Just Three Words (Soho Loft Romances) (6 page)

“You gonna dance?” Tanya shouted in her ear. They’d spent a handful of evenings with Tanya and she seemed fun enough. She was some sort of massage therapist, from what Sam understood. She also had killer moves, and they were right there on display as she spoke to Sam, sashaying easily to the music. Sam had no idea how to make her hips work that way.

“I think I’ll work up to it,” she told Tanya. A lie. She wasn’t going to work up to anything. How was Sam going to explain that she was the world’s worst dancer? It was one thing to dance with her closest friends at Showplace, where she could make fun of herself and cut loose and have a goofy time doing it. It was quite another to advertise her lack of any coordination in front of
People
’s 50 Most Beautiful People. “I’m probably going to kick back for a while. Hang out by the bar. You guys go ahead,” she said to Tanya and Libby.

“But I want to dance with you tonight,” Libby purred in her ear. Okay, that was hard to resist, especially when her stomach went all flip-floppy like that, but Samantha reminded herself of the facts. They’d been a full-fledged couple for only two and a half months now, and that could be completely undone if Libby saw her dance. It was that tragic a display.

“I’ll dance with you,” Tanya said to Libby.

Bless that girl. Bless her. “Perfect. You two dance. I’ll order us more drinks,” Sam said.

Libby seemed to warm to the idea, if her cozy proximity was any indication. “You sure you don’t mind? I don’t want to leave you by yourself. How about I stay with you?”

“Pshhh. Of course not. Join your friends. I’ll be over here. You know, holding up the bar.” Samantha made a ridiculous bar-holding gesture that she quickly regretted. From her facial expression, Libby seemed to think it was cute, so there was that.

An hour and a half later, bar holding had lost its appeal. While Sam looked on, Libby and her friends danced, laughed, danced some more, and once in a while returned to Sam’s neck of the woods for a quick drink before tearing up the dance floor once again. These people could seriously party.

But the smile she kept on her face out of peripheral enjoyment was fading. By standing on the sidelines, she was missing out on the fun. Once again, she was on the outside looking in. Story of her adolescence.

Time for Plan B. She decided to pep talk herself. What would Suze Orman say? She would tell her to get her ass on the dance floor and live a little, that’s what. And maybe take out an IRA.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” she shouted to the bartender, pointing at the frat guy next to her downing a shot of purplish liquid. Purple meant grape, right? She loved grape. She tossed the drink back and oh my God, it burned like crazypants on its way down.
Not grape. Not grape. Not grape.
How did people do this? Good God. Didn’t matter. She’d done it.

Relying on her newfound liquid courage, Samantha headed onto the dance floor and joined the group.

“Sam’s here,” one of the guys yelled, prompting the whole group to loudly cheer as they bumped and grinded and worked the dance floor like it was their job. The song was fast paced and loud, but Sam didn’t care. She joined in, tossing her hands in the air and moving her hips subtly. Then Libby’s hands were on her, and they were dancing together under the colorful strobe lights. And what could be better? The more she danced, the more her inhibitions floated away on the wings of a nice purple drink sent from the magical land of Deceptively Fruity Alcohol. She might or might not have been on beat, but the subtlety fell from her movements and she danced for all she was worth. She stepped on a toe here or there, but no one seemed to care. They were all out there together having the best time. They sang to the music at the top of their lungs and let the pulsing bass wash over them completely. All that mattered was the here and now.

And she was part of it.

She was present.

The night had just turned fun.

As the group cheered her on, she moved from person to person, dancing, laughing, and feeling like she owned the night. After what seemed like forever, she danced her way back to Libby, taking her hand and pulling her into the corner.

“I love that you’re having a good time,” Libby said in her ear above the pulse of the music.

The word
love
, while not the operative word in the sentence, snagged Sam’s attention. Because she
was
falling in love with this woman and all that she brought to Sam’s life. She wasn’t ready to say it to Libby yet. There’d be time soon enough. Maybe over a quiet dinner next week. Some romantic lighting. Champagne. And the three words.
I love you.
Perfection.

“I
am
having a good time,” she told Libby. “The best, actually. This was a good idea.”

