20: The Jury Was Still Out

"You can be a red light, stop!" Sam sang as he gathered the front of my crewneck in his hands and used the force to lightly press me into his bedroom wall. "Or run right through!"

"I can be a danger, danger for you." Unlike him, my voice was far more quiet. There were a couple reasons as to why, such as the way that I was trying to conserve my breath in that moment of high stress. Every time Sam got too close like that, his mouth nearly touching my own, I had to make sure that I didn't default to an asthma attack. The other reason was because I couldn't sing at all, and unlike Sam, I was very self-conscious of that.

Then he closed the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine at the beat of the song. He had these powerful Bluetooth speakers all throughout his house, and Sam chose that day to connect to the one in his room and turn the volume all the way up as I'm Not Okay by Weathers played.

He tasted like the mint gum that he was chewing on earlier. Sometimes when Sam kissed me his lips were anything but soft from his obnoxious habit of poking and prodding at them with his teeth. But other times, like that one, they felt gentle and I didn't have to worry about hurting him. With his bruises nearly faded, it was easy to forget about any of those things. It was easy to pull him closer and pretend that everything about our relationship was perfectly normal.

His body pressed closer to mine. His hands found my hips as they explored under my shirt. I was drowning in his touch and proximity. Every slight movement of his fingers against my skin. It was intoxicating.

Then finally, he pulled back. "I'm not, not, not, not okay!" He was right back to singing the song as though nothing tore his focus away. My breath was weak and my face was flushed.

I just watched as Sam stepped back, bobbed his head along to the music, and then turned back to me with a grin. "Come on."

I pushed myself off of the wall and stared at him quizzically. "What?"

"Come on." He grabbed my hand in his and tugged me forward a bit with a laugh. I nearly tripped, but did my best to keep up with him as he guided me toward his door.

Like always we had the house to ourselves, and it wasn't really the accomplishment that most young couples — or whatever we were considered — would have claimed it was. Every time I walked through his front door to the massive lonely house, I just felt worse and worse for Sam. He always assured me that he loved his parents whenever I brought it up, and he constantly claimed to be unbothered by their absence. But it still felt wrong for a home so big to be so empty.

He pulled me to him and crouched slightly in front of me, and I quirked a brow. "What are you doing?"

"Get on." He instructed.

I was very reluctant at first, but when he gave me a pleading look, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to win that one. So I conceded and wrapped my arms around his neck. He lifted me up, carrying me on his back down the stairs. His music faded dully in the background, and I wondered what the hell Sam was planning.

We had been hanging out for at least an hour, doing homework, followed by Sam serenading me with his awful singing voice, and then quite a lot of kissing.

So when he set me down in the middle of his kitchen, I only grew more confused. The room was probably at least triple the size of a normal person's kitchen, with marble countertops and gray glass backsplash. Sam patted the island countertop, looking at me. "Feel free to take a seat here."

That only caused me to be more confused. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to cook you something." He answered. "And also I think it would be cute."

Moments like those were always a shock. Sam and I had been seeing each other for approximately three weeks. It was Wednesday, and I was probably supposed to go home and eat dinner with my family in about an hour or two. However, Sam was bold. And sometimes his boldness made me feel a bit more confident in myself. It was possible that being around him was actually doing me some good, though the jury was still out on that one.

"Let me try to help you." I told him. I didn't feel comfortable just sitting around while he cooked.

"Can you cook?"

"No..."

"Then sit your pretty ass down on that counter and let me cook for you. You can help by being the eye candy." He winked, walking to some cabinets and pulling out a cutting board.

"Well, just so you know, my pretty ass is worth more than being eye candy." I muttered, levering myself onto the spot he instructed and scowling at him as he began pulling out various ingredients.

He laughed. "Oh trust me, two things can exist simultaneously."

I rolled my eyes at the suggestive nature of his words, allowing my gaze to wander along with my thoughts. "What are you going to make?"

"After extensive research watching you eat at Jack of Clubs—"

"Why and when would you have done that?" I cut him off.

"I've been there about a million times when you and Millie were also there. We've known each other for years, remember?" Sam reminded me. "And as I've told you before, maybe I'm a bit of a stalker."

"It's very off-putting."

Sam stopped what he was doing to grab his phone out his pocket, disconnecting from the upstairs speakers, and reconnecting to the ones in the kitchen. I noticed them in the upper corners of the room. "And yet you're attracted to me anyway."

"Between the stalker-like qualities and masochism, what's not to like?" I mused.

"The question for the ages. Anyway—" he returned back to the original topic. "—I'm going to make you the most unhealthy plate of loaded fries you've ever seen."

That was not only something I hadn't been expecting, but I never would have guessed that Sam would be able to cook. It occurred to me that without his parents around, neither of them probably did much cooking. So when did Sam eat dinner, and how much of it was homemade? Was that why he taught himself how to cook?

