Out on Good Behavior (Radleigh University Book 3) (11 page)

I can tell she wants to resist, but she doesn’t; only one of us literally has face-painting on her resume, and unless we want to be late, she’s gonna have to relax and trust me. It takes a couple of minutes, but I get her cleaned up and brandished with new, perfect Rs on her cheeks and put a matching one on mine, and then we rejoin Cait and get our asses to the gym.

The walk with Cait is perfectly fine, but as soon as we get to our seats, Sam gets weird again. “Maybe Cait should sit in the middle,” she suggests just loud enough for me to hear.

“Seriously? You don’t even want to sit next to me now?”

Her cheeks redden. “It’s not that I don’t
want
to, but…” She gestures around.

Whatever it is I’m supposed to be noticing, I don’t. “But…?”

Cait tears her eyes off of where Mase is standing at the Radleigh bench, talking to a bunch of players, and glances at the two of us. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Samara says cheerfully, dropping into her seat. I do the same, and so does Cait, which puts me in the middle and keeps Sam two seats away from her apparent security blanket.

Or maybe she just really
doesn’t
like the natural look.

Thankfully, Cait knows the guys sitting in front of us, and she draws us all into an easy, chatty conversation that lasts until the game starts. Well, maybe Samara isn’t quite as chatty in it, but it definitely distracts from whatever’s going on between us—or isn’t. It’s tempting to ignore it completely, to fix my eyes on the court and let myself just appreciate the plethora of cut, sweaty biceps flying in front of me, but then I remember what Sam said when she came to my apartment—about being a grownup and actually talking about shit—and I soften.

It’s too noisy to whisper anything to her, but I pull out my phone and motion for her to do the same.
Are you really so upset at me for kissing you in an empty room?
I text her.

She shakes her head and starts to respond aloud, then turns back to her phone instead.
No, I’m just nervous. Again. Sorry.

I glance over at her, and holy shit, she’s not kidding; the hand holding her phone is shaking.

Did something happen?
And then I realize.
Did you talk to your parents?

Slow nod.

My heart starts a heavier pound in my chest. Thirty days. We said thirty days. What happened to thirty days?

About us?

She shakes her head, and my shoulders relax. “Just stuff,” she says quietly into my ear.

I’m not sure what that’s supposed to be mean, but she doesn’t look like she plans to type any more, and this clearly isn’t the venue for any kind of conversation. She does, however, relax in her seat and shift a little closer. It’s barely an inch, but actual proximity isn’t the point, and I feel the rest of the tension I’m carrying slip away as we finally sit back and enjoy the game. I don’t go as far as to hold her hand, but every few minutes, I brush her fingers with mine, just to let her know I want to.

Tingles—every fucking time.

Radleigh wins, and I swear, no one in that gym is more excited than Cait. She lets out an ear-splitting whistle when the buzzer sounds at the end, then grabs me and Sam and pulls us down toward the court. Mase has one hell of a smile, and it’s big enough to light up the entire room right now. Cait explained to us on the way over that the basketball team’s never beaten this particular rival before, and it looks seriously excellent for Mase as their relatively new student-coach for this to have happened under his tutelage.

He’s talking to the other players and accepting back pats and high-fives all over the damn place, but as soon as he spots Cait coming over, he turns away from the other guys and accepts a leaping hug from her as if she’s the MVP of the night. The whole team erupts into whistles and catcalls as Cait pulls him down for a huge, proud kiss, and I can’t help grinning at how atypical this is for my typically PDA-hating BFF.

I’m not gonna lie—they make love look pretty damn good.

A voice from the crowd on the court calls my name, and I swivel to find the source, only to see an ecstatic-looking Jake Moss come sweep me up in a hug. “Glad you got to see one hell of a victory,” he says, squeezing me tightly before depositing me back on the court.

“I’m glad I did too! You guys kicked ass out there!” I smack him on the butt. “That’s the correct move, yes? I just wanna make sure I’m sports fan-ing right.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s it. Nice job.” Then he turns to Samara. “Hey, I’m Jake. You look familiar.”

