Page 90 of Of Pucking Course

“Now go shower and get dressed. I’m taking you out,” he says.

“For what?”

He nods at the balloons. “A belated birthday celebration.”

I blink at him, surprised and heartened all at once. “Seriously?”

He nods, still smiling.

“Sam, my birthday was months ago.”

“I know. But you said it wasn’t that great. You deserve to have a good birthday. So let me make it happen for you.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling puddles in my chest. Sam is so sweet and thoughtful, and I can barely take it.

I think back to the other day when I came home crying from work after Henry’s dad lost it on me in the school yard. How he hugged me and comforted me while I told him what happened. How he reassured me that I was an amazing teacher. How he ordered my favorite takeout and bingedBig Bang Theorywith me while cuddling on the couch.

That feeling inside of me intensifies. My heart beats faster. He’s the perfect guy. The perfect friend.

The word “friend” snags in my brain even as I think it. It feels wrong to call Sam a friend at this point. He’s blowing my mind in the bedroomandplanning romantic surprises for me.

That feels a lot more like a boyfriend…

Except he’s not my boyfriend—he never will be.

A sinking feeling lands in my gut. I don’t know why I feel so disappointed. I’m the one who came up with this arrangement for him to coach me through all the naughty things I’ve wanted to try in the bedroom, with the explicit agreement that we stay friends.

But it’s getting harder and harder each day to think of Sam as just my friend.

I push aside the thought and refocus on the moment.

I beam at him, excited for what he has planned. “I can’t believe you planned a belated birthday surprise for me.”

He walks up to me, rests his hands on my waist, and kisses me.

“Be ready to leave in an hour.”

I bite my lip at the soft growl in his voice. “So bossy.”

“You love it.”

“Absolutely.”

I quickly shower, then throw on some simple makeup and a chambray dress.

“Is this okay for where we’re going?” I ask when I walk back out into the kitchen while rolling up the sleeves of the denim dress.

“It’s perfect. You look so pretty.”

I fuss with the belt around my waist, my cheeks heating. I love it when Sam compliments me. He always sounds like he means it.

He swipes his keys and wallet from the counter. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Twenty minutes later, Sam parks his car next to the storefront of a boutique in the high-end neighborhood of Cherry Creek.

When I see that it’s Kara Salonga’s new clothing store, I gasp. She’s my favorite fashion designer.

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