Chapter 29
I stare at the dark skyline speckled with the lights of Pittsburgh as Sam runs his fingers through my hair. Sitting on a patio chair on the balcony, we’re wrapped in a sheet. I’m in his lap with my back pressed to his chest and my head on his shoulder. Both content, we’ve been sharing the view in silence.
Sam digs his nose into my hair and breathes in the scent. “You know you’re perfect, right?” he asks, breaking the silence.
A deep, self-deprecating laugh escapes me. “I don’t think so.”
He pulls me closer, places his warm hand on my breast, and gently squeezes. “Perfect.”
“Breasts do not make a woman perfect,” I say with a nervous laugh, and push his hand away.
“They’re the first of many perfect things.” He kisses me behind my ear.
Though we’re in shadows from the light coming from the lamp inside the room, I twist my head and look up at him. “Don’t put me on some crazy-ass pedestal. I’m so not perfect. We both know I can be a bitch.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “I like a woman with spunk.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m stubborn.”
“I’d call it principled, strong,” he says, grinning.
“I’m oblivious and totally dense sometimes.”
His teeth shine white as he smiles down at me. “That’s just plain cute.”
I shake my head. No, it’s not. Being oblivious to everyone’s feelings except my own is partly why I unknowingly hurt him in the past. As he grins at me again, I realize I want him to know everything about me, even the self-absorbed parts of me. Being with Bryce was just about having someone around to have a good time with. Being with Sam is all or nothing.
“It’s not, Sam. You of all people should know I can be obsessively selfish.”
The grin on Sam’s mouth disappears, and I’m suddenly a bundle of nerves. Does he really view me as perfect?
“Peyton, you’re one of the least selfish people I know.”
I shake my head again. “No, I’m not. Look at the way I treated you.”
He shrugs. “You were just a high school girl thrilled by the idea of the most sought-after band member wanting you.”
“Yeah, and nothing else mattered in my little world.”
He rolls his eyes.
I sigh and look out over the city. “Sam, sometimes I’m obsessed with myself to the point of being completely superficial. I worry about my future, my grades, my weight . . . to the point of ridiculousness. Other people get cancer or have to mourn the death of a loved one or have a brother with schizophrenia.” I turn, looking at him gently, then point to myself. “And me? I’m worried about the size of my ass. Not exactly humanitarian of the year.”
He grabs my hand and holds it. His thumb draws circles over my knuckles as his gaze searches mine. “If you were actually superficial, you wouldn’t have these worries,” he says. “Everybody worries about the future and getting good grades. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, you care even though you haven’t gone through any of those awful things. And you do care. Do you remember chasing after my brother in Charlotte, Peyton? You never for one second thought about not coming with me. You care about Seth and about me, and look how we’ve treated you. You’re even nice to the guys in the band. You do our laundry, cook for us, and even pick up after us. But as far as your ass . . .” He slides a hand under the said body part. “It is definitely perfection.”
My brows rise. “And when it gets bigger?”
He squeezes. “More perfection.”
“Yeah, that’s not what all the guys in my high school thought,” I say before I can stop the self-deprecating comment.
“Like I said before, blind fools. Thirty pounds more would never take away your beauty.”
“Well, wow.” I groan and fall back on his shoulder. “Now I’m sure I don’t deserve you.”
He snorts against the skin of my neck. “Like I haven’t been a dick. We’re here together. Finally. And all your imperfections are perfect to me. I was crazy about you then, and I’m even crazier about you now.” Sam pulls me closer with the hand on my butt and kisses my bare shoulder. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
There is another imperfection I can’t help bringing up—especially since guilt over the way I broke up with Bryce has been lingering. After a nervous dry swallow, I say, “And what about the cheating? I heartlessly cheated on two of my three boyfriends.”
Sam’s gaze whips to mine. “Who was the third boyfriend?”
“Just a guy from my journalism class who I went out for about three months during sophomore year. But are you listening to me?”
“Well-l-l,” Sam says, “since both times you cheated were with me, I’m not going to complain.”
I draw in a deep breath. “Aren’t you—you worried that I’ll cheat again? On you?” The last question comes out in a squeak.
He shrugs. “No. Not really.” When I pull away from his shoulder to give him an incredulous look, he asks, “Do you know why?”
Truly bewildered, I shake my head.
His hands follow the curve of my hips to my thighs. “You. Me. We’re meant to be together. I’ve felt it from the beginning.”
My expression turns skeptical but he ignores it.
