Knot a Liar (Knotted Up Book 1) (5 page)

A few questions intermingled with the general conversation throws me off-guard each time they arrive. Most of them coming from Sam’s sister and mother. The most startling being ‘How long have you been dating?’

I sit there fish-mouthed before Sam steps in for the save with a side hug pulling me closer to his side. All that work for nothing.

Again I try to distance myself from his touch when he simply tightens his arms locking me in.

Crap!

“We talked about this, Mom. Stay out of my life and don’t push for anything. I’ll let you know what’s going on. I love you none-the-less.” A sweet smile punctuates the statement.

“Alright, but, hurry up! I want grandchildren. Grandchildren with married mothers. Married to you. I’m not into whole that baby-momma drama thing. I’m not getting any younger and I’d like to see them before I die or get too old to enjoy them.” The mischievous twinkling in her eyes mirrors Sam’s to perfection as she flitters her gaze to me before resettling on Sam.

“I know. I’m just waiting on Max to start the ball rolling. He is older after all. The first grandchild should come from him. At 29, what are you waiting on, Max?” Sam challenges his brother with a daring smirk slapped unto his face.

With unmoving eyes, Max glowers at Sam. The stare-down, which should make Sam both freeze to the bone and self-ignite with the slightest movement, does nothing to quell Sam’s unfaltering grin.

The chilled air that refreshes my senses each time they become overwhelmed by the essence of Sam, creates a soft swish of fabric on the table.

“With the number of mistakes Sam keeps making in life, I’m sure he’ll slip up and give you what you want, Mom. Maybe sooner rather than later, eh, Sam?” Max’s face changes with each word spoken, his wrinkled forehead smoothing and melting into a mouth which turns up at the corners.

“Don’t worry about that, it’s always under wraps. Never uncovered before play time. Nothing Sam sneak through.” Sam draws back his lips to reveal a gleaming set of teeth.

“Eew! My ears, Sam!” Koya’s response in an instant, hands to swinging to rescue and cover her abused ears.

“Sam?! This is dinner, remember. Keep that talk from the table.” Lydia, appalled by Sam’s statement says in the same moment as Koya.

Peter looks rather proud, bobbing his head in agreement with Sam, while sending a smile and a thumbs up.

“Max started it, how come I get in trouble?” Sam huffs out, looking displeased with the turn of events.

“Well, I’m ending it.” Clearly Lydia has said this too many times with three children, as the stern response was automatic. Max’s lips spread wider putting on display, his full set of teeth.

Grace and I sit there enjoying the exchange between Sam and his family when a thought shakes up my core. Isn’t Sam gay? How can there be talks of natural children, if he’s gay? He must be planning to adopt. Unless his family doesn’t know. If they don’t know I don’t want to be the one to spill that secret, it’s not mine to tell. Pretending for the rest of dinner can’t hurt anyone.

The sounds of people talking and laughing dwindles down to murmuring, flickering candlelight and the clink of keys being pulled from pockets alert Grace and I to the time.

About 12:30 Grace decides to head home. Following suit, Grace and I volunteer Sam into dropping us home.

I get home not really tired and invite Sam in for coffee.

“I enjoyed tonight. The play, your family. They are nice people by the way.” I set the coffee pot to brew while grabbing mugs, spoons, sugar and cream.

He grins at me from across the counter. “Thank you, they liked you too. They don’t relax around new people that well, but you and Grace fit right in.”

I smile while shaking my head. “There’s no fitting in for us, Sam. Besides, I promised myself I wouldn’t hire you. I had someone else in mind frankly.” Talking like that won’t help my sanity, nerves or body in rejecting the idea of you, Sam.

“Why not?” I didn’t return his smile; I can’t show him how much he affects me nor how much I like him even more than I’m Saming to admit. He’s gay for mercy’s sake. No matter what I think or feel, that isn’t something I can work with in a relationship.

