Page 9 of The Man I Love

She wiped her mouth and nodded.

“You sure?” he asked, waiting for her to breathe normally before he walked back to the kitchen to grab a pile of napkins.

Samantha averted her gaze to her roommate, where a rush of heat made her cheeks flush. “Where did you meet this guy?” she asked Margaret. It was probably rude to talk about him when he wasright there, but alcohol did that to her. Made her lips loose and her mind curious.

Edward threw the napkins on the table, swiped up the mess with a flick of his wrist, then tossed them into the wastebasket like a pro basketball player. “Tinder,” he chimed in, “ever hear of it?”

Margaret threw back her head in laughter, like he’d just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life. “Are you kidding me?” She giggled so hard that she snorted. “Sam’s practically married!”

Edward paused, glancing down at Sam’s fingers. “Where’s your ring?” he asked, staring at the third one.

“Excuse me?”

“Your ring?” He sat forward, grabbing hold of her left hand and pulling her closer. “If you’repracticallymarried—” His eyes shifted upward. “Where. Is. Your. Ring?” The words were said with deliberate punctuation, as though to prove a point.

“We’re not engaged.” She yanked her hand away, rubbing it on her clay-spattered pants.

“Why not?” he asked.

“None of your business,” she stated.

“Do you want to be?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not in any hurry.”

“Why?” His eyes challenged her. “Is he not the one?”

She felt unsteady, unsure if it was his words or the alcohol that made her feel that way.

Of course, he was the one. Her heart had known that fact before her brain even had—yet an uneasy feeling crept inside herbody like a stomach bug. Like a tree spreading its roots deep into her soul and grabbing hold of all her insecure spots.

Why didn’t she have a ring on her finger? Why hadn’t he asked her to marry him yet?

Margaret must have sensed her unease, because she slapped Edward’s knee, forcing his attention back in her direction. “Tristan is perfect,” she scolded him. “I haven’t met him yet, but he’s all Sam talks about, so I know it’s true.”

“Ahhh… So it’s him who can’t commit.” Eddy raised an eyebrow, leaning back in the seat as though he'd solved the puzzle. “He’s leading you on, isn’t he, Sam?”

She sat taller. “Why would you care if he was?” Her tone was even, though to her own ears, sounded defensive.

Edward smirked. “Are my questions making you uncomfortable, Samantha?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” His face softened, making him appear almost harmless. “Because that was never my intention.”

Margaret sat forward again, shoving Edward’s feet out of her path as she made her way to the kitchen. “Stop harassing her, Eddy.” She laughed. “She’s young, and in love, which is more than I can say for your jaded ass.”

Samantha picked up her beer, taking a long drink before placing it on the table again. “I’m not in a hurry,” she stated. “I know he’s the one.” She nodded again, unable to stop herself from defending their relationship. “Deep down in my soul, I know it.” She pushed herself to the edge of the cushion. Her knee grazed Edward’s. “We’re building our careers right now, our foundation … otherwise…”

His eyes bore into hers. “Otherwise, what?”

“We’d be together.”Otherwise … I wouldn’t be here with you.

More footsteps hammered in the stairwell, and Sam spun to find Peter at the landing, carrying bags of groceries and looking frustrated. “Margaret, you better start ‘splainingyourself,” he said in a mock Ricky Ricardo accent.

Margaret blinked a few times, then slapped her hand over her mouth and pushed herself from the chair. “Oh my God, Peter, I’m so sorry!”

Peter scoffed, but proceeded toward the refrigerator, Margaret only a few steps behind him as she rattled off excuses for her absence at the bar.

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