palpable.
The woman nods. “Yes, Mr. Wentworth. Sammy is fine.”
Sagging, I release the breath I was unaware I was holding. Some of the weight on my shoulders renounced as I relax. Her hand connects with my upper arm, she gently rubs up and down, consoling, and friendly.
“I don’t specifically know what happened, and I don’t want to––it is none of my business, Samantha’s a big girl. But she is also very special to me, my best friend, who I consider as my sister. I offer her a shoulder whenever she is in need, she confides in me,” she murmurs. “Nobody has ever done what you have done today.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“You have taken time out of your day to check that Samantha is safe, you’re considering her feelings. After what happened last night, you still thought about her today, you didn’t disregard her.” No, I didn’t, but she has disregarded me.
“You have shown diligence.” She curls the left side of her mouth, her eyes tapering. “It may not at first, but eventually this gesture will say an awful lot to, Sammy. If I am right––and I’m usually always right––don’t give up with her.” She shakes her head and I intuit her indistinct plea. “I would never typically stray from the ‘girl-rule’, but she needs it, she needs this, and your appearance today…well, you never know who could be your saving grace.”
“Thank you. It was nice meeting you.” I turn around and press the button for the elevator.
“Oh, and Mr. Wentworth––”
I whip my head around to face the woman again who is gawping at me in deep consideration.
“Don’t be discouraged; it’s often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock.”
SEVEN
---------------------
SAMANTHA
Ah, Saturdays. There’s nothing that I enjoy more than a Saturday. It’s the only day that Jessie and I can becomes fully fledged couch potatoes, and watch our retro movie marathon without the need of feeling guilty because we should be committing our time to something more vital.
I sit at the far end of the couch, my legs tucked beneath me, as Jessie sprawls out on the opposite side with a generous sized bowl of potato chips––to which we have been battling to keep in the confinement of the bowl between hysterical laughter––as we watch the movie, ‘Made in America’. Oh, how I love this movie, so many memories.
Heaving myself off the cushion with much reluctance, I retrieve my coffee cup on the beech coffee table in front of us.
“Do you want another, Jess?” I murmur between fits of laughter, raising my cup as indication.
“Please,” she splutters with a mouthful of chips. I stifle a giggle at my best friend, and shake my head feigning disgust, but failing with notable misery.
I am startled by three sudden knocks on the apartment door, when I begin to stroll through the dining room to get to the kitchen. Placing the cups down on the dining-room table, I make my way to the door and peek through the spyhole. A wrecking ball connects with my stomach––winding me momentarily. Panicked and shocked, I stagger back.
“Jessie, Jess,” I call quietly as for him not to hear through the door.
“What?” she points the remote control towards the DVD player and stops the movie.
I wave her over urgently. “You got to answer this for me, Jess––I can’t do it,” I protest, shaking my head in refusal. My eyes flare with abrupt anxiety; my legs are shuddering, and my heartbeat is rapid––overwhelmed by the bombshell that lurks on the opposite side of my door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s my boss,” I cringe, bouncing up and down, eager to get my ass a safe distance away from, Mr. Hypnotic. I thought I would be over him once I had experienced him, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about our exploit since it happened. He’s burrowed himself under my skin, and there is no denying that I would crave his touch again if I saw him––dammit––I’m still
The woman nods. “Yes, Mr. Wentworth. Sammy is fine.”
Sagging, I release the breath I was unaware I was holding. Some of the weight on my shoulders renounced as I relax. Her hand connects with my upper arm, she gently rubs up and down, consoling, and friendly.
“I don’t specifically know what happened, and I don’t want to––it is none of my business, Samantha’s a big girl. But she is also very special to me, my best friend, who I consider as my sister. I offer her a shoulder whenever she is in need, she confides in me,” she murmurs. “Nobody has ever done what you have done today.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“You have taken time out of your day to check that Samantha is safe, you’re considering her feelings. After what happened last night, you still thought about her today, you didn’t disregard her.” No, I didn’t, but she has disregarded me.
“You have shown diligence.” She curls the left side of her mouth, her eyes tapering. “It may not at first, but eventually this gesture will say an awful lot to, Sammy. If I am right––and I’m usually always right––don’t give up with her.” She shakes her head and I intuit her indistinct plea. “I would never typically stray from the ‘girl-rule’, but she needs it, she needs this, and your appearance today…well, you never know who could be your saving grace.”
“Thank you. It was nice meeting you.” I turn around and press the button for the elevator.
“Oh, and Mr. Wentworth––”
I whip my head around to face the woman again who is gawping at me in deep consideration.
“Don’t be discouraged; it’s often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock.”
SEVEN
---------------------
SAMANTHA
Ah, Saturdays. There’s nothing that I enjoy more than a Saturday. It’s the only day that Jessie and I can becomes fully fledged couch potatoes, and watch our retro movie marathon without the need of feeling guilty because we should be committing our time to something more vital.
I sit at the far end of the couch, my legs tucked beneath me, as Jessie sprawls out on the opposite side with a generous sized bowl of potato chips––to which we have been battling to keep in the confinement of the bowl between hysterical laughter––as we watch the movie, ‘Made in America’. Oh, how I love this movie, so many memories.
Heaving myself off the cushion with much reluctance, I retrieve my coffee cup on the beech coffee table in front of us.
“Do you want another, Jess?” I murmur between fits of laughter, raising my cup as indication.
“Please,” she splutters with a mouthful of chips. I stifle a giggle at my best friend, and shake my head feigning disgust, but failing with notable misery.
I am startled by three sudden knocks on the apartment door, when I begin to stroll through the dining room to get to the kitchen. Placing the cups down on the dining-room table, I make my way to the door and peek through the spyhole. A wrecking ball connects with my stomach––winding me momentarily. Panicked and shocked, I stagger back.
“Jessie, Jess,” I call quietly as for him not to hear through the door.
“What?” she points the remote control towards the DVD player and stops the movie.
I wave her over urgently. “You got to answer this for me, Jess––I can’t do it,” I protest, shaking my head in refusal. My eyes flare with abrupt anxiety; my legs are shuddering, and my heartbeat is rapid––overwhelmed by the bombshell that lurks on the opposite side of my door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s my boss,” I cringe, bouncing up and down, eager to get my ass a safe distance away from, Mr. Hypnotic. I thought I would be over him once I had experienced him, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about our exploit since it happened. He’s burrowed himself under my skin, and there is no denying that I would crave his touch again if I saw him––dammit––I’m still
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