“Samara.” She sounds a little on edge, and I wonder if she thinks Jake and I are flirting. She recognizes him all right—as Cait’s boyfriend from last semester. But she doesn’t know the story behind that relationship, and unfortunately, this is neither the time nor place to tell her. “I’m Cait’s roommate.”

“And now you’re with this one, huh?” he says with a grin, gesturing at me. “Careful—she’s trouble. Though you probably already know that.”

Samara freezes so fast, I swear I can actually feel the frost radiating from her skin. “I’m not—no. It’s not like that.”

The smile on Jake’s face dims a little. “Oh, uh, okay. Sorry. I thought—uh, never mind. Anyway, I should get back to the locker room. I probably stink. Good to see you again, Frankie. You too,” he adds to Samara before disappearing into the crowd.

“I should get out of here, too,” she mutters, already walking. Practically running. I grab Cait’s shoulder, tell her we had to go, and then chase after Samara into the street.

By the time I hit the pavement, though, she’s nowhere to be found.

She can’t have gotten far. “Samara?” I call out, but there’s no response. I try again, then pull out my phone and call her.

The ring is faint but I definitely hear it. When it stops, I call again, and follow the sound around the side of the gym.

Samara’s sitting behind the building, hugging her knees to her chest, breathing so deeply I think she might be hyperventilating.

I drop to my knees in front of her, dead leaves crunching under my weight. “He’s gay, Sam. And not out, obviously. It was just like recognizing like, that’s all. I promise, there’s no neon sign hanging over our heads.”

The frantic breathing stops, and confusion dawns on her face. “Jake? But he’s Cait’s ex. He—” She breaks off, I’m guessing because of the
get there faster
look on my face. “Oh. God. She was his beard?”

“I knew I liked you for your brains.”

She smiles faintly, and I need to touch her so badly, my skin is tingling with it.

“Come over, okay?” I ask quietly. “Just us.”

“I can’t.”

I take a deep breath and sit down next to her, the cold of the cinder block wall seeping through my flannel shirt. “What happened, Sam?”

“It wasn’t anything like you’re thinking,” she says softly. “Not like the last big conversation with them or anything. I mean, yeah, they still want me to date that Cornell guy, but it was more just…all of it.” She turns to me. “This is happening, isn’t it? You and me. We’re going to make it thirty days.”

I nod slowly. “I think so, yeah. I mean, I want to.”

“So do I. And it’s not like I don’t want to—I’ve
always
wanted to—but I guess it’s just hitting me now what it’ll mean when we do.”

“Oh, Sam.” I reach out and cup her soft cheek in my palm, a moment too late to realize I’m probably smudging my careful handiwork on her face. “We don’t
have
to change anything before you’re ready, okay? If you need more time…”

“I appreciate that, but something tells me our ‘closeted dates’ aren’t quite as great for you as they are for me.”

I know I should make a joke then, about how having her tongue down my throat every night this week has actually been pretty damn great, but I can’t make myself. The truth is, the itch to get back to my old life is surfacing little by little, not because I don’t love all the time alone with Sam, but because I’m starting to feel like I’m losing myself to it. I love dancing, and I haven’t been to XO in weeks. I haven’t hung out with Abe or Sid or anyone else other than Cait and Lizzie outside class. And digging out my gym clothes in order to find more subtle ways to hang out with my girlfriend? It’s exhausting.

But what choice do I have?

“So now what?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Do you need some time apart, maybe? If this is going too fast for you…” I can’t even finish the sentence. I don’t know how to go any slower than this. I barely know what I’m doing as it is. But I don’t want us to be done.

“Sometimes I think I do,” she says, and I can hear in her voice how much that confession pains her.

“And other times?”

“Other times…” In the little bit of light afforded to the night by brightness streaming through the windows up near the top of the building, I see her chew on her lip while her gaze drops to the collar of my shirt. “Other times I swear I am addicted to you,” she says in a breathless whisper that turns me to liquid. “The way I think about you is, like, depraved.”

“There’s nothing depraved about being sexually attracted to someone, Sam,” I tell her softly. “I know you’ve been raised—”

“It’s not that,” she says quickly, her soft ponytail swishing from side to side as she shakes her head. “I don’t mean it in a ‘girls liking girls is sinful’ kind of way.”