His head tilts in thought. “Being an English major, I’ve read just about every kind of love story there is, from Shakespeare to Fitzgerald. Some end happily, others in heartache, and most in tragedy. But I’ve connected with each one, even the sappiest”—his hands tighten on my thighs—“because you’re my star-crossed lover, Juliet. Because I’ve been cold, proud Mr. Darcy pining in torment for you. Because you’ve been Estella Havisham, blindly refusing your feelings. Because, like Jay Gatsby, I’ve been obsessed with my former lover.” He lowers his head until his gaze is even with mine. “But together we’re Buttercup and Westley riding off into the sunset on white horses. We’re Lucy and George whispering from their room with a view. Jane and Mr. Rochester reuniting amid the burned ruins of his estate.”
Air is caught like a fluttering butterfly in my throat. I’m overwhelmed by the comparisons and can only stare at him opened mouthed until he adds, “Superman and Lois Lane flying in the night sky.”
The butterfly escapes as a laugh bursts from me. “Great Expectations to comic books?”
He smirks. “Some comics are classic too.”
Feeling semidrunk on his words, I twist around and grasp his jaw. “Do you know how many times over the past weeks I’ve wished I would have fallen for you back then instead of Seth?”
He stares at me for a few silent moments before asking in a hoarse voice, “How many?”
I lean forward, my hands slipping into his curls. “Countless,” I say against his lips before kissing him long and slow. Kissing him is so right, I can’t imagine kissing anyone else ever again.
His hands move down my back to my butt, jerking me toward him. At the touch of his hard heat between my thighs, I’m thinking forget the bed—right now, it’s about this patio chair. We need to try everything at least once.
But a loud clunk and a voice yelling “What the fuck?” interrupts us. Someone beats on the room door and yells, “Sam!”
Realizing Gabe’s trying to get in, I scramble off Sam’s lap, drawing the sheet with me. “What time is it?”
Sam reaches for my waist. “Who cares?”
I step away from him and into the room, searching for my clothes. The clock on the nightstand reads three eleven. Gabe keeps pounding on the door. I’m tugging my shorts on when Sam comes in and kisses my neck.
“He’ll go away eventually,” he says softly, then runs his tongue over my shoulder.
“Get dressed!” I hiss, pushing him away and trying not to laugh. “We’re not leaving Gabe in the hallway.” Gabe has opened the door a sliver and is rattling it back and forth to try and free the chain that Sam—very smartly, I think now—must have fastened before we came outside to the patio.
“Fine.” He reaches for his shorts but pauses with one leg in as I clip my bra on. “You’re staying, right?”
I snatch my shirt from the floor. “And sleep with you while Gabe’s in the next bed? Ah, I don’t think so.”
He finishes pulling his shorts up. “Gabe won’t care.”
I pull my shirt over my head. “I’ll care.”
Before my arms are down, Sam’s wrapped around me. “Come on, Peyton. Please. Stay.”
The feel of his arms around me tempts me to.
“Come on!” Gabe rattles the door harder.
I try to envision sleeping next to Sam all night with Gabe snoring a few feet away or, worse, Sam getting me hot with Gabe snoring right there. Ah, no, it’s not happening. Untangling myself from Sam, I say, “We can meet up in the morning.”
“Morning, shmorning,” he grumbles as I toss his shirt at him.
“Put it on,” I say, moving toward the door after slipping on my flip-flops. I hesitate before removing the chain. Gabe isn’t dumb—he knows why the chain is up, and I’m not in the mood, nor will I ever be, to hear his shit. But this is his room, so after checking that Sam put his shirt on, I reluctantly let the chain loose and open the door.
Gabe’s fist pauses midair. “Well, hello, Peyton. Strange meeting you here,” he says with a sarcastic grin, breezing past me. “Oh look, Sam’s bed is all messy, even missing some sheets,” I hear Gabe say. His laughter follows me as I fly out the door.
Sam catches up with me in the hallway and pins me to the wall. “Don’t I get a good-bye at least?”
“Good-bye,” I say sweetly.
“And a kiss?”
I raise an eyebrow.
He raises one of his.
“Fine,” I say, leaning toward his lips, then give him a quick peck.
“That’s not a kiss,” he says flatly as his fingers tighten around my arms.
“My lips touched yours,” I say wryly. “That would be the definition of a kiss.”
He huffs in annoyance, jerks my body to his, then covers my mouth in a long, searching, hot kiss as his hands roam over my body. He breaks the kiss with a smirk, and has to untangle himself from my arms to step away. “Good night, Peyton,” he says softly.
“Night, Sam,” I say dreamily, watching him saunter back to his room.
Once the door closes, I stumble like a drunk to my room.
Neither Romeo nor Justin wakes up when I enter the room. Still in a daze, I wouldn’t care if they did.