Page 23 of Ambiguous
His phone vibrates, and he shifts so he can answer it, removing his arm from my back. “Hello?”
I can hear the person on the other side telling him that they know we’re in here and are working on the lift and will get us out as soon as they can. He hangs up.
Then he grabs my hand, and it feels as natural as could be. His voice is soothing, and it breaks through the fog of my fears.
“I’m sure we’ll start up again in a moment,” Sam says. “We’ll be fine. We just need to keep it together until they get things sorted out.”
“Your voice,” I whisper. “Please. Keep talking.”
“I will. Um. So… it can’t—won’t—last long. This has happened before to people in this building, and they get out. Maybe an hour or two.”
I inhale sharply.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Do you want me to call anyone for you?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t want this to become an international incident.”
“I don’t think there’s anything else we can do right now except keep calm. Here. Let’s both get more comfortable.” Sam eyes me, likely noticing that my unbuttoned shirt and blazer don’t restrict me the way his clothes constrict him.
He slides off his jacket, tugs at his bow tie and pulls it off, then undoes the top button of his shirt. He sets the bow tie down on his knee, and I finger it.
“Take it,” he says. “It’s okay.” I feel the navy blue silk between my fingers. Between his calming voice and sitting down, I start to breathe. “Stay with me. Just take one breath after another.”
The lights flicker. And then they go off, and we’re alone in the dark.
“Seriously?” Sam asks, a frustrated bite in his tone. “Seriously?”
But for some reason, being in the dark makes me forget that I’m trapped in a metal box—well, notforget, exactly, but it doesn’t constantly remind me, either. I lean against him, inhaling his scent, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever smelled.
That scent grounds me even more. It’s not overwhelming at all. Unless your nose is right near his skin, you’d never notice it.
And no, it’s not ironic that I care what his aftershave is, when so many people ask about mine.
“Do you wear Tom Ford?” I ask.
“What?” I hear a smile in the way he says it.
“Is that Oud Wood?”
“Yeah.” Sam’s voice sounds scratchy. “How did you know?”
“It’s my favorite. I don’t wear it because I’m, uh, sponsored by a different brand. But I love it.”
“Oh.” He hesitates. “Thanks.”
We sit for a moment, and I can feel my heart rate slow down. I take a few deeper breaths, and something inside me loosens.
“Want me to turn on my phone for a light?” He shifts against me. I like his solid presence next to me. I play with his tie some more, the soft silk comforting, like a childhood blanket.
“Actually, being in the dark is easier. Then I can pretend…” I trail off, not wanting to focus on the fact that we’re still in a tiny metal container dangling however many floors off the ground. “Just, can we keep it this way?”
“Sure, Jules.” And the way he says my name makes me want to weep. So does the fact that he reaches out, fumbles around, and grabs my hand again. “This okay?”
“Yes. Please don’t let go. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Hold my hand as long as you like.” He hesitates. “Or until the cameras show up. I don’t want Jules Hill to be caught holding some guy’s hand. They’d probably think I’m with you.” I can feel heat radiate from him. “Sorry, that was the wrong thing to say.”
I take a deep breath. “It’s true. And funny.” Then, because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Are you… do you hold guys’ hands often?”