“Okay, so then what?” She doesn’t answer, so I softly add, “It’s just you, me, and the sky here, Sam; everyone else is gone. Remember what I said before? If you want something, ask for—”

I don’t even get to finish my sentence before her mouth lands on mine, hungry and searching. It’s the first time she’s ever instigated a kiss like this, and it’s so hot I think my bones might actually be melting beneath my skin. I crawl into her lap to get closer, the warmth from her body more than making up for the chill of the night. Especially when her hands grip my waist and begin a slow slide upward to my breasts.

I realize immediately she’s never done that before, either. Even now, her touch is hesitant, as if measuring to see if it’s okay. I arch forward into her palms and roll my hips against hers to tell her it’s plenty good, and she gets the message, squeezing and rubbing her thumbs over my nipples until I swear they’re going to rip through the flannel. “This,” she says breathlessly as our hips rock into each other on another squeeze. “I swear, I have a thirteen-year-old-boy obsession with your boobs. I can’t believe you don’t notice how often I stare at them.”

I want to tease her but I’m just too fucking horny. “They’re all yours,” I tell her, letting them graze her chest as I lean in to kiss her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. “Enjoy the fuck out of them. I know I am.”

She groans and her fingers move from cupping my breasts to unbuttoning my shirt. “I’ve wanted to tear this open since the second I saw you in it,” she confesses. “Even while I was freaking out in the bathroom. That’s how hot it looks on you.”

“Mmm, good to know.” I kiss her again, then sit up straight in her lap. “And how does it look off of me?”

“Way too good.” She buries her face right between my breasts and I laugh, but it tapers off into a moan as she leaves a tongue-sweeping kiss on each one of my rose tattoos. “I’m a pretty big fan of this ink, too, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“I got that,” I manage to breathe, just as she tips me back and sucks a nipple right through my bra.

It’s so unexpected, I can’t help the muttered
fuck
that flies out of my mouth, and she immediately pulls back. “Oh, hell, did I hurt you?”

“Uh uh,” I assure her before taking her lower lip between my teeth. “Trust me, everything you’re doing is utterly fucking perfect.” A little too perfect, honestly; I’m pretty sure if we keep this up, a whole lot more clothing is gonna come off. Despite how desperately I wanna come, I know that between her panic and mine, the thirty-day rules are good ones. And while the lines of what’s technically fucking may be a little blurry when you’re both girls, for the first time in my life, I’m going to err on the side of caution. “We should probably stop, though, because we’re about five seconds from me no longer knowing how to.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh, I’m not.” I kiss her lips gently as I start rebuttoning my shirt. “This is all good, okay? All of it.
We’re
good.”

She nods. “Okay.”

We’re quiet as I finish getting redressed, and then we head back out in the night, one last squeeze of our hands behind the building before we let go for the rest of the walk back.

I’m groggy as hell when I wake up in the morning, which I can only blame on the fact that last night got me ridiculously keyed up. I’m so on edge with this no-sex thing, I’ve killed the batteries in my vibrator. I’m resorting to nineteenth-century masturbation. Whatever Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is, I think I might actually have it.

At any rate, it takes me a moment to realize that there are signs of life in my apartment, just outside my bedroom door, and another to realize it’s not Connor Lizzie’s talking to; it’s Cait. I step into the living room and wave with one hand while covering a huge yawn with the other.

“Francesca! We were just talking about you!” Lizzie greets me cheerfully.

I wipe my eyes, still blurry from sleep, and see them seated at our little round dining table, their egg white omelets making clear Cait’s the one who made breakfast. “Well, that sounds ominous.”

“Not at all,” Cait assures me, tipping her plate toward me in silent offering. I shake my head and go for the coffeemaker instead. “You’ll like it.”

“Now she won’t, just because you told her she will,” Lizzie says with a grin.

Cait rolls her eyes. “She’s not you.”

“
She’s
right here. A little info, please?”

“We’re gonna have a dinner party!” Lizzie smiles brightly, like we are people who have dinner parties. “You’ve been having trouble coming up with dates that balance actually being date-y with the fact that you guys aren’t ‘out,’ right? So this is perfect! Plus, it’ll be a good chance for the rest of us to get to know Samara.”

