The Light Between Us (9 page)

She snatched the card, handing over the paper with Ruth's address on it.  “Don't screw it up,” she said, nodding.  “And don't make me regret helping you.”

“
I won't.”  He swallowed hard.  “I hope, anyway.”

Padme rolled her eyes.  “I hope you're as whipped as you act.  I'd say good luck, but I'd mostly be lying.  And I can't say that I hope I'll see you around, either.  So I'll just say see you, and hope that you don't do any more damage to my friend's heart.”

With that, she stalked past him, wafting sandalwood perfume his way.  He watched her go, clutching the scrap of paper with Ruth's address as if he was a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.  He remained where he stood long after the clacking sound of Padme's shoes against the sidewalk faded and the night's deepening cold began leeching into his marrow.  He didn't want to go home to his empty apartment, where he knew he'd be too anxious for the morning to be able to sleep.  But in the end he did slide toward the nearest T station, heading homeward.  At least he could take a nice long shower and be fresh for what he hoped would be his rendezvous and reconciliation with Ruth. 

Damn, I hope this works
, he thought as he descended into the warm, sour smelling atmosphere of the subway.  He needed it to.  And he was feeling less and less uncomfortable with this uncharacteristic-for-him needing something deep with a woman.  And not just any woman.  This woman.  Ruth. 

Padme called him whipped.  Maybe she was right.  He'd always cringed at the word when he heard it used to describe other men, never wanting to to be used on himself.  But now, he found he didn't care so much, as long as he could get just one more chance with Ruth.  Again.

Chapter 5

Morning light slipped in through the single window in Ruth's bedroom, nudging her slowly from sleep into deliciously lazy wakefulness.  She loved being home in the mornings to watch the way the light hit her walls in ways she didn't get to see during the week, when she had to be at work so early.  It felt extravagant to wake up slow with the Boston earth and sky, the birds and sun. 

She stretched, languid and deep, then froze when her foot brushed up against something that was definitely not her cat.  All cozy feelings draining from her limbs, she turned her head to see take in the sleeping form of a blonde, wiry man next to her in bed. 

There was a man.  In her bed.  A – she peeked under the sheets – naked man.  Sam.  She swallowed hard, realizing she was naked, too. 

Ruth scrunched her eyes closed.  She remembered their meeting in the coffee shop in spite of her crankiness, and how she practically threw herself at him.  They'd left the coffee shop and gone to a nearby bar for a few drinks, and then stumbled – okay, she was the only one stumbling, having had more alcohol than she was used to – back to her place.  And then –

In spite of her uncertainty at sharing her bed with a relative stranger, something deep within her trilled with excitement at the memory of their night together.  The way his body had moved over hers, into hers, with hers . . .

Her rising anxiety began to thaw and dissipate.  Why shouldn't she be bold, indulge in some sensual fun? 

Derek does it all the time
. 

She winced as the thought came unbidden.  But then Ruth rolled toward Sam, curling her body close to his warmth that felt somehow both soft and hard at the same time, as if rolling away from the thought, and the memory of Derek. 

Sam stirred beneath her touch.  “Hey,” he said, hazel eyes crinkling open, meeting hers with a smile.               

“
Hey back,” she said, smiling in return.

He reached an arm around to her back and drew her in closer, index finger working in tiny swirls across her skin.  She shivered.  “That feels good.”

“
You feel good,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.  “You felt good last night, too.”

“
And early this morning,” she reminded him.

“
Mmm,” he said, remembering.  “I'm so glad I stared at you like a creepy stalker yesterday evening.”

“
Me, too.  Eventually, at least.”  She kissed his chest. 

“
I should try it more often.”  A teasing lilt entered your voice.

“
With someone else?”  She shoved him playfully.  “Don't  you dare.”

“
Hm, are you jealous?”  He grabbed her and rolled them both so that he was laying on top of him.  She could feel his growing hardness nudge up against her and shivered. 

“
Maybe,” she said, breath quickening as she took in the unfamiliar and yet very familiar face just inches from her own. 
 

“
Well,” Sam said, grinning, “you shouldn't be, because I never pick up girls like this.  Or really, get picked up by girls.  Neither ever happens to me, actually.” 

“
Me, neither,”  she murmured.  “But I'm not complaining.”  She arched her neck up and pressed her lips to his, a slow and melting kiss, the thrilling softness his lips massaging her own. 

“
Never,” he breathed, and then they were one.  Ruth arched her back to meet him, again and again, the two of them melding in an excruciatingly, exquisitely slow rhythm, her lingering anxieties evaporating in the dewy dawn of their joining.

* * *

Derek winced as he checked his phone yet again.  He felt like all he'd been doing all weekend was checking to damn thing.  He had texted Ruth about an hour ago, before he went to pick out flowers, as Padme had directed.  And – nothing.  No response.  He didn't know if she'd even received the message. 

Now he was standing outside her apartment building, clutching the opulent bouquet of white roses and a bar of organic dark chocolate tied up with his best imitation of a bow, staring at the door and wondering if he had the balls to do this.  Or, maybe, if he had the balls to walk away.

For what felt like the millionth time since meeting Ruth, Derek rolled his eyes at himself.  How the hell was this even happening?  He was definitely not the relationship kind of guy.  It was just too messy, too vulnerable feeling.

And yet, here he was, prepared to grovel for the favor of a woman he barely knew, but who he somehow knew he wanted to know. 

“
Whipped,” he muttered to himself, remembering Padme's word.  “Damn it, I may be whipped, but I am not a wimp.”  He drew himself up to his full height and let himself into the building, making his way through the halls and stairs toward her apartment. 

