Page 17 of To Tell the Truth
"I'd rather not."
"I promise he's not that bad."
He could feel his mouth tighten into a straight line in frustration. "Maybe not him, but I am."
Samantha stopped on the sidewalk and turned toward him. "You're what?"
"I'm that bad."
She shook her head and threaded her hand through his elbow as she started to pull him down the block. "I refuse to believe you're that bad."
"This season hasn't been what I expected to be," he explained. "I just feel like I'm not fitting in with the team. Something feels off."
"You could always start with a fresh team and move here instead."
It was probably a flippant comment from Samantha to try and make him feel better, but there was something about the idea that suddenly felt good. Sure, Chicago wasn't as warm as Los Angeles, but being with Samantha would make him feel warm every day of the year. Being with her sounded like it would feel right in a way that was missing from being with his current team.
How could this woman have dropped back into his life when he wasn't expecting it and seem to fill a void that he hadn't realized existed? And it wasn't just a general void. It was a Samantha void that he didn't realize needed a Samantha again.
She turned the corner and started walking down a new block that seemed more residential than the previous commercial street with the restaurants. It had some apartment buildings with that red and brown brick that seemed so typical for this city.
Then Samantha got to one building and turned toward the walkway to the front door. She paused for a minute as if she wasn't sure what she wanted to do next, and it felt weird for Fletcher to realize he didn't know either. After thinking about her and counting down the days until he was in Chicago, he realized he hadn't thought about what he should do in this situation.
"Um, would you like to come up for a drink?"
Samantha seemed cautious but still confident as if she didn't mind being the one who took the first step here.
"I have a game tomorrow, but I could be persuaded to have a drink first."
She gave him a small nod and then started going up the walkway. As she reached the front door, she turned for a moment to see if Fletcher was still behind her. He was. There was no way he was going to be anywhere else. Then Samantha slipped the key in and unlocked the door, holding it open for him to follow her.
The lobby was one of those typical Chicago apartment lobbies that looked like it had been built in the 1930s or something. The wooden stairs led up and he followed her to another door on the second floor.
Her key slipped in the lock, and Fletcher could feel the tension rise in his body. He was going to be in a room with Samantha alone. The last time they were alone, he took her around Hollywood and they ate cupcakes and he kissed her on the beach.
But this time seemed different and more intimate because it was her apartment.
"I bet this isn't like whatever you have in California," she said as she closed the door behind them.
His mind flashed to his condo in Redondo Beach that looked out on the ocean. It was modern and slick with some fancy furniture he picked out of a flashy catalog. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a house.
But Samantha's place felt like home. She had pillows on a big blue couch that looked super cozy and one of those afghans with the flower things on it that were in every home in Minnesota including his own. Fletcher smiled at the memory. Hell, he would ask Samantha if he could stay if only to sleep on that comfy couch with that blanket.
"Why are you smiling?"
"The blanket," he said. "It just reminds me of home. My mom makes blankets like that."
"Your mom made that one."
"What are you talking about?"
Samantha gave him a small smile. "When you got your hockey scholarship to Michigan, your mom made that for me as a bonus for helping you with algebra."
"A bonus? That makes it sound like she was paying you to tutor me." He turned to see Samantha staring at him. "Wait, did my parents pay you to tutor me?"
"Yeeeessss?"
It was the slow way she said it that made him realize she was trying to let him gently understand their relationship in high school was much more transactional than he realized.
