Just Three Words (Soho Loft Romances) (7 page)

“Oh, please. You’re edgy. Trust me. No one picks up my quips faster than you. Plus, I think they frowned more on lesbians in the sixties. Bisexuals, too, so you’d be screwed. Better off here.”

Sam sat up. “It would mean I’d have to stick with men. Maybe that would solve my problem. Men are less complicated. There’s something to be said for that.”

Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “Don’t let stupid Libby Weatherup of the ridiculously perfect cheekbones ruin you for lesbians everywhere. You happen to like women. A lot.”

“I hate it when you make valid points.”

“Then you must always hate me.” Brooklyn smiled at herself and Sam tossed a playful pillow her way. It was true that Sam had many positive experiences with men under her belt, and she was capable of finding them infinitely attractive under the right circumstances. But when it came to the physical alone, there was something about women she couldn’t quite turn away from.

At least not entirely.

“If we’re being honest,” Brooklyn said, hugging the pillow, “I didn’t think Libby was right for you. I never bought her wide-eyed, look-at-me-I’m-gorgeous routine because there’s not much beyond it.”

Sam’s phone buzzed from where it rested on the coffee table. She checked the screen. It was a text from Libby.

Late lunch today?

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can do this. What am I supposed to say?” She showed the text to Brooklyn, who turned fully to Samantha on the couch.

“Look at me.”

“Looking.”

Brooklyn spoke in a calm, even tone. “You go meet her and tell her to hit the road.”

“I don’t know if I can do that. This is Libby.”

Brooklyn studied her as if mulling over her options. “So you’re saying you want to stay in this relationship?”

Oh no. Here came the tears again. She took a deep breath to stave them off. “No. I’m not sure I could do that either knowing how she…” The emotion overcame her and the words died in her throat. “She doesn’t want to be with me, Brooks. I’m not who she wants.”

“I think you know what you have to do here. I’ll have ice cream reinforcements waiting when you return.”

*

They’d agreed to meet at Ground Support, the little café that seemed to be their spot. At least the place had really good cheeseburgers. She tried to focus on that, the cheeseburger upside, which one should never overlook. The afternoon was full of sunshine and promise, and those conditions only seemed to mock Samantha all the more as she walked the three sun-kissed blocks to the café.

Twenty minutes later, Libby gestured in a circle with her fork. She looked fresh-faced and beautiful, just to make this suck all the more. “The Manolos were huge sellers this year, and I called that one at the first of the season. Jennifer in corporate wasn’t at all convinced, but the order we placed was bigger because of my recommendation, and now I look like the hero. It was a really good week. But enough about work. How was your morning?”

Samantha stared blandly at Libby and played the question back. Ah, yes. Her morning. Here went nothing. “Not the best, actually.”

“I’m sorry. Hangover from last night? You were adorable on the dance floor, by the way. Everyone thought so. It was so much fun to see you cut loose that way.”

“Please don’t call me adorable. I’m tired of being adorable.” She seemed to be thinking out loud now. Fabulous.

Libby paused and a look of concern crossed her face. “Of course, honey bear.”

The term of endearment that used to light Samantha up from the inside out now felt like a farce. Like the knife from that morning was now being twisted. She used the way she was feeling to force the necessary words from her mouth. It didn’t mean she liked the taste of them. “Libby, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Libby set her iced tea down slowly. And damn it, those turquoise blue eyes shone brightly in question. “You don’t? Why?”

“I heard you on the radio this morning. As Tricia.” She felt nauseous.

“On the radio?” Libby parroted back slowly. But her whole demeanor changed in the course of fifteen seconds, and that said everything.

Sam pressed on. “Yeah. So I’m not sure there’s much left to say.”

“Oh.” A long, very telling pause. “I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Libby said, but the sparkle was gone completely from those eyes. She took a minute before finding her words. “The feelings I have for Tanya, I wanted them to go away, Sam. I hoped they would.”

For whatever reason, maybe because her own feelings for Libby were still quite real, she felt bad for her. Didn’t mean her heart hadn’t been ripped out and stepped on. Violently. Publically. In a scenario she wished to God was not now part of her history. “I guess you can’t control who you fall in love with.”

“No. I guess not.”

