TWENTY FOUR

Lexie

Samantha's dad looked upset.

I had the feeling of being a cat that had been submerged in water and then spit out of the water.

The expression on his face moved from bewildered to shocked to enraged in the space of a few seconds. Now, it was growing easier to understand each other and was becoming more similar to the way we used to converse when we first started college. He was approaching me at the same time that he was replacing his phone in the pocket of his coat.

"Apologies, Lexie. There was no sign of you when I looked."

Nevertheless, he had. I had no doubt that he had taken note of me. I wasn't sure whether it was him, but I had that sixth feeling that all girls have, and it told me that someone was looking at me. I just didn't know who it was.

To restore my poise, I tried to regain my calmness and answered, "No, I should be the one to apologize." "Instead of driving myself, I should have gotten a taxi." I couldn't bring myself to admit that the concept made me nervous because of my embarrassment.

Overwhelmed. It's possible that I could have been happier if I'd just rebooked my travel to Ohio and spent the summer there instead.

He took up my luggage as if it were full of air rather than all of my belongings and calmly informed me, "No, you shouldn't have," as he did so. Samantha's dad was being really calm. "She would not have been able to stop going on and on about it," I said.

I couldn't help but laugh uncomfortably as I followed his lead and fell into step. “I can—” I crafted a label to go on the suitcase.

He let out a chuckle but didn't say anything else. We made our way in complete silence to his svelte black Mercedes, which most likely cost twice as much as my entire legal education combined. I was at a complete loss for words. Oh, how I prayed that Samantha could have been there! I inhaled a long breath and then focused my thoughts on my friend who seemed to be in a good mood at all times and seemed to know everyone. What actions would she take if she were in the same situation as her?

She spoke. Prolonged phrases and narratives that didn't call for much participation from the reader were common. She would poke fun at herself, which in turn would make the other people around her laugh. I mustered up every ounce of bravery I could muster, and I began to speak.

It was somewhat successful. When I informed him about my flight and how thrilled I was to finally be in Los Angeles, at least the deafening stillness that had been surrounding us was broken. I thanked him and expressed my embarrassment at the fact that Samantha had called him when she wasn't supposed to, but I thanked God that he was the one who was keeping me alive.

I could tell that Samantha's dad wasn't really paying attention even though he smiled, nodded, and grunted appropriately at the appropriate times. I had the impression that he was used to performing activities of this nature. That did not provide a challenge for me. I constantly had one eye on the GPS and kept track of the time as well as the distance traveled. As a result of my excessive flatulence, I was parched by the time we arrived at the parking garage beneath the city. Because I was chatting so much, I didn't even notice the structure that was perched on top of it, but Samantha later showed me some images of it. I was aware that there was a tall, slick glass structure that stood out against the skyline, and that if I stood on her long, narrow balcony, I would be able to view the long blue rectangle of the pool that was surrounded by lounge chairs and palm trees.

I started to feel a tiny bit of exhilaration despite the fact that I was really terrified. Ever since I boarded the plane, my nerves had been on edge. I completed my round and offered Samantha's dad a friendly grin. Despite this, he had already exited the vehicle before help arrived. I could see his broad shoulders moving as he attempted to keep the trunk from rising behind us, and I could hear it creaking. In conclusion, he did not view it as being of no consequence. I exited the vehicle and slung my large purse over one shoulder, resuming my previous practice of keeping my other hand free.

"I can't thank you enough—"

"I'll walk you in," he said. When we entered the parking garage, he took off his sunglasses so that I could see his eyes, which were so dark that I could not distinguish between the pupils and the iris of his eyes. When we left the garage, he put his sunglasses back on.

God, he looked good. And there was something menacing about the way his dark hair and eyes contrasted with his fair complexion.

Samantha did not ever gain a tan either.

Samantha.

When I thought of my best friend, it was like a blast of ice water hitting me in the face. It was impossible for me to look at her father. She found it funny that her father had a few casual relationships with women while she was growing up. I've always assumed that the reason was that she didn't want to compete with the other women for her father's attention, not because there was anything inherently wrong with the other ladies.

I told him, "You don't need to walk me in. I can just walk in alone." I have no idea if he even heard what I said.

