Not So Nice Guy Read online

  He feigns disappointment. “Really? That was the only reason I proposed.”

  “You can back out if you want. There’s still time.”

  His gaze falls to my mouth and he reaches out to yank my lip free from my teeth. I didn’t realize I was nibbling on it.

  “I should be saying the same thing to you. You’re the one who’s rebelling against her parents. My parents love you. When I call them later to tell them about this, my mom will probably lose her voice from screaming so loud.”

  I grin. “That’s because I’m loveable.”

  His finger traces my knuckles. His touch is feather light. “I know.”

  POP. POP. POP. My bubble wrap keeps deflating.

  “What time did we get our marriage license?” he asks, changing the subject like a pro.

  “I don’t know…4:50? The courthouse closed at five o’clock and we were the last ones in line.”

  “So then at 4:50 on Friday, we will have waited the required 72 hours.”

  That’s soon—three sleeps soon.

  “I think it’s a good idea if we don’t see each other until then,” he continues.

  “But tomorrow is West Wing Wednesday.”

  We’ve never missed one, not even for illness. Once, Ian watched in his bedroom while he had a stomach bug and I watched in the living room. We shouted to each other through the door.

  “I know, but I think it’s important to give you time to really consider what we’re about to do.”

  “Oh, yeah. Okay.” He does have a way of overloading my brain. “Do you need time too?”

  “No.”

  That word was locked and loaded in his chamber. He says it so quickly, without a blink, and it hits me like a bullet.

  Ian’s in love with me.

  POP. POP. POP.

  Our gazes lock and my apartment becomes a furnace. My sofa seems even smaller than usual and Ian takes up so much of it. I’d only have to scooch over a little bit to reach his lap. I could crawl on top and hook one knee on either side of his hips. He’d be trapped there, completely at my mercy.

  “What on earth are you thinking about?” he asks huskily.

  “Taking advantage of you. Remember how we were sitting in your car on Saturday? With me on your lap?”

  He groans and pushes off his knees to stand. The episode isn’t over yet. Ryan hasn’t even crushed up Aspirin into Michael’s pudding.

  Ian goes to the bathroom and when he walks back out, it looks like he splashed cold water on his face. I think Ian wants to have sex with me and he’s trying to convince himself it’s a bad idea. Just the thought makes me clench my thighs.

  “Where would your dream wedding take place?” he asks, keeping a safe distance from me across the room.

  That’s easy.

  “The star exhibit at the natural history museum. You know the room right before you go into the planetarium?” It’s domed and lit up with a million stars. “It’s where you stepped in gum that one time. Now come back over here and sit down so I can kiss you.”

  He nods and moves to the door. “Okay. If you still want to marry me, meet me there at 4:50 on Friday.”

  I jump to my feet. WHOA. This is happening. “Do I need to do anything?”

  “I’ll handle all of it.”

  “What about my dress?”

  “Wear whatever you want. It can be a pantsuit for all I care.”

  I grin. “I always knew you had a thing for Hillary Clinton.”

  “Sam.” He’s staring at me with serious eyes…I-love-you eyes. “Think this over.” His hand tugs through his hair. “I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing you into anything. Don’t come on Friday unless you’re sure.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Maybe we should be scared.”

  I scurry over and cut him off on his way to the door, blocking his way out. If he wants to leave, he’ll have to go through me.

  “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  His gaze is on my lips. That cold water is all gone and his bedroom eyes are heating up. I take full advantage, grabbing ahold of his t-shirt and tugging him toward me. He obliges and takes a step closer. I tilt my head back and his throat is so close to my mouth, I tip onto my toes and kiss him there, right on his pulse line. His hand hits the door beside my head.

  “Sam,” he warns.

  “Kiss me before you leave, just once. I need something to remember you by if I won’t see you until Friday.”

