Page 84 of Forgetting You, Forgetting Me

My green eyes look huge, thanks to the warm bronze eye shadow Piper caked on. She ditched the black eyeliner and used a plum color instead. My long lashes look like they’re on steroids with the layers of mascara coating them. I drew the line at hooker red lipstick and we settled on a clear gloss instead.

Piper looks amazing in a red tunic dress. She’s got a runner’s body with incredible long legs and not an ounce of jiggle on her. She’s wearing black pumps which add about five inches to her small frame. She’s dressed to impress and I know she’s only interested in impressing one man tonight. Her long hair is straightened, not a strand out of place, and her red lips look wickedly inviting. Saxon doesn’t stand a chance.

Thinking of another beauty that may be fighting for his attention tonight, I realize Saxon is going to be one busy boy. I still haven’t spoken to him since this morning, and haven’t replied to his texts either. I don’t know what to say other than Sam has been fine—great, in fact. I feel like I’m rubbing his nose in something that isn’t there.

“C’mon, let’s go. Sam may not remember you, but he sure as shit will after he sees you in that outfit.” I nervously brush my hands down my romper.

We walk towards the door and like predicted, I trip, thanks to the monster heels Piper insisted I wear. I may be on a path of self discovery, but in these shoes, I’ll be tripping every step of the way. I’m certain they leave a dent in the wall as I kick them off. Piper watches in horror as I bend down and slip into my black cowboy boots.

“No.”

“Yes,” I reply, my feet singing in relief.

When she hears Bon Jovi blaring down the hallway, she gives up arguing and claps excitedly. “This is my jam!”

I follow behind her as she practically runs into the living room. There are about a dozen people mingling down the corridor, and I don’t know a single one. When I round the corner however, that dozen is quickly replaced by a dozen more faces I don’t recognize.

Piper is long gone, swallowed up in the sea of people, leaving me to fend for myself. At a guess, I would say there are roughly one hundred people mingling in my home. When I hear rowdy laughter from outside however, I know that number will multiply, as the night is still young.

Still feeling hung over, I decide to stick to water, which is a shame as alcohol would help make the night go faster. Politely pushing past random strangers, I enter my crowded kitchen but come to a screeching halt. A circle has formed around a young girl who barely looks twenty-one, sucking on a beer bong hose. She’s in denim shorts and a bright pink bikini top, which only adds to the frat party vibe.

I have no idea who these people are, where they’ve come from, and how Piper knows them, but I smile as I duck and weave past them, adamant to have a good time. I grab a bottle of water and decide to sit out on the porch and enjoy the warm night, but when I turn around, I smack straight into Samuel.

“I’m sorry!” we say at the same time, smiling.

He looks incredibly handsome in black jeans and a white V neck t-shirt. His longer hair is styled messily, but it suits him. His jaw line is coated with a light scruff, giving him an edgier, non-Sam look.

He looks down at my drink and shakes his head, mockingly. “You can do better than that.”

“No, no, water is fine,” I reply, still smiling. “My liver needs a night off.” The moment I confess my sins, I zip my lips, kicking myself for the over share. Samuel has no idea what I did last night and I’d like to keep it that way.

“Ah, c’mon. One glass of wine can’t hurt.” When his eyes twinkle and a familiar dimple touches his right cheek, I cave. It’s the same face he pulled whenever he wanted something in the past and then, just like now, it has worked.

“Okay, just one,” I say, holding up my finger.

“Stay right here.” He points to the spot where I stand.

When he pushes past a couple making out against the fridge, he gestures to them and pulls a mock disgusted face. I can’t help but laugh. The wine sits at the end of the counter, and Samuel is having a hard time reaching it as a billion people stand in the way.

His fun, laidback attitude reminds me so much of whom he used to be. It’s almost enough for me to forget the past few weeks—almost. One song ends and then another begins and that song suits the person who has just walked into the room to a tee. “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon fills the space between us as I lock eyes with Saxon Stone.

He stops, not caring that people are trying to get past. The only thing he seems to care about is me. His commanding presence fills the kitchen and, it fills my…heart. I’ve missed him. I don’t know what is happening between Saxon and me, but I can’t deny that something is there.

I wish I could control my emotions around him, but I can’t. My lips hurt as I grin. I’m pretty sure I resemble the Joker. As he adjusts his backwards turned baseball cap, his biceps move in just the right way so I can admire the rest of him. He’s wearing a white Santa Cruz muscle tank which hangs low on his flank, exposing his ripped obliques and scripted tattoo which I can’t read. The wings from his chest piece peer out from under his tank, complementing the colorful artwork running down his arm. His hair is mussed, the dirty blond drawing out the sea green in his eyes. He is beautiful.

I can’t take my eyes off of him, and he’s making no secret of the fact that he can’t take his eyes off of me either. I feel hot all over. As he scans down my body, his gaze heated and hungry, I shamefully press my legs together, turned on.

“Here you go.” The familiar voice jars me from my very inappropriate behavior and I guiltily lower my eyes.

There was a time when I craved to hear that voice, but now I crave to hear another—the one which filled a hole when I needed Sam’s familiarity. But now, I need Saxon’s.

“Th-thanks, Sam,” I stutter, angry at myself for thinking something which I shouldn’t. This newfound independence is turning me into a tramp.

“You look nice tonight,” he says, sipping his Budweiser. I gulp down my wine, wishing I could drown in it.

I don’t know where Saxon is and I’m too nervous to look up and seek him out. He no doubt saw Sam give me a drink without throwing it in my face, and the fact I haven’t replied to his texts highlights that something is askew. But why do I feel guilty? This is what we both wanted, right? For Sam to remember. That’s why he’s here. The butterflies within hint otherwise.

“Do you want to dance?” Sam asks, again snapping me from somewhere other than here.

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