“You know Samara, Cait. She’s your freaking roommate. You see her more than I do.”

Cait snorts. “First of all, no I don’t, and not just because I stay at Mase’s a lot.”

“Well, you’re still the only one of us who’s spent the night with her,” I grumble into my favorite
Sailor Moon
mug.

Lizzie raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that your idea?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be bitter about it.

“Fair.”

“
Anyway
,” says Cait, “we never see the two of you together, and frankly, we’re all dying to see you in girlfriend mode, so, indulge us?”

“Do I have to cook anything?”

“Nope! That’s the best part,” says Lizzie. “Connor and I have been taking Filipino cooking classes online so we can do it with my brothers over break. We’re gonna take care of everything to practice on you guys.”

“Okay,
that
sounds ominous,” says Cait. “
But
, there’ll be copious amounts of alcohol.”

“Provided by…?”

“Mase. He said you deserve it if we’re subjecting you to this,” she admits.

A little smile plays at my lips despite myself. If my friends had to practically get married to their boyfriends, at least they chose quality guys.

Wait, if they’re practically married, and Sam and I do this triple date thing…what does that make us?

This is the point, Frankie
, I remind myself, hiding my rising panic behind my mug and taking a long sip of lukewarm coffee. This is exactly who you’re proving you can be.

Still, the thought makes my heart race, and apparently I’m not hiding it very well, because suddenly I feel Cait’s calloused hand on my arm. “It’s just an idea, Frank. We don’t have to if you’re not into it.”

I force myself to relax, though it’s made much easier by Cait’s touch and Lizzie’s suddenly serious nod. This is why these girls are my best friends—even practically married, even as awkward as it would be for Cait, they would never give me shit for fucking this up. “No, I want to,” I say, mostly meaning it. “It sounds like fun. I mean, not the part about eating Lizzie’s cooking, but the rest.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

I blow Lizzie a kiss, which she catches in the air and then smacks against her ass.

“So, we’re really doing this,” says Cait. “We’re having a triple date. We are all coupled. That is madness.”

“I feel so adult,” says Lizzie, sitting up straight in her chair. “First a super healthy breakfast with no fat or flavor, and now this.”

“Hey!”

I roll my eyes. “It’s an egg white, Cait. It barely even counts as food.”

Cait sniffs. “Well then, if you feel that way, it’s a good thing Lizzie’s doing all the cooking.”

“Aw, Caity J, don’t worry—you can totally pick out the vodka.” I pause. “Wait. Maybe lemonade. Or iced tea. I keep forgetting Sam doesn’t drink.”

Lizzie’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re with someone who doesn’t drink?”

I raise one right back. “Have you seen her legs?”

“Aaaaand that’s about all the objectifying of my roommate I can handle for one morning,” says Cait, but she’s smiling. “I’ll let Mase know it’s on. Friday night at eight?”

“I’ll make sure Sam’s in,” I say, feeling the start of butterfly wings fluttering in my stomach again.
And I’ll make sure I am too.

• • •

It takes me until later that night, when Samara and I are sitting at opposite ends of the couch, our legs intertwined over the middle and our hands occupied by chopsticks and pad Thai, to bring it up. And when I do, she laughs.

“I don’t know what I’m more surprised by—that Lizzie cooks or that Cait is this okay with us dating.”

“Let no one say my friends aren’t full of surprises.” I pluck a bit of chicken from the nest of noodles and pass the takeout carton to Samara. “But they seem pretty into it.”

She smiles. “They’re cute.”

“So are you.”

Her smile widens, and she blushes and looks down into the carton, and I want to draw her so badly right now I can feel the ache in my fingers.

“Does that mean you’re in?” I ask, rubbing a thumb over the velvet bone of her ankle.

“Of course I’m in. I want to get to know your friends.”

There’s a quiet moment then where the natural thing to say would be “and I want to meet yours,” but other than the couple of friends at home I know she’s in touch with, Sam’s just as lone a wolf as Lizzie.

