Page 79 of The Love You Fight For
I click my phone off and set it beside me, then drop my head to the couch.
She wasn’t smiling with him, though. That’s what I tell myself. It wasn’t her real smile. It wasn’t the smile I can draw from her. That matters more than the cost of the jewels on her neck. It matters more than the money he has in the bank or the power attached to his last name.
Sam would never be happy with someone like Ashton Cartwright.
But she would be happy with me.
TWENTY
The apartmentabove the bar stays dark. My phone never rings.
I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. Sam and I have never texted or talked on the phone. She’s always just breezed in whenever she wanted and left when it was convenient for her. I heard from Macon that Sam came down for Lennon’s birthday, but I never saw her.
As the weeks stretch on, it feels like last time, but worse.
The last time she disappeared without a word, it was right after she put a stop to our heated encounter in my truck, and I didn’t harbor any hope for a redo. My pride was hurt, and I was fucking horny, but I wasn’t heartbroken.
This time, though. This time is different. I’m not being naïve. I’m not being fooled by rose-colored glasses. This heartache is real. This longing, bone-deep and ever-present, is real. And this time, it’s painfully fucking obvious.
I am in love with Samantha Harper.
My cold queen. My avenging angel.
That’s why, when I see her car in the bar parking lot a month later, I don’t hesitate to text Paul and ask him to cover my shift. Themoment he shows up and takes over the bar, I leave through the back exit and head up the stairs.
She opens her door after the third knock, and her unfeeling eyes drag down my body as I lean on her doorframe with my arms crossed.
“I didn’t order a maintenance check,” she says, voice bored.
I smirk even though it hurts, then I step past her and into her living room. As I expected, she has her little writer’s nest set up on the couch.
Laptop, notebooks, water bottle, snacks.
I study the plate full of cheese, crackers, and some unwrapped dark chocolate squares.
“Let me guess.” I reach down and snag a chocolate square. “Dinner?”
I pop the chocolate in my mouth and chew as she glares at me from her spot at the door. She doesn’t have to say it. I can hear it in my head.I’m eating it at dinner, so it’s dinner.I smile, and she narrows her eyes.
“Why are you here?” she asks with an annoyed sigh.
I shrug and choose to go with honesty.
“We said goodbye on bad terms at the lake. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She waves her hand dismissively, then gestures to the door.
“I’m great. You may leave now.”
I cock my head to the side and do a once-over. She looks like she just got out of the shower, with her hair wet and twisted into a clip. She’s wearing another pajama set and her face is free of makeup. She’s sickly pale. Her lips are chapped. She appears thinner. The circles under her eyes are a dusty purple. There’s no sparkle in her blue irises. When I zero in on her nails, they are perfectly polished, but her cuticles look red and swollen, like she’s been picking at them.
She’s a ghost of who she was at the lake.
She looks how she did at my sister’s, but five times worse.
“You’re a good liar, princess,” I say slowly, closing the distance between us. “But I told you before. I’m not fooled.”
“Get out of my house, Casper,” she says through her teeth.
