EWEW 14: Intimacy Issues

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L.W.T.B.B Copyright © 2012-2016 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

Rewritten Chapter Posted - April 1st 2016


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{ Chapter 14 } : Intimacy Issues

"Your mom is cooking dinner tonight."

Sam's gravelly voice carried out into the air, abruptly halting me in my steps, as I started for the staircase.

A little startled, I shot him a look over my shoulder. "What?"

Leaned against his doorjamb with his arms folded over his chest, Sam looked freshly showered, based on the state of his wet mop of hair. His green gems watch me intently, gauging my reaction.

I was momentarily distracted as I drank in his appearance; dressed in low slung jeans and a fitted black Henley, he looked edible with those roped muscles flexing at his sides.

"You didn't hear me?" he mocked in a low voice, tilting his eyebrow.

Now it was my turn to fold my arms over my chest in a mirroring manner. "I did. I just don't understand why you knew that bit of information and I didn't."

Sam's shoulder merely lifted in a casual shrug. "Your mom texted me."

My mom and Sam texted each other. I took a second to allow that to sink in. What the hell.

"Well, I wasn't aware." I hid my annoyance with the saccharine smile curving my lips."That's great to know. Only means that's one less task for me."

I fled down the stairs before any more words could be exchanged between us.

Sam caught up, his hand clamping around my wrist. He always caught up, damn it. "Now slow that fine a$s, Barbie. You and I need to talk."

In a impressive display of strength, Sam tugged on my hand until I whirled around on my feet, our chests almost colliding. A sharp gasp got lodged in my throat, and I swallowed roughly as I glanced up at him.

The warmth of his calloused fingers sparked tingles and stroke a frisson through my body. Mortified at actually feeling something at his touch, I retaliated with the best weapon - my attitude.

"I'm pretty sure I was drunk when I last told you it was okay to call me Barbie. Now I'm sober. Please, stop."

"Tough shit. You're going to have to suck it up."

We suddenly glared at each other for a moment, though I'm sure it was more like a gaze than a glare.

I muttered, "Fine, Beer Boy." Wanting to put some distance between us. Wanting to step away.

Samuel sighed and the motion caused a sudden drop in his broad shoulders, like he was truly worn out and exhausted by our constant antics. "Can we talk for a minute?"

The truth was I'd been avoiding Sam for the last two days after my little episode at the garage. I was embarrassed at my reaction, and even more so because three guys had witnessed my meltdown.

A stupid meltdown that I continued berating myself for.

I had many issues and those issues had no business mingling with Samuel Adams. He may not be what I initially expected, but it didn't change that I was a hot mess who couldn't be solved.

"What?" I feigned annoyance once again, but a part of me was dreading, longing, to know what he had to say.

His question surprised me - if not rattled me completely. "Are you okay?"

I cleared my throat, and tried stepping far away from him and the intensity of his concerned stare. He didn't let me budge. "Why wouldn't I be?"

We were standing three feet apart, but the way his enquiring gaze burned through me, we might as well have been a few inches away.

Sam dark blond brows furrowed. "You said some shit to Nate that day at the garage that I didn't understand. It got to me. You seemed pretty pissed off - for whatever reason - so I'm asking you if you're okay. When I asked Nate, he said it was nothing."

My nostrils flared and I panicked a tad bit. So we were going with a lie. "Then it's nothing."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

Sam turned suspicious and his eyes flashed, as if his mind was just cluing him in on a missing piece. "Did he hurt you-"

"Oh, God. No."

Frustration clawed at him and leaked into his voice. "Then what is it?" His eyes blazed dark with an emotion I couldn't decipher. "You said something about him walking you back to Danny's after I found you that night."

The only way to diffuse the situation was by telling the truth. "I know, Nate... We've met before the alley. He was just, uh, an old mutual friend."

I said I would tell the truth, not all of it. I wasn't about to air out my dirty laundry to someone I barely knew. Especially not to someone like Sam.

"That's it?" he egged on.

Realizing that he was still clutching my wrist with pressure, I made a face and rolled my shoulder, trying to get him to let go. He dropped my hand.

But he didn't drop the subject, like he was truly adamant on drilling the details out of me.

"I don't believe you," he stated matter-of-fact, narrowing his gorgeous emerald eyes on me.

Now I really needed to get away, before he started believing it - believing that there was more to my meeting with Nate. The only way he'd start believing it was if I spilled the truth, which also wasn't going to happen. Ever.

Exasperated, I raked my fingers through my straightened hair and Sam tracked the movement with wary eyes. "Look, Sam. It doesn't really concern you, so it's not your business. It's just complicated between Nate and I."

Suddenly taking a step forward, he growled lowly, "You guys were f*ucking involved?"

It took me a beat longer to understand what his words entailed. "Holy sh*it, Samuel." I scrunched my nose in disdain and ripped myself away from him. "I told you; it's nothing."

His distraught eyes swept the length of me, taking in my plain white tank top, my faded skinnies and my baby pink toe nails.

Seeming disgusting with something, he backed away, shaking his head, face screwed sourly as he muttered, "Doesn't seem like f*ucking nothing."

