Chapter 17

Krista

 

“Oh. My. God—I'm going to have to say no on this one, Krista.”

I was afraid Sam would nix Trainer.

“I think I'm a little in love with him,” I admit quietly, eyes on my knotted fingers.

Sam stares at me over the rim of her coffee cup filled with gross black coffee. “Or maybe it could be that stupendous appendage swinging between his legs.” Her eyebrows pop, and a smirk takes up permanent residence.

I choke on my creamy coffee, slapping a hand over my mouth, and say between my fingers, “I never thought I'd say this.”

Sam arches her eyebrow.

“Size does matter,” we say at the exact moment.

Giggling reigns supreme.

“Okay, okay…” Sam slaps her thigh, picking off a piece of lint as she does. “Seriously? We're so juvenile.”

I flop back against one of the worn swivel chairs that faces the tall windows overlooking the forest. “Of that, there is no doubt.” I whip up my finger. “In fact, there's substantial proof.”

“So let me recap.” Sam sets her mug on one of the square beveled glass pieces inset in the coffee table. “Trainer spent the better part of a day and a half making you come?” Her eyebrows shoot up.

My face gets hot, and my hands go to my face. Damn. “Denial is not a strong suit of mine.”

“Only because you can't get away with it,” Sam counters with a knowing smile.

“True.” I laugh. “Go on.”

Sam smiles, ticking off point two of about one hundred twelve on a bird bone of a finger. “Then you get home, and a hulking guy sort of chokes you while putting you on notice?”

I nod, remembering the strange encounter. “Well, kind of.”

“I'm scared. What scares me most is how weirdly calm you are about all of it. Please, convince me.”

“Okay—so it makes me feel better about existing to know there's actually another human being out there that sees Trainer. Who he really is. Who he was meant to be.”

Sam frowns, pouting her lip—a sure sign she doesn't get it. “So… choking guy?”

“Noose.”

“Oh, great—nice. A guy that chokes a girl against a door and has the name Noose. Makes perfect sense.”

I put my face in my hands. “I know it sounds bad.”

“Yup,” Sam agrees instantly.

“Shit.”

“That's what I've been saying all along.”

I meet her light-brown eyes. The navy ring stands out in stark definition. “But you had to be there.”

“When he was choking you?”

“God.” I study my screaming red Chuck Taylors for a second then look back at Sam. “I have a good feeling about Trainer.”

“Well, he's a feel-good kinda guy,” Sam says sarcastically. Her eyes sweep my face, and she must see something there because she leaves the couch. Sinking to her haunches in front of me, she takes my hands. “Listen, you look so crestfallen, but I don't care about anything but your well-being.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“Good—damn. You need some sense.”

Sam stands. “This is a full-pot-of-fresh-coffee night. No Keurig.” Sam strolls to the u-shaped kitchen, grabs coffee beans from the freezer, and pours a portion into the grinder. I listen as the shrill grinding takes up the sound in the open-concept living room and kitchen. When she's done, she pours the grounds into the pot and kicks it to on.

At the bar that separates the two spaces, I pull out a comfy chair and sit.

Sam faces me behind the counter. I park my chin on top of my fists.

“Listen, at least you dumped Allen.”

A prickling unease starts up in my chest. The tightness resolves to an almost-electric tingling. Not in a good way.

Sam sees my expression. “What?” The coffee finishes brewing, and she turns to fill our cups. She takes time to put just the right amount of cream and an obscene amount of raw sugar in mine.

Sam slides the mug across the three-foot-deep bar. I grab the thick ceramic, letting it warm my suddenly cold fingers. “Allen said all the right things. He really wanted to still try.”

“But him being gorgeous and rich is not enough?” Sam winks.

“No, he's—I don't know. Most women would be all over that. What Allen has to offer. And I don't know if he is personally wealthy, but I have the feeling his family is swimming in money.”

“Then there's the question of Allen's one critical inadequacy.” A gale of laughter erupts from Sam.

I roll my eyes. “I don't care about dick size, really.”

“Really?” Sam says.

Grinning, I say, “Really. Trainer is so great at all the non-penetration things—so loving and tender—it's just a great bonus.”

Sam walks over to the four-seater kitchen nook table and sinks into one of the seats facing me. “Wow, does he have a twin?”

I shake my head. “He's so unique, like Noose said.”

“So Allen's history.” Sam pretends to wipe sweat off her forehead.

“I guess.”