Another silence.

“I think the world of you, Sam.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

Libby’s face was earnest as she sat forward in her chair, trying to explain further. “No, really. I was thinking about this the other day. You’re like my favorite pair of shoes, you know that? The comfortable ones that are worn and easy on your feet after a long day of work. You know they’re going to be there for you when that day is over. The shoes you look forward to putting on after hours in killer heels. I love that about you.”

Sam took a minute with the analogy. Was Libby
actually
comparing her to an old, worn-out pair of shoes? As in the kind you don’t wear out around people? Had that really just happened? She shook her head in mystification. “So if we’re keeping track, first I’m a dishrag, and now I’m a worn-out pair of shoes?” The beady-eyed waiter raised his eyebrows as he refilled Sam’s water glass.

Libby’s eyes widened and she placed her hand on her heart. “No! God, that doesn’t sound how I meant it at all. You’re not a dishrag. I never used that term. And the shoe thing, that was a
compliment
. I love my old shoes. Truly.” Sam laughed out loud because she didn’t know what else to do and there was no way she was going to let Libby see her cry.

“I wish you well, Libby. With Tanya, or wherever it is life takes you. But if there were an award for bad breakup speeches, I think you’d have a legitimate shot.”

She watched her girlfriend’s—correction, ex-girlfriend’s—face fall further. Such a bad situation all around. “So that’s it?” Libby asked.

God, she wished it weren’t. But she couldn’t undo what she’d heard. And how would she not think about it every time she looked at Libby? “I guess it has to be.”

“Yeah.” They stared at each other for a moment and it was enough for Sam to feel her heart breaking in two.

This was supposed to have been it.

Her own happily ever after.

Right here.

Libby picked up her hair and dropped it. “We’ll still be friends, though, right?”

Friends.
The word felt lethal. Samantha didn’t know if that would ever be something she could manage, but she lied all the same. Pride was suddenly all she had left, and she was clinging to it with all her might. “Sure. It’s not like we hate each other.”

Libby broke into a wide smile. A relieved smile, if Samantha had to guess, and that stung all the more. “I’m so glad.” She reached for the check. “And I’m getting this.”

Sam didn’t argue. After ruining her life, it was the least Libby could do.

There were boxes strewn across every available surface in the loft. The place kind of looked like a box convention, as far as Samantha was concerned, and they seemed to be multiplying and making little box children.

It had been quite a Monday, with the Savvy team knocking off at lunch to lend a hand in the moving process. Jessica had a late-afternoon meeting at work but would join them shortly, having agreed to bring in dinner for the group. The mission du jour was to pack Brooklyn’s belongings and have everything ready for the movers to transport the following day.

So far so good, if she did say so herself. The workload was massive, and that was helpful in a way. It kept Sam from thinking too much about the state of her world. You know, the breakup that stripped her raw and the fact that her best friend was deserting her.
Bitter, party of one
?

On the flip side, Sam was grateful that Hunter and Mallory had agreed to help out, but then again, of course they would. That was what friends did for one another. Throughout the course of the afternoon, she and Mallory had traded off as project manager, as Mallory was best at wrangling the herd and Samantha was empress of organization. But the sheer volume of it all was overwhelming, as Brooklyn had a
ton of stuff
.

“Okay, Brooks, I think it’s time we face facts here,” Sam said, examining the contents of one of the few boxes Brooklyn had managed to pack on her own.

Brooklyn peered over Samantha’s shoulder into the box. “What are we facing, exactly?”

“You’re a bit of a hoarder. And I only threw in the words ‘a bit’ to soften the blow because there’s really no ‘a bit’ about it. You need some sort of program with steps.”

Brooklyn gasped. “I am not a hoarder.”

Mallory looked across at them from the box she was packing and raised an eyebrow at Sam. “You got this?”

“I do.”

“Excellent. I’m here if you need me.”

Sam pressed on. “You have, let’s see, seven circle brushes in this box. Two of which are missing most of their bristles. Now let’s think about this. Is it necessary that all seven circle brushes, which happen to fulfill the exact same function in your life, make this move with you to Jessica’s place?”

Brooklyn stared at the brushes resolutely. “Yes.”

Samantha took this in. “Why?’