He slammed his bedroom door shut and the sound echoed in the eerily quiet house.

* * *

The aroma of fresh herbs, parmesan and tomatoes wafted in the air by the time I finally padded down into the kitchen.

My mom was standing by the stove top, stirring what looked to be get-in-my-belly-amazing pasta in a cast iron pot. She'd already thrown together a Caesar salad and I could smell her cheesy garlic bread.

The thought of a real homemade cooked meal made me immensely happy.

"Sweetie?" My mom called out to me, looking frantic.

I walked closer to her. "Yeah, mom?"

"I need to go take a quick shower and change." She was still in her pink scrubs, telling me she'd probably only gotten home half an hour ago. "Would you mind taking over for me?"

"Sure." I leaned down to kiss her cheeks. "I got it."

"Perfect. Finish seasoning the pasta, will you? And please keep an eye on the oven to make sure my bread doesn't burn."

My mom was practically scampering away when Sam sauntered into the kitchen. They shared a surprised look, before a polite smile quirked his lips.

"Mrs. Sereno," he said, flashing her a heart-throbbing dimple.

As Sam bent down, she pressed on her tippy-toes. He gave her two kisses on both cheeks.

"I've told you a million times to call me Isobel, Sam." My mom smiled at him - it was a real smile, not one she kept reserved for those who irked her. That caught me a little off-guard, because that meant my mom genuinely liked Sam. "Please, son, make yourself at home."

"Thank you." Pink tinged his cheeks and his eyes darted to mine over her head. "How can I help?"

My mom patted his sculpted shoulder. "Why don't you help Anna set up the table? I'll be right back. There's some wine for you both." She wagged a finger at us as she shrugged out of her work cardigan. "Remember, Michael only gets juice. Keep him away from the alcohol when he comes downstairs."

"Yes, mom." I rolled my eyes in a nonchalant matter, to mask my rapid beating heart. This meant Sam and I would be alone.

It got awfully quiet when she scurried out of the kitchen. My mom's humming could be heard until it meandered off when she ascended the staircase.

Our eyes met like crashing waves.

I glimpsed elsewhere to release eye contact, and focused on seasoning our meal.

"Where are the plates?"

God, his voice was like a gruff caress down my back. I jerked my head to the cabinets beside me, careful not to look at him. "First one on the right. Bottom cabinet."

Sam's gaze burned into my side. He knew I was avoiding eye contact. He could feel it, like an electrical current. Hell, I was feeling it.

The sound of his heavy footsteps matched my heart's patter. I felt him come up next to me and kneel.

There was something so strong and imposing about Samuel Adams, that you couldn't help but notice his presence when he walked into a room. Almost like he owned it. It was commanding, assertive and alluring.

I tried to keep my cool as he scattered through my cabinet, stirring my pot vigorously. I needed some olive oil, I quickly realized. The bottle sat on the counter, right over Sam's head, and I slyly reached over to grasp it.

At that moment, Sam stopped rummaging and raised himself. My elbow grazed his head and he lurched. I cursed, pulling away.

But it was too late and the accidental contact only caused him to move closer. His mouth ended up brushing the side of my right boob, over my tank top as he hoisted himself up to his full height.

I sucked in an audible breath.

Sam's nostril flared. His gaze bounced back and glided over my face. I couldn't breathe. His throat worked with a difficult swallow.

"I'm sorry." His voice was husky and strained as he deposited my mom's china on the granite counter.

Feeling flustered all over, I chose to ignore his words and my wildly pumping heart. "C-Cutlery is in t-the d-drawer."

"I'll get it."

The next moments were painful as Sam set up the table and I checked on my mom's garlic bread.

I was hyperaware of Sam's every move, and I suspected he of mine. My eyes betrayed my mind as they raced over his figure in between stirs, taking in the strong sinewy muscles of his back, honed from years of training and football, no doubt, flexing deliciously under his shirt as his hands made quick work of dressing our kitchen table.

There was something strangely intimate about watching such a masculine guy smooth over my mom's linen and handle her favorite crystal vase with such measured delicacy in those big hands of his.

He noticed me watching him and I looked away deftly; but not before catching the ghost of a smirk that touched his lips.

"It's done," he murmured, voice alarmingly close. My arm brushed the side of chest - he was that close. "Some wine?"

My next breath came out in a splutter of shuddering exhales. "W-What?"

Samuel pressed closer; so close that I could see the hazel flecks in his orbs, the light stubble beginning to grow on his face, and the small new cut marring his otherwise perfect dark blond brows.

"Wine, Anna. Can I get you some wine?"

He curved an arm around me to reach for the bottle of white wine on the counter beside me and I further stiffened.

"Um." My voice wavered and I forgot to pay attention to my pasta. "Sure."

I never thought watching someone open a wine bottle could be so hot and flustering.

Sam concentrated on his task; his bottom lip trapped with his upper teeth, his brows knitted in concentration, his biceps bulging with the action.

He flourished one of the wine glasses my mom left for us and handed it to me with nimble fingers.