Sam leans forward, resting her mug on a slender knee. “You sound unconvinced.”

I shake my head. “I don't know… he seemed so reluctant to let me go, like we were unfinished somehow.”

“Slow learner. Especially for an attorney.” She waves her hand. “Anyway, whatevers. So just teach Trainer. Don't screw him too. It's just going to complicate things. And find out if this Noose is legit. If Trainer knows him, and he really is part of this biker gang, then there's another layer of complication to consider. Beyond the obvious one of him being a student.”

“Adult student,” I say, slightly defensive.

“Very, very adult.”

We laugh.

“This is a tough call. I mean, you've only had a couple of serious boyfriends.” Sam huffs a breath out, moving a long wisp of spiraling hair behind her ear. “I'd still like to kick my own ass that I introduced you to Allen.”

I lift a shoulder. “Why? I mean, he's just what you said: gorgeous with money. He really does and says the right things.” Except for things that matter. I roll my bottom lip between my teeth.

“You've thought of something.”

I nod. “You know what the real problem with Allen is? It's like he wasn’t really present when we were together.”

Sam gives me a hard look. “That's deep.”

“Yes. I'm not much for self-examination or anything.”

“But you're practically psychic.”

I give a little self-conscious laugh. “Intuitive is more like it.”

Sam nods slowly. “Maybe, but remember when we were little and our parents still had landline telephones?”

“Yeah!” I laugh, getting an instant visual of the big lump of square plastic.

“And you could guess who was calling.”

I forgot about that.

“And how when we got our licenses, you'd know what song was playing on the radio before I turned it on?”

“Yeah.” I'm not smiling now. “Not all the time, Sam.”

“Mostly.” She flips her hand, glancing a finger off the mug in her other hand and almost tipping over her coffee. “Oops—” She catches a drop off the rim and sucks it from her finger. “Don't freak. I'm not saying you need to join the Psychic Friends Network or something. I'm just saying, when God was handing out the goodies, you were first in line for intuition.”

“So I should listen to my gut?”

“Essentially, yes.” Sam gives a trademark small twist of lips, her version of a smirk. “Besides, you've never sung your praises as a teacher. You've always said your instincts made you see the issue for the student, and how it could be fixed.”

Sam jerks her shoulders up as if to say, “Duh.”

“That's all true, but I don't know how my skill at getting to the root of why somebody can't learn is going to help me know if someone's bad news.”

“Trust your feelings. You feel weird about Allen—don't get back together with him, no matter what bullshit he pulls.”

After Trainer, I don't think I could have another man's hands on my body. “Don't worry about that. Pfft.” I repress a shudder.

Sam winks, “That bad, eh?”

What can I say? “It was pretty easy to break up when faced with returning and having only what Allen wanted in bed.”

Taking a swig of cold coffee, she grimaces and winces. “Yuck—shit, this is like ice.”

“We're too busy hashing through everything to drink our coffee.”

“Important girl talk.”

“Yeah,” I answer softly. I know what day is coming up this week. I bring out the pink elephant like a circus trainer. “So I want to come with you to visit them.”

Sam doesn't miss a beat. “I'm fine.” She lifts her mug, remembers her coffee’s too cold, and sets it on the kitchen table again.

“I know. I still want to come with.”

She turns her head, swiping at her eyes, refusing to look at me. “It's been five years.”

“I know.”

“I love your parents, Krista,” Sam confesses.

“But it's not the same.” I believe down to my soul that she thinks about her parents every day.

She throws her arm out, stiff.

I stand, taking the hand she offers. “I miss them.”

“I do too.”

Sam gives me a sharp look, her eyes more amber in the dying light of the day that slants in, making her irises blaze, shimmering with tears yet shed.

“You do—why?”

“Because they made you, my friend. And because of them, I have you.”

Sam stands, dwarfing me with her height. “I love you, you sensitive, emotional, gorgeous thing. Love you.”

We hug tight over the counter, bellies pressing against the edge, like we're drowning.

“You're so fucking needy, Krista.”

We both know it’s a lie.

But I don't need to deliver the truth.

 

*

 

Sam's head is at one end of the eight-foot couch, and mine's at the other. Our legs are side by side.

“I'm going to explode.”

Sam's head pops off the armrest. “If you didn't eat your body weight in pizza! As a matter of fact, you should be a fat sow by now.”

“Metabolism still works, I guess.” I feel a lethargic smile spread my lips. 