Libby kissed her then and she sank into it. “And you’re not still upset about the film festival?”

At the mention, her spirits dipped, but only a tad, as she thought about Brooklyn, Hunter, and Mallory watching one of her favorite flicks without her just across town. “I wish we could have done both, but you make sacrifices when you’re in a relationship.”

Libby looked thoughtful, distant even. “You do, don’t you?”

“Enough with the philosophical talk. Let’s dance like crazy people.”

Libby laughed. “Party-time Samantha is cute. I hope I get to see more of her. Let’s get back to it.”

And they did. They danced well into the morning hours, inhibitions thrown to the wind. It was a rarity for Sam. And you know what? It was one of the best nights she could remember having. She’d let go and it had paid off. Plus, she had Libby by her side. What more could a girl ask for?

*

Please no hangover
, were the first words that drifted into the forefront of Samantha’s mind when her eyes fluttered open on Saturday morning. She took stock. No pounding headache, her stomach felt okay, and whoa, even sitting up was a total success. The eight glasses of water she’d consumed before bed had clearly done the trick. She owed Google a thank-you note and a fruit basket.

A quick clock check—quarter to nine. Excellent.

She’d come back to the loft the night prior because today was phase one of moving day for Brooklyn, and as sad as that made her, there was no way Brooklyn was going to be capable of organizing this move on her own. Awesome as her friend was, structure was not part of her vocabulary. For the past five years, the loft had easily been divided with Samantha’s neat and orderly room to the right of the living space, and Brooklyn’s cluttered chaos to the left.

She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and flipped on the radio, spending the next few minutes quickly unloading the dishwasher as she kept time to the music. Routine was everything. She lived and died by it. As Katy Perry roared from the speakers in the corner of the room, Sam bopped along. She was still riding the high of the fantastic night prior. Proud of herself for getting out of her comfort zone, she looked forward to telling Brooklyn all about it.

Sam did a quick mental calculation. She’d have time to shower, finish unloading the dishwasher, and down a quick breakfast before Brooklyn would be back from her morning run with Mallory. They could start sorting through her things then and have decent progress by midafternoon.

“Taking calls now from our lovelorn line,” the morning show DJ announced as Sam turned the knob for the shower. “We have Tricia on the line. What’s amiss in your love life, Tricia? Doctor Loooove is in the studio waiting to make it all better.”

Samantha rolled her eyes and headed into her bedroom to select an outfit.

“Yes. Hi. I’m pretty sure I’m in love but can’t seem to tell the person.” Whoa. Sam paused, jeans draped across her arm. The voice was strikingly familiar. But there was no way. Was there?

“Do you think he feels the same way?” Doctor Love asked in a voice that was so low it was borderline ridiculous.

“It’s a she, actually. I’m in love with a girl. And yes, I tend to think she’s in love with me too.” Well, holy Rachel Maddow, she was right. It was Libby calling in to a radio station and professing love, no less! The smile arrived on her face instantly and her cheeks felt joyfully hot. She grabbed her phone and fired off a quick text to Brooklyn to tune into the show. Libby wouldn’t want them to know it was her, obviously, or she wouldn’t have used a fake name, but this was too crazy a development not to share. How often did people talk about you on the radio?

Doctor Love grabbed the reins and Sam now held on to the bathroom sink. “I’d say pick a night this week, take your sweetheart somewhere romantic, and over candlelight and rose petals, tell her how you feel.”
Yes, that’d be perfect. Let’s do that. Bring on the rose petal
s. Doctor Love was such an intuitive guy. She caught her face in the mirror; the smile was unmistakable. It was possible she was blushing.

“But the problem is that it’s not my girlfriend I’m talking about. I’m in love with my best friend. What’s worse is that I have a very kind and thoughtful girlfriend who’s everything I should
technically
want.”

“But she just doesn’t do it for you the same way?”

A pause. “No.” Sam blinked and watched the smile fade in front of her. Her heart clenched. She stared down at the sink. “She’s perfect in every other way, there’s just not the same spark. I don’t want to hurt her, but my feelings for Tan—my best friend seem to be growing each day.”