He retreated from the situation and started making his way toward the elevator. I had to up my pace if I wanted to catch up. The ascent to the thirty-first floor was a laborious and drawn-out process. Did it really become necessary for him to purchase Samantha a home on the penthouse level?

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator doors eventually opened, revealing what appeared to be a hallway inside a five-star hotel. The windows that ran from floor to ceiling on both sides of the hallway allowed an abundance of natural light to enter. It caused the wide gray floor boards to gleam, giving the impression that there was a black river running through the cream-colored walls. What have I done?

As he reached the end of the path, Samantha's dad made a left turn and continued walking. He switched my bag over to his left hand and then got something out of his pocket that looked like a key chain. After observing the light on the pad turn from red to green, I noticed that he opened the door by just pushing it open.

When I followed him inside and saw the vista, I may have really let out a gasp, but he pretended like he hadn't heard me and continued walking about. He was swift and effective in his movement. After placing my bag on the inside of the door leading to the main bedroom, he proceeded to give me a brief tour of the apartment.

"Kitchen, living room, and office," he remarked hastily, without giving any of the rooms much of his attention. It was impossible for me to resist looking. I don't think I've ever been anyplace quite as nice as this before, with the possible exception of his flat in Paris. The floor was a neutral gray color and it was consistent throughout the entire floor plan, beginning in the exterior hallway.

I could tell that the appliances in the kitchen were high-end despite the fact that the kitchen was on the smaller side. Additionally, the white granite surface had silver and gold veins going through it. At the bar, there was no table; instead, there were barstools with sturdy gold legs and white cushions. The only other piece of furniture in the living room was a pink couch that was really overstuffed. It was oriented so that it looked out onto the wall that contained a flat-screen TV positioned over a long electric fireplace.

When I peered inside the office, I noticed that there was a desk against the wall and a full-sized bed against the window. When I gave it some consideration,

In the kitchen, Samantha's father was keeping everyone waiting with his impatience. Although he made a hasty effort to conceal the expression on his face, I was certain that I had observed it. Once more, I experienced issues with my nerves, and as a result, I became very bubbly.

"Thank you very much, again, uh…" I was very befuddled because I had no idea what to refer to him as. He has always been regarded in my mind as Samantha's father. Should I address him as Miss Williams or Mr. Williams? Considering everything, he was destined to become my superior. However, that came across as odd and unnatural, as though he was a grouchy old man who was not...well, hot.

He made a joke about calling him Ryder and acted as if he could read my mind when he said it.

I flushed and prayed against hope that he couldn't actually see it on my face.

"That's awesome, Ryder, and many thanks for your help." As I got closer to him, my preparation for the sorority party I was going to took over. Before I could even consider changing my mind, I moved in for a hug. I caught a fleeting glimpse of surprise cross his face, but by that time it was too late to prevent it. I wrapped both of my arms around the firm core of his body. His arms were spread out in front of him, and he placed his hands on my arms in a cautious manner for almost a half second before pulling away.

As he made his way down the hallway, he addressed Samantha with the statement, "If there is anything you require, let Samantha know." He reapplied his sunglasses, making it impossible for me to see what was going through his mind. I, too, wished I had somewhere I could go to escape the situation. First, I felt ashamed that I had held him, and then, after every part of my body that had touched his, I had the sensation that I was suffocating and couldn't breathe properly.

Even after I heard the door close behind him, I remained standing in the kitchen for a considerable amount of time. My thoughts were a whirlwind of perplexity, humiliation, and lust, which caused me to feel frightened, curiously excited, and then suddenly exhausted. I went into the living room and sat down on the pink sofa, which had far too many cushions for its size. It was the one item in the apartment that brought back memories of his girlfriend Samantha.

In addition to that, there was a bulky knit blanket that was slung over the arm. Samantha had a constant feeling of being chilled. Despite the fact that I wasn't, I went ahead and put it on, and the cocoon ended up calming my otherwise rapid heart rate.

It was going to be a very lengthy year.

********

I must have slept off since I was awakened by the vibrations my phone was making on the glass coffee table after it had been placed there. I readjusted the position of the blanket, stood up, and then grabbed for it. I was delighted to see Samantha's name pop up on FaceTime, as well as a picture of the two of us from our spring vacation in Miami the previous year.

"Are you familiar with my location?" When she asked me about it, I informed her.