  His fingers trail up my neck, slowly. He’s thinking over my request, weighing the pros and cons. I wish I was wearing a teasing little slip. My blue dress is fit for the classroom, not for seduction. My hands are my only weapon, so I trail them up his neck and then I’m cradling his face. His bristly jaw tickles my palms. He swallows and his muscles shift. I’ve never dated a guy as big as him. In the past, I chose pipsqueaks on purpose, guys I could have shared pantsuits with. An image of Ian trying desperately to shove his leg into a pair of my pants sends a smile to my lips.

  He tips his head. “Why are you smiling?”

  His words whisper against my mouth and a full-body shiver rolls through me, one he definitely sees. It makes him smile too, and then our lips are finally touching, but we’re both still smiling. I laugh into his mouth. His hands grip my butt as he rocks his hips against mine and my heart slams against my rib cage. The move reminds me that Ian can flip the script so easily. One second, he’s my best friend, and the next he’s the not so nice guy, the man who handles me like he’s barely resisting the urge to devour me whole. Our smiles fade, he presses closer, and our kiss turns hot. His hands burn across my skin. A few of the buttons on my dress are undone. My hand is down his jeans. I’ve never undone a zipper so quickly. It’s a talent I’ve largely ignored up until now, but maybe I should go on tour and show off my skills. THE SPECTACULAR SAMANTHA: Look how quickly I can seduce my fiancé. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it!

  My hand sneaks down the front of his boxer briefs. My little kiss is turning into a little more, and I’m so damn pleased with myself. I’ll get an orgasm if I’m lucky, but Ian is smarter. He knew my plan all along. He extricates my hand with a heavy sigh and steps back. I hate him for his superhuman resolve. Why does it matter when we have sex? Why can’t we just bang it out right here on my welcome mat? Who cares if the letters on the mat imprint themselves on my ass? Who cares if my neighbors hear us when they walk down the hall to get their mail?

  Leonard, grab that package. Wait, do you hear that? I think an animal is dying in 2A.

  They’ll file a noise complaint and I’ll tape the yellow warning slip to my refrigerator with pride.

  “Friday,” Ian promises before picking me up underneath my armpits, shuffling me to the side, and walking out my front door.

  19

  S A M

  72 hours is enough time to go up and down a rollercoaster of indecision so many times I feel nauseous. One minute, I’m feeling spontaneous and adventurous and I tell myself things like, Don’t second-guess this. Do it! Live! The next minute, I start to think of the logistics. We’re making a hasty decision. You don’t just marry someone on a whim. We know each other so well, but I’m sure there are still hidden sides to Ian. For instance, I’ve never slept in a bed with him. I don’t know what temperature he likes to set the thermostat to at night. He could be an inconsiderate blanket hog.

  I sleep very little Tuesday night and on Wednesday morning, it’s time to face the music. All the commotion about the potential elopement means the whipped cream photo took the back burner in my mind.

  Technically, Ian and I have been placed on probation until further notice. It’s Principle Pruitt’s way of saving us from a mandatory leave situation, or worse, termination. Mrs. O’Doyle isn’t satisfied, though, and the part of my brain that isn’t taken up with thoughts about Ian is waiting for the other shoe to drop with her.

  She’s not the only person hungry for retribution.

  Bianca and Gretchen are waiting for me ou
tside my classroom when I get to school.

  Bianca’s arms are crossed and she blocks my path so I can’t unlock my door. “Was that fun for you both to see us drooling over Ian like that? Why’d you tell us you weren’t together if you clearly were?”

  I sigh, tired from lack of sleep and a constantly whirring brain. “I wasn’t lying that day in the teachers’ lounge. At the time, we weren’t together.”

  “Save it. We know you’re on probation for dating him. It’s against the rules. The parents are upset. You two won’t last the rest of the week.”

  She huffs and sticks her nose in the air then snaps for Gretchen to follow after her.

  It’s not exactly the way I want to start my day, but then I walk into my classroom and find a thermos full of hot coffee, a granola bar, and a single red rose waiting for me on my desk. Its petals are full and open. I promptly trim it and put it in water right away then proceed to stare at it for most of my day.