“Because I need them all. They’re my brushes. You’re my bitches and they’re my brushes. Just how things are.”

“Ha ha. That’s good, bitches and brushes. I see what you did there, but let’s stay on track, shall we? If you think about it, you don’t need them all,” Sam said as gently as she could. “You really just need one circle brush.”

“Lose five of the brushes, Brooks,” Hunter said from across the room.

Brooklyn turned to Hunter, wounded. “Et tu, Brute?”

“I have to raise my hand on this as well,” Mallory said. “Overkill on the hairbrushes.”

“When was the last time you used this one?” Sam asked Brooklyn, holding up the biggest offender. Old and battered. It’d been to hair war and lost.

Brooklyn was unconvinced. “It doesn’t matter. It’s going.”

“And look over here. There are…” Sam paused to count. “Twelve pairs of manicuring scissors in here.
Twelve
. We could write a Christmas carol and give each their own verse.”

Brooklyn shrugged. “Manicuring scissors are important. I take care of my nails.” She held up her hand. “Look, neatly trimmed.” Sam sighed and ushered Brooklyn to the sofa. She understood that Brooklyn’s compulsion to hold on to everything she came in contact with probably came from her years growing up in foster homes where she had very little that was hers alone, but enough was enough.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to work toward a fresh start when you and Jessica move in together? Lose some of the extra baggage, and that way you can get new stuff. Together stuff. Together stuff is crazy romantic.”

Brooklyn thought on this and smiled dreamily. “Together stuff sounds nice.” And it did. In fact, Sam loved the idea. Not so long ago she thought she’d be investing in together stuff in the not-so-distant future herself. That is, until Libby tore out her heart and stomped on it.

“See? There’s an upside to streamlining.”

Brooklyn offered a halfhearted nod that said she was trying. “Maybe I could get behind streamlining.”

As Hunter looked on, she admired Samantha’s ability to reason with Brooklyn. She was a good friend and easily the sweetest one of their group, if not on the planet. But she’d dimmed noticeably once the conversation shifted to relationships. Given what that stupid ex-girlfriend of hers had done two days prior, she couldn’t exactly blame her. She decided to help the anti-hoarding cause. “So maybe a compromise?”

“A compromise could work,” Samantha said, sending Hunter a grateful look.

“Two brushes and four pairs of manicuring scissors?” Brooklyn said.

Sam sighed. “Fine. I can agree to that. Progress is progress.” As Brooklyn headed back to work, Samantha leaned in next to Hunter’s ear. “If I find thirty-eight staplers in her desk drawer later, some of those puppies are gonna mysteriously go missing. Stapler heaven needs to prep for a few more stapler angels.”

“I have your stapler back,” Hunter whispered.

“That’s why you win the award for best new roommate.”

The loft door slid open and Jessica Lennox strode into the room with two piping-hot pizzas in hand from John’s in the Village. And that was good, because Hunter was starving. And who didn’t love John’s Pizzeria? She’d gone out with the hostess there once.

It wasn’t just the pizza that was hot.

“You’re here. Hi, baby,” Brooklyn said and greeted her girlfriend promptly with a hello kiss. Hunter had to admit, they were a good-looking couple and really seemed to click. Given, this kind of thing—settling down—was a mysterious quandary she didn’t really understand. But she had to admire the forever quality other people seemed so fond of. Speaking of which, she should really give that yoga instructor a call.

“Busy day at the office, Jess?” Hunter asked, snagging a slice of pepperoni and raising an eyebrow at the love of Brooklyn’s life. “You’re a rock star for bringing us the pies.” Packing was quickly moved to the back burner in favor of the newly arrived dinner. Her friends moved about the kitchen, passing around plates, napkins, and beverages.

“Hired a new account executive,” Jessica said, shrugging out of her tailored suit jacket and letting her hair down from the twist she’d secured it in. She had a way of transforming herself from all business to laid-back Jessica in just a few simple moves.

“Uh-oh,” Mallory said, her eyebrow raised. “Sounds like more competition for us to blow through.”

“Humor from the peanut gallery over here. You’re very funny,” Jessica said and playfully tossed a breadstick in Mallory’s direction for emphasis, which of course she caught. She was Mal.