NORMAL (45 page)

"There is. And surviving is a choice. And you're not just surviving. Not anymore. Look at you - you're on spring break with your friends. Last night you went out and partied, and if I'm not mistaken, had a pretty good time until you got sick. That's not just surviving, Ror, that's
living.
"

I wince at the reminder of last night. I
was
having a pretty good time, but not until I got sick, only until I got rejected.

"Yeah. Last night was...
somethin',
" I mutter, and when I lift my eyes, Sam's are even closer, and there's a heat in them I'd thought I saw last night, but I was mistaken. As I'm mistaken now, surely.  

But just below those eyes, is his perfect nose, and below that, his full, pink lips, and they part slightly as his face inches closer. "Sam." I breathe his name. I don't know why, but it's the only word my lips can manage. And then his lips are on mine.

I gasp, right into his mouth. He kisses me softly, almost reverentially, and I let him. And not only do I let him, but I kiss him back.

I kiss him back hard.

Sam groans, like he did last night, and
God
, the sound lights me on fire. But
wait, what the hell is going on?

I pull away. "You kissed me," I breathe.

"I did," he agrees.

"But last night-"

"I kissed you last night as well, yes," he replies. My eyes widen.
That is not what happened.
I thought
I
was the one who'd been drunk.

"Um, no, Sam, actually I'm the one-"

"Yes, you kissed me first. But I kissed you back, in case you didn't notice, I kissed you back a fucking lot."

I stand up and take a few steps away from where he remains seated on the couch. I simply can't think with him so close. I shake my head.

"But you stopped it," I argue.

"You were drunk. I couldn't take advantage of you," he says, still unmoving, save for his eyes which follow me as I pace in front of the coffee table. I shake my head again.

"But I told you I knew what I was doin'.
God
, I even asked you to..." I rub my face with my palm, blushing scarlet, beyond ashamed. Now Sam stands, and gingerly approaches me.

"I couldn't risk it, Rory," he says carefully.

"Risk what?" I ask earnestly, looking up at him through my lashes.

"Risk that you were just saying those things because you were drunk. Risk fucking us up when you regretted it in the morning."

I shake my head once again. "I already told you-"

"That it wasn't because you were drunk, I know. So now, tell me, did you want to sleep with me because you trust me and you want to know how it feels to be with someone other than
him?
Or because you wanted
me?
" His intensity radiates from his every pore and finds its way into mine. He is beautiful and I am riveted. His hand reaches out and pushes a lock of hair back behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my cheek, and I turn into his touch. "Tell me, Rory."

"Both." I answer truthfully. "But... but you said you only wanted to be friends."

"I did want to be your friend. I
am
your friend. But,
come on,
Rory, of course I want you."

"I don't understand," I admit.

Sam sighs. "I'd just met you, you know? I didn't want or not want anything in particular, I just knew I felt some... I don't know, connection, and I needed to get to know you. So when I offered to go for a walk and you made it very clear you were not interested in, well,
fucking me by the lake,
but I assumed you meant any kind of, you know, romantic relationship at all, I got that we could only be friends.

"So I took what I could get, Ror, can you blame me? And you've reminded me many times since then, by the way, that we're just friends. In fact every time I started to hope for something more, you reminded me. In the bathroom with Chelsea, even last Friday, when you found out I played football.
'We're the same as we've always been, Sayum, friends',"
he drawls in his Rory imitation, with a slight smirk.  

I breathe out a short laugh.

"So which is it, Ror?" Sam asks again, his timbre low and deep, like gravel. I shiver, in spite of how hot I feel right now from his proximity. "Are we just friends… or something more?"

I don't answer him with words. Instead, my arms, quite possibly of their own volition, slide up around his neck and I push up onto my tiptoes and press my mouth to his. I practically, literally, throw myself at him.

But he catches me.

His fingers clutch my hair and his lips move with mine. I'm not expecting the relief I feel in his arms, with my mouth against his. It's as if I'd been unsettled all this time, floating alone and desperate somewhere in space, and now finally, with his admission that he does, in fact, want me too, and the confirmation of his kiss, I'm finally back on solid ground. Sam is my anchor.

His arms wrap around my waist and yank me against him and I moan at the feel of his hard body against my soft, modest curves. Sam pulls my top lip between his, and sucks, and I moan again, too thrilled to feel embarrassment.

"Rory," he breathes my name into my mouth and he kisses me even harder.

His tongue slips past my lips and I don't hesitate, I stroke it with my own, and deepen the kiss even more.

We're all wet lips and tongues, sliding and crashing against one another. I'm in heaven, but I want more. He's walked us back to the sofa before I even realize we're moving, and he sits, pulling me down with him. I climb onto his lap, and sit astride him, leaving no gaps between our bodies.

My hands slide up his arms, exploring the taut muscles of his biceps and shoulders. His strength and power don't frighten me, no, they exhilarate me. My fingers run up the back of his neck and tug on his hair and he groans again.

The simmering desire inside me boils over until I'm desperate and panting between kisses. Sam's hands conduct an exploration of their own, running over my backside and just under the hem of my shirt. They feel my lower back, his thumbs roving over my hips, including my scar, which somehow does not repulse him. I sigh against his lips and then rock my hips against him completely involuntarily. I can feel that, yes, he does want me, and the proof of it is pressing against me in just the right spot.
Holy shit that feels good.

"Fuck, Ror," he groans, and then he's moving again and he lifts and rolls until I am on my back with him hovering over me, careful to support most of his weight on his forearms.

But my legs wrap around his waist and pull him down to me.