I took a dainty sip as I added the final touch to my pasta - balsamic vinegar - and relished its crisp flavoring on my tongue.

I licked the remnants of my sip from my lips. "You don't want some?"

Sam's gaze was on my mouth. "Can I have some?"

I frowned before setting my glass down. "Of course. Why not?"

Samuel gripped my wine glass by the stem, placed his lips on the rim where mine had been - where you could still see my lipstick stain - and took a healthy swig, keeping his half-mast eyes on me.

Immediately I had a flashback to Joshua's party, when he'd taken a sip of my drink. Except this time it was so much more...sexy.

Sam made a hungry sound in his throat as he handed me back my glass. "Mm. Tastes fucking good."

My throat ran dry.

Sam chuckled.

Oh, boy...That sound...There was something about his voice - whether husky, raspy, gravelly - that always did something funny to my insides.

"Anna!"

Sam and I wrest away as my little brother came running inside the kitchen. Michael's eyes shifted to Sam and his voice died down. His mouth hung ajar as his eyes shone with unabashed hero worship as he evaluated Sam's size.

"Hi," My brother said in awe, instantly walking closer to Sam with his small feet and frame.

When Sam didn't utter anything, I turned to him and found myself at a lost for words.

There was even something bigger happening to Sam. His demeanor morphed from playful to soft in a flicker. Vulnerability burned in his features, causing his Adam's apple to bob with nervousness as he combed a hand through his unruly hair.

"I'm Michael," he chirped, flashing Sam a toothy grin as he walked even closer. He barely reached Sam mid-thighs.

Sam crouched down to my brother's tiny height and my heart exploded at that sight of seeing such a giant guy turning to putty at the hands of a six year old.

Carefully sitting on his haunches, Sam extended a hand in greeting, and a shy smile curled his lips. "I'm Sam. Sorry we didn't get to meet last time, little man."

Michael's hand was swallowed in Sam's. "Are you Anna's boyfriend?"

Shit. Sam's face riveted my way and he arched an eyebrow in an amused fashion, and I practically saw the wheels turning in his head as his cocky and confident mask slipped back into place. Guess the mention of my name was the ice breaker he needed with Michael.

"No," Sam drawled, barely containing his laugh. "But I am a boy and a friend."

I cocked my eyebrow now, as if saying, oh, really?

Satisfied with that answer, Michael ran to me and clutched my leg. Through long lashes, he gazed up at me innocently. "Anna, I'm hungry."

"I know, buddy," I cupped his cheek in adoration. "Just a little longer. We're waiting for mom."

My little brother tried climbing the cabinets then, like he always did when he wanted to sit on the kitchen counter. His attempts were usually useless, meaning I'd always have to help him. For once, before I could get to him, Sam tucked his hands under his armpits and lifted him in the air, before sitting him down in his rightful place. More boyish laughter escaped his mouth.

But what left me surprised for a second was Michael attitude. He'd never seemed so free and comfortable in the company of one of my friends, let alone guy friends.

So I was acknowledging Sam as a friend...ish. No. He was just a classmate staying with us. I think. Or my mom co-worker's son. Ugh. I didn't know.

Sam and Michael fell into an easy camaraderie and I smiled in between cooking when I heard the kind of serious/childish conversation they carried. Michael ratted off about his new girl crush, and Sam listened with intent, giving him the occasional dating advice I didn't think he'd be capable of.

Hold her hand during recess. Don't push her too hard on the swings. Be nice to her on the playground.

I set our meal on the table along with napkins, and every muscle in my body locked into place when I saw that Sam had set a plate at the head of the table. No one sat there since my father. No one even glanced at that chair whenever we'd eat dinner together as a family. It was sacred. It was a reminder. It was just something my mother and I did unconsciously. I gently removed the plate and cutlery that he'd put there by accident - because really, it wasn't Sam's fault - and continued with my other tasks.

I heard the shower turning off so it was a matter of time before my mom came back downstairs.

Sam and Michael were still talking and that soft look was back in Sam's eyes. He didn't know I was looking at him, or my brother, for that matter. I was struck with another moment of realization, when I came to terms with the fact that Sam was also at ease in our home. He mingled perfectly in our environment.

How he'd showered but hadn't shaved. How he'd changed his clothes, but he hadn't bothered with socks, preferring to walking bare feet in the house like the rest of us...and it was weird how I was noticing these strangely intimate details.

"Anna?" Sam said.

I didn't realize he was talking to me. "Y-Yes?"

"Are you okay?" he asked and the question was a sucker punch to my gut, because it got me thinking, judging and reevaluating a lot of the aspects in my life.

He brought Michael down from the counter and veered him in the direction of a chair.

I heard my mom round up the corner and merely mustered a smile for Sam. "Let's all just eat."

Then we all ate dinner like a family.

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A/N's: If there were any mistakes, please, ignore them. I'll go over them later. This chapter was long awaited and I've had it written for awhile now...I was just procrastinating :) Hope you enjoy it!

Questions: What did you think of Anna and Sam this chapter? Sparks flying yet? Or is it just some $exual tension? xo

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