  Ian stays true to his word and we don’t see each other at all on Wednesday or Thursday. He doesn’t come to the teachers’ lounge during lunch. Ashley sits with the Freshman Four and I’m left all alone, picking at a turkey sandwich and missing Ian. We don’t do West Wing Wednesday. We don’t even chat over text or email, which feels weird, but I think he really wants to give me space. I walk to the bike rack after school on Thursday and catch sight of the soccer field in the distance. Ian is out there running drills with his team. My legs want to carry me in his direction until I’m right there in the thick of it. Soccer players would have to dive out of the way to keep from pummeling me. I’d fling myself onto Ian’s back, hook my arms around his neck, and tell him to continue on with practice. I wouldn’t get in the way. I just want to smell him, to feel his arms and hands and hair and remind myself that this perfect human wants to marry me and I’d be absolutely insane to turn him down.

  Instead, I bike extra fast on the way home.

  I’m surprised to find my dad waiting for me at my apartment. He’s wearing one of his fancy lawyer suits and looks very uncomfortable out on the curb. His scowl warns me to expect another battle and I steel my shoulders accordingly, but when he sees me ride up, he stands up and waves.

  “Hey kiddo.”

  I drop my weapons. “Hi Dad.”

  He’s only ever been to my apartment a few times. He thinks I should live at home to save money. To him, the chipped linoleum and ugly brown carpet are beneath me.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he says after I let us in. He’s poking at one of the books on my shelf and reading the spine. I’m grateful it’s not Pirate’s Hidden Treasure.

  “Thanks. Did Mom send you?” I ask, bringing him a glass of water.

  He accepts it and nods. “She wanted to make sure you were okay after the other night. Also, she wants her plates back.”

  His teasing smile surprises me and I laugh.

  “Right, well, you can have the plates, but if you’re going to try to talk me out of marrying Ian, you shouldn’t bother.”

  He sips his water then places it on a coaster on the coffee table. “I’m not.”

  “Oh,” I say hesitantly.

  “But I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen.” He turns to me, his hands on his hips. He suddenly looks like a formidable opponent, and I wonder if this is what he looks like in a court of law. “Marriage is not something you should enter into lightly. Your mom and I were in love when we got married. We’ve been together for over 30 years now, and there have still been a lot of hard times.”

  This is news to me—they’ve always seemed perfect.

  “I know it seems exciting right now, but there will be trials down the road, and if you don’t start with a solid foundation, it’s going to make it ten times harder to weather the storms.”

  “I’ve thought about all this.”

  His brow arches with interest. “And you still think you’re making the right decision?”

  There’s no point in lying, so I sidestep his question. “Has Mom come around to the idea?”

  I take a seat on the couch and he joins me.

  “Afraid not. She’s still crying about the fact that you won’t be wearing her grandmother’s dress or getting married at the church.”

  I lean my head back against the cushion and smile, thinking back to the monstrosity hanging in one of the upstairs closets back at the house. “I wouldn’t wear that dress even if I was having a traditional wedding.”

  He leans his head beside mine and we stare up at the ceiling together. “That’s what I told her.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “I could be making a huge mistake.”

  “You could be.”

  “Or I could be making the best decision of my life.”

  He nods thoughtfully. “Who’s to say?”

  I glance down and see a folded blue handkerchief in his hand. It’s the one I remember him wearing when I was a kid. He’d fold it into a neat square and stuff it into the front pocket of his suits. His initials are embroidered on the bottom corner, and when he notices me staring at it, he opens his palm.

  “Something old, borrowed, and blue.” He offers it to me. “Best I could do on short notice.”

  20

  I A N

  I found our officiant on Craigslist. He’s technically a rabbi, but when I explained our situation, he agreed to marry Sam and me in the museum. Fine by me. I don’t really care how we get married. If we somehow get converted to Judaism in the process, so be it. Shabbat shalom.