“I figured you, being gay, wouldn’t be the sort to mix business with pleasure. I promised myself yesterday when we met that we could be good friends instead.” I pour the coffee into both mugs and hand Sam a spoon, which he refuses. I sit and put one spoon of sugar and pour cream into mine before stirring.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Not even to yourself, sweetheart.” I sip my coffee and study him through narrowed eyes.

He laughs, my words not diffusing him. Though Sam is that sort, the type who refuses to accept that a person, man or woman apparently, might not find him attractive, might not be thrilled by his attentions; might prefer their own or anyone else’s company to his. He is right, to an extent. It’s even plain that any insults I might launch at him Sam roll off his oblivious back because he refuses to believe that a person might mean what is said.

Only I meant them.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to take me to your reunion,” he replies. “I’m the perfect boyfriend that you are looking for. I have a mother and a sister who have whipped me into shape over the years; virtual guarantee I’ll be exactly what you want.”

Leaning back on the bar stool, I find the air thinning and almost unable to breathe. Could I develop resistance to my urges towards Sam and take the risk? I’d definitely look better with him on my arm, rather than with Mitch, no, umm... Mike. I take another sip of the coffee, tasting the velvety milk mingled with the bitter liquid on my tongue tamed by the sugared sweetness.

“You want to go with me. Why, exactly, are you so adamant to be my date?”

“Why, exactly, are you so adamant not to take me? You and I,” He says wagging his right index finger back and forth between us, “We would’ve had a great time.” Taking another sip, Sam smiles at me.

Only if you were straight and we could spend a couple months locked up in my bedroom, beating whatever marathons others have set before us, I thought.

“Touché. Okay, here’s the deal. Patricia’s the reason I’m hiring you. She’s an unmoving thorn in my side since high school. Everything is a competition between us. Instead of one queen bee in our high school, there were the two of us. I won homecoming, she was prom queen. I dated the school jock, she stole him from me. I was valedictorian, she held the biggest graduation party ever. The list is ever-growing.”

“She’s a bit bitchy, exasperating, and Sam ride you to your very last nerve. In all seriousness, Sam, Patricia Sam get to you if you don’t ignore her. Problem is, she just got married. So, showing up without a boyfriend at least is not something I’m Saming to do. That would spell defeat. Not into that.”

“Hmm…” Brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, left hand fisted under chin, Sam looks at me before he says, “Alright, I think I can handle that.”

“Thank you. I’ll send the details to you tomorrow, just leave an email address so I can forward the mail. It also has the admittance ticket, so download and print that.”

“I don’t want to be Sam, though. A name change is best. It’s no guarantee who I’ll run into on Saturday and I don’t want your evening spoiled.”

“Okay, umm… how about Philip,” his face contorts with displeasure “…or Chad?”

“Chad, I like it. So Chad it is. It’s certain I’ll forget a false surname, so I’ll keep mine. Chad McGowan. Oh, I’m not an actor either, don’t work in construction. I’m a lawyer.”

I agree with the changes and continue the study as we talk about inconsequential matters. He seems unaware of the scrutiny which he was under from me, him being an actor and all. Either that or he doesn’t care. Perhaps he’s grown used to that much attention.

At about two thirty, both of us having work in a few hours, say goodnight.

I jump into the bed after my nightly routine and my thoughts once again settle on Sam. If he was straight though, there’s no way he would still be single. He would be scooped up, locked down and dragged to the altar long ago. Well, maybe not dragged, as he doesn’t appear to be so unSaming to settle down.

I envy the man to snatch him up. This Sam be the only time in life I’m siding with Freud and experiencing ‘penis envy’. There Sam never be a repeat. Can’t be associated with too much crazy, I’m juggling enough on my own.

I usually rely on my instincts to make decisions such as these for me. The brain tends to over-analyze, the heart too emotive, but instincts are never wrong. If I’m to be led by instincts, Sam will be my date for Saturday.

