Getting Chased

Chapter 17

Sunday morning, Sam and I went shopping for a phone, since his got tragically broken. The entire time we were browsing stores, he made up ridiculous stories to tell the employees, like how we've been married for 14 years and have seven children. Then, he would pat my stomach softly, saying that we're "working on number eight".

It was quite embarrassing, seeing as I never attract that kind of attention to myself normally. But the way we almost pissed ourselves laughing as we left each shop made it completely worth it.

Monday, I got a fairly peaceful day with no interruptions from Miriam. Surprisingly, this alone could make a Monday a good day.

Today is Tuesday, and I'm sitting alone on my couch, sipping my second vodka soda while I edit another passage for the Thanksgiving special, even though it got released yesterday. I guess I was desperate for anything to do.

Deciding to relax, I close my laptop and lay back on my sofa, shutting my eyes. A notification pings on my phone, an alert from Sam asking if I'm free for a while. I respond with a confirmation, tucking my hands behind my head and chugging the rest of my drink.

I toss the can in the trash just as loud knocks fill the room. I smile, skipping to open the door. Sam stands outside, looking fairly nervous.

This thing we've been doing is an odd change to my norm, since my relationships have all been successfully contained to one night. We spend entire days with each other, which is even more than most people spend together when they date. However, I always have a nagging feeling in the back -or front- of my mind that scolds me for letting him believe I'm not some dysfunctional alcoholic.

Sam lifts his head, smiling at me. "I realized yesterday that we haven't gone on a date yet."

I smile back. "Probably because we aren't dating."

Sam tilts his head to the side with a playful glare. "Aren't we, though?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "No, we aren't."

Sam blows out a puff of air, then takes his jacket off, revealing his signature plain colored T-shirt and jeans. "Well, I'd say we are. I mean, we've showered together, spent nights at each other's house. We're going to our families houses for Thanksgiving. If anything, we're at the level past dating."

"Does that mean I should expect a marriage proposal soon?" I joke, but Sam just stands there. I sigh, shaking my head. "Fine."

Sam grins, following me into the apartment. "You just admitted we are dating."

I roll my eyes at him. "No I didn't. Like you said, we haven't been on an official date."

He smiles in self satisfaction. "Well, what are we waiting for, then?"

Sam pulls me through the hallway, into the waiting elevator. I protest, wanting desperately to stay home. I'm a homebody, and I don't like talking to others when it's not required, which is why delivery is my best friend.

"I don't want to go! I'll get food delivered and we can call it a date, okay?"

Sam wags a finger at me disappointed. "Absolutely not. Don't try anything like that ever again. Besides, I'm buying the food, so no complaints allowed."

I sigh, leaning against the unclean wall of the lift. Sam's face lights up at my obvious cease fire. The elevator doors open smoothly, and Sam pulls me along with him.

We walk three blocks to a small diner that is clearly futuristically themed, with silver walls and windows that display galaxies instead of the street outside.