* * *

It was the last thing she wanted to do, but Ruth forced herself to roll out of bed.

“
Where are you going?” Sam asked, propping himself up on an elbow.

“
The shower,” she said, smiling.  “It's so late.”

“
But it's Sunday.”

“
Exactly.”  She sighed.  “It's Sunday, and I've got grading to do.”

“
Ah, yes.  The first graders.  Duty calls.”             

Ruth leaned forward to give him a sensual, slow kiss.  “I'd much rather stay in bed with you,” she murmured, keeping her face close to his, “but I'll regret it if I don't get going.”

Sam gave her a quick peck.  “I get it.  Can't say I'm so happy about it, but I get it.”

“
Care to join me in the shower?”  A coy smile darted across her lips.

He shook his head.  “I want to . . . but I know that if I go with you, we will end up right back in bed.  You go shower.  I'll join you next time.  How about I get some breakfast going?”

She grinned.  “You bet.”

Ruth left Sam reaching for his clothes that she'd so brazenly helped him out of the night before, slipping into the bathroom, turning the water on and stepping into its warm, steamy flow.

As she piled her curls on top of her head and massaged shampoo down to her scalp, she bit her bottom lip in excitement.  Sam had said that he'd join her in the shower
next time
.  There would be a next time!

She had forced herself not to think about the future when she'd invited him out, keeping her eyes only trained on the single night ahead.  But morning had come too quickly, and there was something so kind about him. 

But what about Derek?
She could practically hear Padme, Cecilia, and Maddie grilling her as she imagined telling them about Sam.

And what about Derek?  She'd known him for less than forty-eight hours, and in that time she'd already had two major red flags flapping insistently in her face regarding him.  Sam felt . . . she cringed at the word “safer” as she slathered conditioner on her tendrils, but it was the truth.  He was handsome in his own awkward, hipster sort of way.  And he was a poet.  He got major bonus points for that.  Derek didn't even know she wrote.

And yet . . . as tender as she felt toward Sam, she didn't find herself drawn to him in the same way she was drawn to Derek.  With Sam, she could expect a quiet life of words and reading and gentle caresses and snuggling on the couch, peppered with gentle, loving sex.  But with Derek, she felt like she could expect anything and nothing, like all bets were off.  And as much as she understood that he wasn't exactly long term relationship material, she
wanted
Derek in a way she didn't want Sam. 

“
Stop it,” she told herself, soaping her smooth skin with peach-scented body wash.  It's not like she actually had a relationship with Sam.  Or Derek, for that matter.  There was no use fantasizing about, or comparing, the two.

Yet
.

The word sprang into her mind, and she clasped her arms tight around her own body with happiness.  As uncertain and rather terrifying all of this should be, she couldn't help feeling anything other than excited to have a sweet, handsome guy in her kitchen cooking her breakfast.

I really am living a romance novel
, she thought. 
And today, it's not half bad
.

* * *

Standing outside her apartment door, Derek raised a wrist and rapped firmly on the door, then wiped his clammy palm against his jeans.  He detested how nervous he felt. 
How the hell do people do this romance thing all the time?
he wondered.   It seemed improbable that so many people could be pursuing mates in such a way and remain even remotely sane. 

The door swung open and he drew a deep breath to begin his plea to Ruth – only to let it out in a rush when he saw an angular blonde man standing shirtless in the doorway.

“
Oh,” he said, deflated.  “Sorry.  I must have the wrong place.”  He didn't know how he'd managed to screw that one up.  He'd checked the address Padme had given him until the paper grew tired and wilted from over handling. 

“
Are you looking for Ruth?” the man asked.  He pointed a thumb over his shoulder.  “She's in the shower.  Should be out soon.”

“
The shower,” Derek said in a flat voice, unsettling realization beginning to dawn.

“
Yeah.  Do you want to come in?”

“
Come in?”  Derek squinted at the other man, wondering what he had to do with the girl he was here to win over with chocolate and expensive roses.  “Yeah.  I think I will.”

“
Cool.”  The blonde said easily, stepping back as Derek crossed the threshold.  “I'm Sam.  Want some breakfast?  I was just making scrambled eggs.”  He led the way into the kitchen.

“
I'm not hungry.”

“
Coffee?”  Sam pointed at the coffee pot that was steaming from the freshly brewed near-black liquid, apparently oblivious to – or at least unaffected by – Derek's growing fear and hostility filling the small kitchen.

“
I'm fine.             

“
Well, help yourself if you change your mind,” said Sam, shrugging as he turned his attention back to the eggs simmering gently in their pan on the stove top.  “Uh, what's your name?”

“
Derek.”

“
Nice to meet you, Derek.”  Sam smiled at him, ducking his head a little. 

“
So, Sam,” Derek said, trying not to sound like he was spitting the words through gritted teeth, “how do you know Ruth?”

Sam's cheeks grew pink for a moment, the flush fading as quickly as it had come.  It made Derek scowl.  They'd slept together, he thought.  He could practically smell it on Sam.  “Well, we're both writers, so I guess you could say that's how we met.”

“
Writers,” repeated Derek.  “I see.”  He felt twin flashes of knowing and nausea sear through him.  He'd been right – he knew that teaching wasn't Ruth's true passion.  Writing was, apparently.  And, also apparently, she'd been playing games with Derek.  And here he was, ready to grovel, to do what he never would have dreamed of doing before he met her . . . and she'd just been screwing this writer. 

“
How about you?” Sam asked, eying the flowers Derek still clutched in his fist, the thorns cutting through the paper they were wrapped in to his palms. 

“
Funny you ask, Sam,” replied Derek, voice clipped.  “We're dating.  Or at least, I thought we were.”