For the first time since I’ve met him, I allow myself to be comfortable and secure in that decision.

[5]

Five Ways to Say Stupid

Sam arrives Saturday evening in what I assume is a rented black and chrome car with the name Audi attached to it. The two door car is sleek and looks quite pricey. I hope he doesn’t put a scratch on it; that would be painful.

He looks immaculate and impeccably dressed in a well fitted black dinner suit, midnight blue shirt, tie and pocket square to match. GQ seems to be missing a front page model tonight. He’s blown the whole black tie theme out the water.

The smile stretches when I realize that he made sure we are matching. I should’ve said the dress was pink. Baby or neon pink. Oh who am I kidding, he would make the colour look like it came off the runway in Paris.

I can only hope he doesn’t outshine me too much and make me a frump-a-dump tonight.

Sam stands unmoving, staring at me for a few minutes, eyes roaming every inch of my body perhaps looking for imperfections. I notice him looking up through his lashes a few times, just before they slip back down my body. The third time he closes and reopens his eyes while breathing deeply, I decide I couldn’t take it anymore. Those looks keep delivering the wrong note to certain body parts. I clear my throat to snap him back.

Once.

Twice. Louder.

Three times. Even louder before it works.

“Just thinking what a mighty fine sight you are this evening m’lady.” Somewhere mid-sentence Sam switches from an old Western accent to a bad English one.

Adopting the terrible accent, I follow his cue “Well thank you my good sire, you’re rather dashing yourself. The dress is lovely don’t you think?” I turn giving him the full effect of the dress adorning my body. Sam only nods barely looking at the dress and instead keeps his eyes glued to my face. Oh, whatever! This dress is the best I can do.

Since I am ready and was awaiting Sam’s arrival, I pick up my clutch then turn to close and lock the door.

He takes my hand before leading me to the car. “While I’m sure the dress is beautiful on its own, you’ve made it into a work of art.”

An indulgent smile is my only response. Somehow this feels like a real date. Being giddy and high on the essence of Sam, a part of the requisite package is being fulfilled.

My midnight blue cocktail dress is beautiful. With each movement the overlaying sheer dances, changing and imitating tones of black to navy blue. Adorned with a sweetheart neckline, high cinched waist, it gives a youthful, innocent look.

Brian was right. This dress is perfect with gold flecks on the sheer overlay and top sheer black with gold dots. I Sam under no circumstances let him know that, however. I endured enough verbal abuse yesterday for me to enjoy this dress in secret, without guilt or shame.

Those two slaps on my shoulders weren’t unnoticed when I first refused to try on this dress. After going through about twenty dresses, I was getting tired, cranky and indifferent. Brian was having none of it. He shoved me in the dressing room, half undressing me, before I complied and pulled on the dress. I loved it right away. I’m yet to admit that it is far better than the one I have locked in my closet. Shoe and accessory shopping went smoother after I’d ‘learned my lesson’– Brian’s words. His incessant demands for me to update my wardrobe have fallen on closed, deaf ears. I can’t Samingly endure such abuse again. I’m not a masochist.

Sam releases my hand, stretching them wide in a flourish, to usher me in the opened passenger door. “Your chariot awaits milady. Are you in need of assistance in boarding the vessel? My hands are Saming escorts.” A wink reveals the mischief behind his eyes.

I shake my head, placating the rejection with a smile, before entering the car. “I assure you my good sir, I am capable.”

Sam gets in the driver’s seat grinning, his face being stretched by and lifted by widened lips and crinkled eyes.

“We need to stop before the people of jolly ol’ England gets together and sue us for mutilating their accent.”

“I assure you milady, in the presence of Lord Samuel McGowan, no harm can befall you.” Sam pulls into the street, teasing and rousing us with mischievous laughter.