“Well, that’s certainly trickier,” Doctor Love said. “I think you have to tell the dishrag girlfriend to hit the road so you can explore the tasty cake you have waiting for you behind door number two. Life is too short to waste on the generic.”

Libby sighed. “You might be right.”

“Doctor Love is always right. Our next caller is Ron…” The words faded to the background. Time felt off, as if it were slow and fast at the same time. Samantha walked to the kitchen, though she wasn’t sure why. Her legs felt shaky and the word
dishrag
had positioned itself in the forefront of her mind. Absently, she heard the water still running in the shower she’d yet to take. Didn’t matter. Libby didn’t love her. She kept her around because she was sweet and nice.

A dependable dishrag.

God, how had she not seen it?

Libby was supposed to be the one. She was the girl who made Samantha blush when she walked in a room. Kissing her was like floating through air, detached from everything else on the planet. She’d seen her future with Libby, two kids, and a dog. It was years down the road, but she had hopes it would happen. The shock that the happily every after was never going to play out was just a little too much to take in. She covered her mouth and a rare bout of tears hit. Slow at first before full on. They rolled down her cheeks in liquid hot waves. The loft door slid open with lightning speed and Brooklyn, clad in workout clothes, rushed to Sam wordlessly and wrapped her arms around her.

As they stood there in the kitchen, Samantha was flooded with a cold rush of emotion: anger, heartbreak, and the kingpin of them all: embarrassment. She almost had to laugh if she weren’t already crying. Of course a girl like Libby wasn’t
in love
with her. That didn’t happen. How had she convinced herself that it had? The homecoming queen didn’t fall in love with the mathlete.

Brooklyn released her and grabbed a napkin from the counter to dry Sam’s tears. “I ran four blocks from the gym as soon as I heard. She’s not worth it, Sam. Seriously, she’s not. Who calls into a radio station for relationship advice anyway?”

Sam didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know what to say. All of her life, she’d dreamed of being special to somebody. Falling in love like in the books. The whole package. At long last, she thought she was on her way to that.

She raised her gaze to Brooklyn. “I thought she was saying she was in love with
me
, Brooks. That she was just figuring out how to tell me.”

“She’s a fool. And she doesn’t deserve you.”

Sam shook her head. “They’re just three words. How do they have the power to hurt so much when they don’t belong to you?”

“I’m so sorry, Sammie.” The look on Brooklyn’s face just about did her in. Sympathy she didn’t want. It just made her feel all the more pitiful.

She gestured limply in the direction of the bathroom, the tears all but gone, replaced with a numbness she found strangely comforting, if not a little ominous. There was a tidal wave of emotion waiting to crash down on her, and she wanted to be alone when it hit. “I better jump in the shower before the hot water is gone completely.” She didn’t wait for a response.

“Hold on, Sam. Please?”

She paused at the entryway to the bathroom. “Yeah?”

“I’ll be out here when you’re done. We can talk. Eat chocolate peanut butter ice cream.”

“It’s nine a.m.”

“All the more reason to do it.”

Sam offered a halfhearted smile. It was the best she could do given the circumstances. Brooklyn was there for her and would help her work through what she now realized had to be the end of her relationship—a thought that was still too new for her mind to fully process.

As the still-hot water fell in cascades across her skin, she closed her eyes and let the tears run down her face, the emotion shaking her entire body. She stood like that until the water ran cold. The world felt different as she looked back over things with new eyes. Last night, Libby had smiled and laughed with her, but she’d also kept one eye on Tanya, wherever she was in the room. Samantha thought it was a best friend thing, but the exchanged looks, the close dancing, the quiet laughter just between the two of them…It all took on new meaning now, and she felt sick to her stomach.

She didn’t bother blow-drying her hair, as it no longer seemed to matter. After she found her threadbare comfy jeans and white T-shirt, she and Brooklyn snuggled into opposite ends of the couch and watched a little
I Love Lucy
. It was understood that in light of the morning’s events, phase one of packing was pushed to the back burner. They’d get to it eventually.

“I was born in the wrong decade,” Sam finally said, after episode number five. “That’s my problem. I’m not edgy enough for this period in history.”