My fingers find the hem of his shirt and lift. Sam pulls away just enough to allow me to tug the whole thing over his head, and I toss it on the floor next to us. I take a moment - just one moment - to rake his body with my eyes. His physique is exceptional. Every muscle perfectly outlined, and I find myself thinking I'd like to kiss it everywhere. Robin was in great shape, but Sam, he's perfect. I've no doubt that Sam would win in a fight, and even though I know it will never happen - that I'd never even want for it to happen - in a cavewoman sort of way, the thought pleases me deeply.

I run my hand from his neck, down his strong chest and then trace the lines between each pronounced part of his perfect six pack. I watch as they each jump in the most sexy way at my touch.

Then he comes back down, flush against me, and his hand firmly runs up my side, pushing my shirt up as he goes, stopping under my bra. His thumb brushes my stomach, which rises and falls dramatically with each deep, panting breath I take.

Sam's lips crash back to mine, kissing and sucking, until he trails small, sweet kisses across my jaw and down my neck. My head flies back as his mouth and tongue gently work the column of my neck, a secret spot just below my ear, and the sensitive hollow of my throat. It's as if he knows exactly where I want his mouth, and he's happy to comply.

I've never felt so desired. And not just my body, no, there's deep emotion in Sam's eyes, a reverence in his touch, even in his kiss. I can feel it. I know he cares for me, he's said as much, but for the first time, I wonder if maybe it's more than that.

"You are so beautiful," Sam whispers before his lips find mine once again. "So fucking perfect."
Kiss
. "I think about you,"
kiss, kiss,
"all the fucking time," he confesses.

I sigh again.

I've never been more thrilled by words.
He thinks about me.
I can't believe it.

"I-" I start to admit that I, too, think about him way too much, but am startled by a knock on the door.

Sam's brow furrows as he gazes toward the door, still laying on top of me, where I desperately want him to stay. Perhaps with fewer items of clothing between us. I press my fingers to the crease between his eyebrows; it's so incredibly soft. He turns back to me and narrows his eyes, smirking. If he's going to tease me about my fascination with his eyebrow crease, I cut him off.

"Are you expectin' someone?" I ask, careful to keep my voice below a whisper.

He shakes his head. "Probably just housekeeping. They'll go away," he decides and then resumes kissing me.

Knock, knock.

"Go away!" Sam calls out in between kisses.

"Come on, Cap! Your phone's off! Let me in!" Tucker shouts through the closed door. Sam pulls back, his eyes wide with surprise, surely mirroring my own.

"What's he doin' here?" I whisper and Sam shrugs. I glance at the clock on the side table that says it's nearly noon.

"Cap!" Tuck calls again.

"One minute!" Sam calls back. He climbs off of me and I mourn the loss of his weight. I sit up and pull my shirt down to once again cover my stomach.

"You look fucking incredible in my underwear," Sam murmurs with a wry smile, and I swat his arm with a giggle. Tuck knocks again.

"Just wait a minute, will you?!" Sam yells again, and rakes his fingers through his hair. I grab my skirt and start searching for my purse.

"I put your bag on the night table," Sam whispers and I rush into the bedroom and grab it.

"What do I do?" I ask him, completely flustered. I know I can't handle Tuck finding me here, now, in yesterday's clothes, not to mention Sam's underwear. No, I can't handle the knowing look, or the vulgar teasing. I stare at Sam, desperate for his directive, and he looks worried for me, as usual.

"It's fine, Ror. I had them unlock the adjoining door this morning."

I breathe an audible sigh of relief and start to pad toward my room, grateful that Sam had the forethought to get me access to my room. He's like Cam in that way. Always thinking ahead, always thinking of me and my needs.

Sam grabs my hand as I pass and tugs me back to him before I can make my escape. "This," he gestures between our bodies, "isn't over," he says meaningfully.

I nod helplessly. It's difficult to focus with him shirtless right in front of me.

He lets go of my hand and I continue toward my room, glancing back at Sam and laughing softly when he adjusts himself inside his jeans. I quietly open both doors, and sure enough, they're unlocked. I close them carefully behind me and lean back against mine.

Holy fuck was that intense.

I've never felt such lust.

I've never felt such
love.

I jump when I realize I can hear through the hotel room wall.

"Dude, what
the actual fuck?
What took so long?" Tuck asks, exasperated, his voice barely muffled by the wall between us.

"I just got out of the shower," Sam replies nonchalantly.

I shouldn't listen. Eavesdropping is a terrible habit. My mother said so.

I do it anyway.

"Your hair isn't wet," Tuck observes.

"Did you need something?"

I hear an exasperated sigh. "Dude, Carl is driving me nuts!"

Sam chuckles. "My guess is the feeling is mutual."

"Caaaapppp," Tuck whines.

"What would you like me to do about it?" he asks patronizingly, like he's talking to a child.

"I don't know! Maybe get Pine to talk some sense into her? One minute she's all over me and the next she hates me. And sometimes she's all over me even when she hates me and I don't know what the hell to do with that!" Tuck is as frustrated with his relationship - if you can even call it that - as the rest of us are, apparently.

"Did you try to talk to her about it?" Sam asks rationally.

"Of course not, what am I supposed to say? Stop being a crazy bitch?"

"I wouldn't suggest those exact words, no. But maybe, just maybe, if you admit to her that you care about her as more than a fuck buddy, it might help the situation," Sam suggests.

"I told her she's my favorite hookup!" Tuck says this as if it's some heartfelt declaration of emotion.

"Again, not the words I would have suggested," Sam replies. "Well maybe I'm wrong, is that really all she is to you? Because it doesn't seem like it to me, and I've known you a long time, Tuck."