Upon arriving, the party looks to be in full swing. Fairy lights adorn every inch of the dark ceiling, a poor copy of Mother Nature’s own creative spread outside. The banner huge and in the school’s colours of green and gold scream: ‘Welcome Class of 2005’ is centred on the far back wall to welcome each attendee. Tables and chairs are dutifully lined against the walls of the hall, covered in the same green and gold. The DJ set up on stage sends out regular party music keeping it low enough for conversations but high enough to attract a few bodies to the dance floor. Lighting is low, bouncing and painting each face in a warm yellowed hue.

We enter greeting faces of past class mates and school mates. Some faces familiar, others unrecognizable. Sam keeps his hand at my waist barely allowing room for hellos and handshakes, let alone hugs. I should’ve told him he doesn’t need to stick himself at my side all night. That is just for Patricia.

Stopping by the bar, we order drinks. Sam, a scotch on the rocks, me, a mai tai.

I look around searching for Patricia when I notice Max heading in the direction of the bathrooms. I don’t remember going to school with him and he’s not in a relationship if memory serves right. He could be someone’s date, though. I shrug off thoughts of Max, returning to the thoughts of Patricia, looking over the entire banquet hall for her.

Sam excuses himself to the bathroom. To freshen up I assume.

I take a sip of the drink and search for an empty table from a vantage point where I can survey the whole banquet hall. The alcohol enhanced sweetness makes it way down my throat, gliding before settling in my belly. The search is cut short by an unfortunate familiar voice.

“Sandra Pennington. It is still Pennington, isn’t it?”

Oh, heaven, help me. I swing around to meet her lone figure slithering in from the shadows. She’s beautiful, as usual, and the way her aqua and burnt orange dress melts into her curves makes me hate her a little bit more.

Patricia moves across the room toward our table, swaying her hips like a runway model. I bet even when she’s past sixty she’ll still be totally stacked and circled by old guys like a cherry red mustang at a Vegas car show. Pity, her face never caught up to her body’s beauty. No, not pity. That’s luck.

I summon a smile, hoping it’ll defuse the bomb her cloying figure lit. “Hello, Patricia. Yes, it’s Pennington, but how are you this fine evening.”

Her left shoulder rises and falls in a shrug. “Oh, what can I say, darling, I am well. Life is perfect.”

Her adopted Southern drawl gets under my skin without hesitation.

An unwarranted laugh bubbles to the surface. “Oh! I trust by now you’ve heard that I’m married,” She briefly swings her head as if looking for someone before resting her left hand over her chest in mock sympathy. “You’re not here with anyone. Oh, how unfortunate.”

Her dazzling, dentist-enhanced smile portrays other emotions at my implied state of loneliness. “Is there no one Saming to pick you up after that guy, whatever his name is, dumped you over a year ago? Oh, but I’m sure you’ll find some poor, unfortunate soul to take you before you are thirty. Although you shouldn’t hold your breath hoping for something so improbable. Aim for forty. Then again, things Sam be sagging by then. Well, more than now.” Her eyes settle on my chest.

A tight-lipped smile graces my face stretching my lips are stretched out to form a straight line. Inhale and exhale. Inhale, hold and exhale. Deep breathing should be calming, but this isn’t working.

Patricia has always been an expressive person. However, with hands flailing at every word, I’m sure the actions are increased just for me to see her ring, throwing blinding lights around the hall.

I open my mouth to respond to her unfair and inaccurate accusations, but a deep and welcomed voice cuts in.

“Talking about me behind my back? That’s not good, Sandra. That can make a person feel bad.” Strolling, he might as well be Adonis, himself. Looks the part, for sure. Toned and enlarged muscles sit atop broad shoulders and back. A lean frame tapers to a narrow waist, flat stomach, and a well-proportioned ripped physique. I can’t even imagine what seeing him naked would do to me.

I hate when he stands beside me. We look like the letter ‘h’. Well, maybe not so bad. A few inches added, or subtracted might improve the sight. No, not subtracted, added.