Sam knocks my legs off the couch.

“Hey, ya bitch!” I jerk up, rubbing my eyes.

She waggles her eyebrows. “Woke you up, though.”

“I didn't want to be woken up,” I pout.

“But if I asked if you wanted dessert…?”

I don't even need to wonder; it's easy. “I'd say yes.”

“See? My exact point. You're a junk-food addict.”

I curl a strand of hair around my finger. “Yeah. I blame my parents.”

Sam snorts. “Agreed, they're health nuts. And you're clearly rebelling.”

“Clearly,” I answer in a droll voice and lie back on the couch, squeezing my legs next to Sam's again.

“You've boxed me in. I can't get to the freezer for ice cream now.”

I roll my eyes at Sam. “You're too lazy to bother, and you're hoping I do it instead.”

“Yes.”

Rolling off the couch, I slouch over to the freezer and tear open the thirty-year-old door.

Ben and Jerry's. The Tonight Dough.

Holy shit!

I squeal, and a curly head pops up over the sofa table. “What?”

“The Tonight Dough!”

Sam sinks back down, hiking her feet on the back of the couch. “Hells yes.”

“Can we share a pint?” I ask, digging around between the frozen food, sausage, and ice cream bars.

“No. Get your own pint.”

“So selfish.” I'm grinning.

“Yup.”

Carrying two pints of my favorite ice cream on the planet, I swipe two spoons out of the silverware drawer then walk back to the couch. I plop down, and Sam swings her legs over and plants her feet on the floor, curling her toes in the worn high-pile carpeting.

“What?” I ask, handing her a pint plus a spoon. “You can't just lay around and spoon it in?”

Sam shakes her head, lifting the spoon to make her point. “I have to draw the gluttony line somewhere.”

“Not me.” I scoot against the armrest and draw my knees up, balancing the cold pint on my tummy. Digging for my next spoonful. I groan in relief from the flavor burst. Yum.

We eat in silence for a couple of minutes, then Sam asks, “What's Trainer's real name? You said that guy that busted into your condo was Noose. Why do they all have weird names?”

“You've seriously never seen the MC show, Sons of Anarchy.”

“No, I like to be non-conformist. You know this.” Sam stabs her spoon in the melting ice cream, doing a slow spin, then loads the utensil. “If lots of people like a show, I don't want to be common.”

The bite disappears.

“No fear there,” I mutter.

“I heard that.” Sam licks her spoon then drops it inside the pint, setting her carton on the slim wood table that runs behind the the couch. “Halftime,” she announces, hand to her flat stomach.

“His name's Brett Rife, but he corrected me early on. I've been using Trainer since the first day I met him.” I stare down at my empty pint—impressive, even for me. “I've got more appetite.”

“I wonder why?” Sam asks, voice as dry as the Sahara Desert.

I cock my head, giving her the wide-eyed innocent look, setting my empty carton next to her half-eaten one.

“Brett Rife,” Sam repeats, ignoring my feigned innocence as a faraway expression takes her attention elsewhere.

“What?”

She gives a small startle and shake of her head. “Nothing. Thought the name sounded vaguely familiar.”

“Well, he does have a court possibility.”

Sam shakes her head a second time. “Nope. Don't know about ʻpossiblesʼ or dates that futuristic or vague.” She shrugs, tucking a curl behind her ear and bending her knee to join her thigh. “It's nothing. I hear a ton of names in court, and sometimes, they get scrambled.”

“Brett Rife isn't a super-common name,” I remark.

“No, but Brett's pretty common.” She gets that distant expression again. “I don't know… something about the combo.” Sam shakes her head again, curls bouncing. “Weird.”

A quick check of my cell says it's already eight o'clock at night. I groan. “Why am I doing this?”

“The teaching?”

I nod.

“Because you help people. And there's Trainer.”

“Who you don't want me to date.”

Sam laughs, and I look at her. “The jury's out.”

“Cute.”

“Just be cautious.” Sam's face crumples. I wrap my arms around her, speaking to air. “I'm not going anywhere, Sam.”

“I can't lose you too, Krista. I couldn't survive it.”

I know that. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Be more careful for me, since you have no self-preservation instincts.”

I pull away, scowling. “That's not true.”

Sam searches my face. “You've always trusted everyone. Just because you see them, doesn't mean they see you. It's about perspective, and so few share yours, Krista. So few.”

“I'll be okay.”

But her words follow me all the way to the condo.

Like a portent.