Jack of Clubs (BxB)

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."