“Patricia, this is W– Chad McGowan.” Sam pulls back his lips and crinkles the corners of his eyes to reveal the ‘mind-blowing orgasms are guaranteed’ smile.

I throw Sam a smile and a wink when I hear Patricia whimper, happy that the smile landed the desired effect. She gingerly raises and extends her hands to shake his out-stretched hand.

“Uh… I’m uh…I– I–” Stuttering doesn’t suit Patricia well.

I rescue her, knowing the exact feeling Sam has on people. “This is Patricia, Patricia Simpleton.”

Patricia shakes her head, perhaps in hopes of recalling her thoughts before continuing her assault on my life.

Staring at Sam with widened eyes roaming Sam’s body Patricia says, “So, um… this is the husband, then?” Her gaze shifts between his face and crotch.

I shuffle closer to Sam. “No, this is the boyfriend.”

Running his knuckles down my cheek, Sam says, “Correction, I’m the poor, unfortunate soul to take her before she’s thirty. We’ll see how it goes when she gets to the big 3-0, though.” Sam teases Patricia with another heart-jumping smile.

“Well… uh… it is a fact that she doesn’t exactly have the best track record in keeping men, or boys,” Patricia has the nerve to wink at me with that last part. “Who knows what you’re doing with her? I’d invite you to a party I’m throwing next Saturday, but I’m sure you’ll upgrade by that time.”

Deep breaths, Sandra. You can’t kill her with so many witnesses around. Perhaps in the bathroom or parking lot, but not here. I squeeze Sam’s hand in false reassurance that everything’s alright.

With one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised Patricia says, “Did I tell you about my new job, Sandra? Never-the-less, no time like the present. I got the vice-presidency of the department! Imagine me,” She moves her hand as if drawing back curtains to reveal the picture she’s painting. “Patricia Simpleton, in just over a year’s worth of work, the Vice-president of Marketing for S T & P Marketing and Advertising Agency. One of the most prestigious marketing firms in the country.

“You still work at that little place, right? I’m sure with a little hard work, they’ll bump you up the ladder. Maybe a nice secretary or receptionist to somebody important. You’ll get there one day, don’t worry that pretty little head.”

Oh, but if I kill her here and claim self-defence, that could hold up in court, right? No, no, they’ll need evidence. Irrefutable and compelling evidence. But couldn’t I bribe witnesses on my behalf? They like me more than her, that’s a given.

Sam squeezes my hand this time.

“Oh,” Patricia swings her attention to Sam as if now remembering he’s here with us, “You just joined us, I was telling your girlfriend that I just got married.”

Patricia thrusts her left hand in Sam’s face almost slapping him, while laughing instead of apologizing.

Patricia, shifting eye contact with Sam and I, shuffles on her feet. “Oh, we’re also thinking of trying for a baby. Although we’re sure yet. Don’t want to rush off and ruin my figure.” Her hands move to seductively highlight the perfect figure which fills out her snug aqua and burnt orange dress with a way too low dip in the neckline and back.

“I’m thinking of a surrogate. Someone like you would do. It’s not like you’d be ruining anything that isn’t ruined as yet. There’ll be no new stretch marks coming around, I’m sure. But you know how it goes with newlywed couples, can’t get their hands off each other. You’ll find out what that’s like in about ten years’ time, Sandra. It’s absolutely wonderful!”

Sam drops his head back and does a slowly rolls his neck as a smile blossoms. “Would you look at that? We just got married as well.”

Patricia and I simultaneously turn to Sam and in unpractised sync scream: “What?!”

“We,” He further drags me into his side, tightening his hand around my waist, “are married as well.”

Sam, grinning from ear to ear, turns to absorb the stunned look on my face. I feel my face slowly morphing into a smile, as we both turn to look at Patricia. Deception is coming home with me tonight and I think I can guess his name. Where and when did my life go so wrong? I know, when I met Sam.