As if someone’s been watching us, Sam’s phone suddenly pings with a text, and we both instinctively glance at it on the coffee table and see a message from “Jenny” light up the screen. I expect her to take it, but she just turns back to the pad Thai and feeds herself another bite. “This is so much better than the one place in Meridian,” she says once she swallows. “I am definitely in favor of making this a regular thing.”

“Sounds good,” I say, but I can’t stop looking at her phone, wondering why she doesn’t want to answer the text with me here. It’s not that I’m jealous—I know Jenny’s just a friend—and maybe she’s just being polite, not answering texts when she’s with me. If anything, I should appreciate it. But for some reason, it’s making me feel weird. Like maybe she so badly doesn’t want our worlds merging that she can’t even acknowledge a text from someone in her straight outside world when she’s lying here with her long, gorgeous legs all tangled up in my super queer ones.

This was your idea
, my stupid brain reminds me in a voice that’s way too similar to Lizzie’s.
You have no one to blame but yourself.
Out loud, I say, “You can answer that, you know, if you weren’t because of me.”

She shrugs. “It’s just Jenny.”

“Isn’t Jenny one of your best friends?”

“Exactly why she won’t care if I don’t answer her for a couple of hours.” Sam takes another bite, then hands the carton back, but I shake my head and she puts it down on the coffee table instead. “She’s probably just bored on her date.” Her short pink fingernails trace the chain tattoo on my ankle, making me shiver. “I, however, am not.”

This is where I should sit up and meet her in the middle and lick the last traces of pad Thai from her tongue, but I can’t. Even as the question forms on my lips, I hate myself for asking it, but I can’t help it. “Does she know about me?”

Samara sits up, and I miss her gentle touch immediately. “That’s what this is? You think I broke your rules?”

“No! No,” I repeat more calmly. “It’s just…if you wanted to…”

“If I wanted to what, Frankie? You asked me not to tell my friends and family about you and I didn’t. Do you think I’m lying?”

“I think I hate that my friends are getting to know you and I can’t do the same with yours. I know that’s my fault. I’m sorry.” I sit up too and take one of her hands, and I’m admittedly a little surprised she even lets me. “I’m being a total hypocrite right now.”

She smiles softly, and for the trillionth time since we met, I’m struck by how utterly beautiful she is. “You are, yeah, but I like that you care. But you know I can’t do the secrecy thing like that, right? It’s one thing for Cait and Lizzie to know, but to put my friends in that position when they see my parents decently often, or for
me
to worry about one of them slipping…and that’s not even taking into account that I can’t be sure how they’ll react personally, but I suspect not well.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I really am. I hate this for you.”

“I know.” She squeezes my hand and uses it to lift herself over me until she’s seated in my lap, straddling my hips, her face hovering just inches over mine. “But it has its good moments too.”

The only response I can manage is an unintelligible utterance in my throat as her lips brush mine and her palm cups my cheek so gently I have to cradle into her hand to make sure she’s really here with me.

It’s been two weeks since I begged for thirty days and already I hate everything about it. Most of all, I hate that I still need it, that I am sitting here holding this most perfect girl, and as soon as she goes back home for the night, I’ll go right back into dinner party panic. Not because of her or because I don’t want this—God, how I want this—but because I am clearly just fucked up.

“Do you lose yourself this deeply in thought when you’re making out with everyone, or am I just especially boring?” she teases, though I’m not really sure she’s teasing at all.

I reach up to tuck a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. “You’re the only person I think about too much to lose myself in.”

She pauses, tips her head to the side. “Okay, that was pretty smooth.”

“Enough to earn me another kiss?”

“Maybe just one.” She wraps her arms loosely around my neck and brings her mouth down to mine. Beneath her, I am melting, and I wonder if I’m wrong, if tonight will be the night my brain finally settles into smooth sailing—and kissing—for the next two weeks, two months, two years. Kissing her now, it seems impossible to ever give this up.

It isn’t just the way she feels, or smells, or tastes; it’s the way she sighs into my mouth, like: finally. Like: you found me. Like: this is everything I dreamed it would be.

How do you ever stop kissing a girl like that?

Maybe it’s just that simple, you idiot
, I think as our tongues sweep over each other in lazy, relaxing rhythm, low tide on a calm day.
You don’t.