When she turned around and saw it behind me, she exclaimed, "In my apartment!" "It is wonderful to have you there at this time. Because of it, I really want to come and visit you."

I laughed and said, "You mean to go see yourself."

“No, no. She was able to catch her error and say, "It will be your apartment for the next year." "I'm not going to claim ownership of it any longer."

"Samantha, you are free to retain it as your property. Without a doubt, it does not belong to me." After getting to my feet, I led her out onto the balcony with me. It appeared like the pool below was a mile distant even though I could see for miles in every direction. Even though I have never experienced a fear of heights, I decided to move away from the railing regardless. There is no justification for taking any risks. How are things going for you in your senior year?

“Good! Everyone says hi." She lifted the phone up so that I could see a group of sisters laying out on the lush grass.

They waved from their beach blankets and towels as they lounged on the sand. My heart ached because I wanted something so badly that it hurt. Due to the fact that I had been so preoccupied with the transfer to Los Angeles, I hadn't had much time to reflect on what was going on in my classes. Move-in day, the welcome-back party in the square, and the festivities at the beginning of the year that were only exceeded by the parties at the conclusion of the year were some of the highlights of the school year.

After Samantha put the phone back in its case, the only thing that blocked my view of her beautiful face was the clear, bright sky. "Is your safety being watched upon by my father?"

The expressionless face of her father came to my mind. Once more, I was aware of his body pressing up against mine. My cheeks flushed a bright scarlet.

I responded with a "yes," and then I started hacking up some mucus. My throat felt as though it were parched. I walked back inside and filled a glass with water before going outside again. After I had finished swallowing, I responded with another "yes." "He's really cool."

After Samantha's chuckle, she stated firmly, "You are lying." "I know my dad. It's likely that he was distracted the entire time by his phone, which is why you were asked to leave. Just tell me what to say, Lexie, and I'll yell at him right now.

"No," was the prompt response from me. "He was not using his phone at all at any point. He helped me by carrying my suitcase up the stairs. He's been wonderful, no kidding."

As I entered the bedroom, I noticed that he had placed my bag against the wall just inside the entrance. I'm sure he wanted to talk on the phone, but I kept him waiting the entire way there by talking constantly. I wanted to groan loudly, but then Samantha would truly call him to find out what he'd done. I couldn't bring myself to do that.

I asked Samantha, "Tell me about school," and she did as I asked. "Everything is absolutely something that I miss."

She pretended to be understanding after she realized how earnest I was in my apology. "This is wonderful, but I wish you were here to enjoy it with me."

Then she began to talk about the first week on a minute-by-minute basis, which made me giggle, which in turn helped me forget how humiliated I was. When we finally hung up, the sky to the east had already begun to get more ominous. When I turned around to face west, I had a feeling that I would be treated to a breathtaking sunset. I discovered a glass of chardonnay in the refrigerator, so I brought it out to the balcony with me and sat down in one of the wicker egg chairs there. I propped my feet up on the sofa and took a whiff of the beverage. It had a clean aroma that was nearly tart. It seemed to be pleasant. The price is probably comparable to that of my airline ticket. I took a picture of the label in the off chance that I might be able to locate a suitable replacement.

My post-college life will officially begin in two days, and I couldn't wait! After taking a substantial gulp of the dry wine, I found myself wishing that it was one of the inexpensive white wines that we used to purchase by the gallon.

The evening was quite enjoyable. The flat that was just behind me was beautiful. There was a lot of competition for the internship that I was about to begin. When I thought of the man who had made it all possible, I couldn't help but feel a peculiar pang of longing. It made absolutely no sense to have those thoughts toward him. It was he who gave birth to Sam. Yes, he was really gorgeous; nevertheless, because he was so remote, it was illogical for me to feel as though I had missed out on something because of him.

My heart shouldn't have been racing and my stomach shouldn't have been turning with want as I thought of the laconic twist of his lips. I shouldn't want to know how his thick, dark hair would feel between my fingers, and I shouldn't want to remember how his body felt when it was pressed against mine with anything other than embarrassment. But I do.

I am curious about Samantha's point of view.

However, that treatment was no longer successful. The peculiar need I experienced for a man who could never be mine was unaffected in any way by this new information.

Thinking about my best friend for the first time made me feel even more isolated than I already was.