flirt with her, much less kiss her, after the way I pushed her away?

* * *

We stayin the water for maybe an hour, mostly floating on pool noodles and talking to each other and the rest of the team. After the almost-kiss, I’m an absolute freaking gentleman, never ogling her body, but I can’t say the same for Vance and even a few of the other guys. It’s like they took my words in the dugout—my harsh, unnecessary claim that Sam was one of the guys to me—as permission. Like before that they thought she and I were a couple, but upon finding out it wasn’t true, they’re moving in. I do my best to keep my glares to a minimum, since I know I technically have no right to be warning people away.

I half expect Vance to ask her out before we leave, and sure enough, he catches up as we’re leaving. Sam waves at me to go on ahead, so I have no choice but to do so. I walk around the house, just out of sight, before straining my ears, listening as hard as I can. It’s no use, though; whatever Vance is saying, he’s speaking quietly.

Sam comes around the house a minute or two later, and we make our way to where we’ve both parked on the street.

“So what did he want?” I finally say when I can’t stand it any longer.

Sam shrugs. “He asked me out,” she says, like it’s no big deal.

But it is a big deal. It’s a very big deal.

“And what did you say?” I ask. I think my face might look weird right now from how hard I’m trying not to glower.

“I told him I’m not emotionally available,” she says, her voice flat. “Let’s change the subject.”

Okay, so she said no. I breathe a little easier. “All right. Well, where are we going?” I ask, flipping my keys around my finger as I speak. “You texted and said we were making a stop before going to do all the clothing stuff.”

“Just follow me,” Sam says, very much not answering my question.

“It worries me that you won’t tell me,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. I asked earlier and she wouldn’t say then, either. “And are you wearing that?” I gesture at the shirt she’s wearing—myshirt—and her very bare legs.

She just grins at me over her shoulder. “It’s fine. He’s an old friend. I’ve got shorts in the car, anyway.” Then she gets in her car, and I’m forced to follow suit.

The drive Sam takes us on isn’t familiar at first. I follow her car down one main road and then another, but a few turns later, I start to recognize things—and get suspicious.

“No, Sam,” I groan to myself when I realize where we’re headed.Don’t turn left, don’t turn left—

She turns left.

“Freaking Jeremy Kleinfeldt,” I mutter.

I follow her through a few more turns and then, before I know it, Sam is pulling up and parking in front of a large Tudor-style house. I do the same, though really I’d just prefer to turn around and go home.

“What are we doing here, Sam?” I say when I meet her at the foot of the driveway.

“Jeremy has kindly agreed to help us send our fake horoscope to Maya,” she says as we start to walk. “And I didn’t tell you because of that right there,” she adds, pointing to my frown. “What is your problem with him? You’ve never liked him, and he was only ever a complete gentleman to me.”

My problem with him? My problem with him is that he asked Sam to junior prom before I could, which kicked off their year-long relationship and left me with a huge bouquet of sunflowers I had to give to my dad instead of Sam. She and Jeremy broke up when we all graduated, so naturally I can’t help but wonder if they’d still be together today had they not gone to different colleges.

I don’t tell Sam any of this.

Instead, I say, “I didn’t realize he still lived with his parents.” Admirably I do not snicker like the petty, immature twelve-year-old I apparently still am inside.

Another eye roll from Sam as we come to a stop at the front door. “He doesn’t. He’s home for the summer, visiting his family.” She looks over at me and frowns. “Unfold your arms. Stop glaring. You look like a club bouncer.”

That’s pretty much what I was going for, but I let Sam pry my arms out of their folded position anyway, her words filtering through to me.

How does she know he’s in town? Do they still talk? Why didn’t I know that?

Trying to sound casual, I say, “So you guys keep in touch?”

Sam sighs. “Not usually, but he reached out when he got here earlier this summer. We haven’t hung out or anything.” Her cheeks redden a little. “He seems like maybe he’s interested in—you know. Rekindling our relationship or whatever. And I don’t want to lead him on, so…”

I breathe a sigh of relief as she trails off and then knocks firmly on the door. She’s not still interested, then. Good. That’s good.

---