  The last few days have flown by. In between teaching and coaching, I’ve been putting plans in place for Friday. When I called to tell my parents about the wedding, after my mom stopped crying, she told me she always knew I’d do something like this.

  “Once you put your mind to something, you do it! No questions asked. When you wanted to learn how to ride a bike, you went out on the driveway with a helmet and kneepads and kept right on trying until you were pedaling right past all the other kids in the neighborhood.”

  They wanted to drive down for the ceremony, but they couldn’t get off work on such short notice, so instead, I told them I’d keep my phone on in my shirt pocket so they could hear the whole thing.

  They’re on the phone now.

  I tip my chin down. “Testing, testing. Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear!” my dad shouts back.

  I get an amused look from the rabbi.

  It’s 4:45 PM. The rabbi and I are at the museum, standing in the antechamber where guests wait for the next star show inside the planetarium. The tall ceiling is domed and lit up like the night sky. Even still, the room is pretty dark and crowded. I’ll have a hard time seeing Sam. She really is small.

  “Is she there yet?” my mom asks.

  “No.”

  “Describe her to us when you see her!” she insists.

  It feels like I’ve been waiting forever. I really shouldn’t have arrived so early, but I wanted to scout out the area and make sure everything was set. After that, I went to the bathroom…found a snack…wandered around the museum.

  I’ve lost track of how long I’ve stood here, and I don’t want to check my phone again. If it’s after 4:50 and Sam isn’t here, I don’t want to know. As it is, I’m still hopeful that she’ll come.

  Another group of guests funnel into the planetarium and more people take their place. The rabbi shifts on his feet and I think he’s annoyed with me for making him wait so long, but then I glance over and he offers me a pitying half-smile.

  “Sweetie, is she there yet?” my mom asks.

  “You’re supposed to be listening, not talking. I’m going to hang up on you guys if you ask me again.”

  I’m sweating now. I can’t believe Sam is going to stand me up on our wedding day. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to be wild and crazy. I don’t want to give her a boring love story. For us, there are a million stars and a rabbi and a room full of screamin
g kids. It fits us better than any chapel could.

  I catch myself pleading in my head, Please come, Sam. Please come.

  Maybe I should have called her on my way here, just to see where her head was at, but I intentionally gave her distance. I didn’t want to influence her decision. I didn’t want her to feel bad if she’d changed her mind about going through with this.

  Sam needs space and time to adjust to things. The last 72 hours have probably been terrible for her. I imagine her pacing in that apartment and pulling out her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she shows up completely bald—if she shows up.

  Shit.

  Now I’m second-guessing myself. This was so stupid. What was I thinking suggesting we get married? We can find new jobs. We can go back to being just friends if it means I get to keep Sam in my life. I’ll keep my hands and my thoughts to myself. If she doesn’t want to be with me, I can accept that. Losing Sam altogether though? No. There’s not a fate worse than that.

  A small horde of children scream and run away from their chaperones near the entrance to the antechamber and then right behind them, in walks Sam.

  Holy…

  The air rushes out of my chest. A wave of goose bumps cascade down my body. I have to resist the urge to clutch my hand over my heart.

  “Ian! Why are you breathing hard! Are you having a heart attack or is she there?!”

  “Both.”

  “How does she look?”

  “She…her…I think…”

  My mom is exasperated with my lack of brain-to-mouth connection. My synapses have all disappeared.

  “What is she wearing?!”

  Sam and I lock eyes from across the room and she freezes when she sees me. There’s worry there—worry and amusement. She presses her lips together to hide her smile. Her head tips to the side and she shrugs like, Yup, I’m here, even though this is absolutely insane.

  I’ve cried twice in my adult life. The first was when I fractured my tibia during an intramural soccer game. It was so painful, I passed out. This is the second time. I’m a complete schmuck as I watch her start to walk toward me. She doesn’t have a clear path. She has to veer around kids who are running wild and adults who completely miss her. One lady steps back and nearly topples into her before apologizing.