Upon first thought, I assumed that he was going to take out frozen fries or something like that. But he was cutting potatoes as we spoke. While it wasn't the most tasking meal on the planet, it also required some level of skill and practice to know what he was doing.

"You really are a stalker." Loaded fries were one of my favorite dishes at Jack of Clubs, and I was a slut for greasy, unhealthy food. My fast metabolism was a blessing that allowed me to eat like that carefree. It was probably going to catch up with me one day, but that was a problem I would deal with when it came.

"It's a talent."

We went between talking, Sam singing, and me simply watching as he went through the motions of making me dinner. I made sure to text my mom and tell her that I was going to be a bit late coming home, and pretended that I was going to get dinner with Millie so she wouldn't make me anything.

Something felt weirdly domestic about the way we were acting. Three weeks was most definitely not long enough for so much progress to be made between us, and yet it almost felt as though things were simply how they should have always been. I adored the way Sam would occasionally stop what he was doing to do a little dance, or how he would pause to look my way. Like he was making sure that I was still there, and he would smile every single time our eyes found each other. Fuck, Sam was beautiful.

Fuck, I really needed to get my thoughts in check.

He finished cutting the potatoes, and he began to fry them on the stove. I couldn't help myself from asking the question, "How'd you learn how to cook?"

His hands found various seasonings. "I sort of just taught myself. We used to have a cook when I was younger since someone had to make dinner, but as I got older I got interested in learning how to do it on my own. So now I do most of the cooking."

"I barely know how to make mac n cheese." I admitted. "My mom loves to cook, and she works at a bakery. So when I try to help out, I'm more in the way than anything."

"You're not very close with your parents, are you?" His smile faded as he spoke, his lips pursing together.

I shrugged. "No, not really. I'm definitely a lot closer to my mom than my dad, but they're busy most of the time and it's hard to find ways to relate to them."

"I'm very close with my parents." Sam once more reiterated, and it was clear that he truly meant those words. I could see it in the way he said them, how his eyes softened. "I know they're gone all the time, but we have so much fun when they're around. It's just harder to find time for it nowadays."

"Have you told them that?"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't want to make them worried or feel like they have to take time off of work. It's not easy to run a business and make connections, so I get why they're always at the offices or dinner parties."

"But you're their son." I countered. Every syllable he spoke held more love than the last, but I could sense the hint of dejectedness begging to peek through. He definitely wished that they were around more often. "Their first job is to take care of you and spend time with you."

Sam stopped what he was doing to stare at me, searching for something in my expression that I didn't understand. Then he sighed, his usual laidback smile finally returning. "You're pretty damn cool, sugar. I'm so fucking glad that I manned up and kissed you."

That was not what I was expecting him to say, so I couldn't keep the blush at bay. I rolled my eyes to try to play off how much his admission caught me off guard. "Yeah, yeah. You'll be eating those words when this inevitably ends in horrific flames."

"I'd love to hear some more about your awful worldview, it just might be what turns me on the most." He wiggled his eyebrows, and I just stared at him blankly.

"You and your masochism." I tsked. "My awful worldview is going to come to a very unfortunate end if you don't keep those fries from burning."

He suddenly startled, quickly turning back to the cooking food and tending to it. When his back was turned towards me, I felt my lips lift into a grin of my own. Whatever he was doing to me, it was certainly more than I originally bargained for. When I first agreed to give him a proper chance, I really didn't think it was going to last more than a day. But three weeks later Sam was making me dinner and I was smiling like an idiot.

Eventually he finished, topping the fries with plenty of cheese, bacon, and onions. My mouth was watering at the mere sight of it. Sam knew too much about me, and as much as I wanted to say that it was creepy, those fries were looking too delicious for me to even think about turning them down.

We sat at the island counter, since Sam said that the dining room table was too big so he hated sitting at it. I didn't blame him. Everything in that house was too big. I couldn't fathom what it was like to navigate everyday life in this place all alone. He was a lot more strong-willed than I was.

We talked the whole way through dinner. Sam told me stories about his failed attempts at learning how to cook, including the time that he messed up a pasta dish so terribly that he gave his whole family food poisoning. Or when he tried to make his mom a Mother's Day cake but nearly burnt down the kitchen instead. I laughed and relished in the delicious taste of his food. A part of me wished that it would never come to an end. Moments like those made our relationship feel normal. It made Sam feel like just some guy who made me blush, not the boy that caused real criminals to keep their eyes on us.

At least if we didn't end our relationship and no druggies killed us, I would never have to learn how to cook. That was a small victory, and the thought of it helped me keep those dismal thoughts away.

I felt hopeful. I felt invincible.

•O•O•

I think this is my favorite chapter in the rewrite so far! I hope you liked it too :)