Out on Good Behavior (Radleigh University Book 3) (10 page)

This time, when I walk away, I don’t look back.

The truth is, I have plenty of my own work to do, including a new commission, so staying home to do it on Sunday night isn’t the worst idea. Thankfully, Lizzie stays home with me, doing the same, so for hours, the living room has the pleasant hum of old times—her muttering Russian words off her flashcards and cursing when she gets things wrong, and me scratching at my sketchpad while I murmur-read along in my art history textbook. All we’re missing is the clacking of Cait’s laptop keys as she fills in some sort of spreadsheet thing and we’re back to old times.

At least until a knock sounds at the door.

“I’ll get it,” says Lizzie before I can get up. “I’m about to throw these flashcards into the oven.”

I expect either Cait or Connor, but neither one has the southern drawl that says, “Hey, Lizzie. Is Frankie here?”

“She is,” says Lizzie, stepping aside to let Samara in, “and you have perfect timing, because I was just heading out.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go—”

“Trust me, I do.” Lizzie grabs her coat and bag off their hook by the door. “I need sustenance before my low blood sugar leads to a backyard bonfire of study materials. Text me if you want me to pick up anything.” And then she’s gone, leaving me and Samara alone, the room filling with awkwardness immediately.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” I say, feeling frozen in place by the sight of her.

“I know.” She doesn’t take off her jacket, and it strikes me that this is a drive-by breakup. Her hands are jammed into her pockets, and she’s rocking on the heels of her flats, looking even more uncomfortable than I do. “I just…I’m trying to be mature about this whole relationship thing—or whatever it is—and I thought I should talk to you in person.”

Wow. So this is getting dumped. I have to admit, I do not care for it. I mean, this
was
the whole point—for her to be able to kick me to the curb if I was a sucky girlfriend—but it catches me off guard anyway. Because for the first time in my life, I’ve actually been trying. And what’s worse, I realize as a lump forms in my throat, is that I really fucking wanted this to work.

“Okay,” I choke out. “No hard feelings or anything.” I offer up the most genuine smile I can, but it’s pretty shitty. “You deserve a girl who makes you happy.”

“Wait, what? What does that even mean?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “I’m trying to make it easier for you to break up with me.”

Her jaw drops. “This isn’t on me. If you’re not attracted to me—”

I can’t help it; I bark out a laugh. “If I’m
what
? Samara, in what bizarre alternate universe am I not attracted to you?”

A fiery blush lights up her cheeks. “You haven’t—I mean, I thought that’s why you kept planning stuff where you don’t have to kiss me.”

Now it’s my jaw’s turn to hit the floor. “Sam, I’ve been keeping my hands—and my lips—to myself because I thought that’s what you’d be most comfortable with. It’s actually been kind of hellish.”

There are a few beats of silence. “Oh.”

“Oh?” I walk up to her and wrap my arms around her neck. “If you wanted to make out, why didn’t you just tell me that?”

Her face is really flaming now. Too fucking cute. “I didn’t—don’t—know how to ask…for that. Oh God.” She buries her face in the crook of my neck, and I can’t help my gentle laughter as I hold her close.

“Sam?”

“What?” Her voice is muffled by the collar of my T-shirt.

“Do you wanna make out?”

“I really do.” Her mouth meets mine, two smiles curving against each other until they fade out into a hungrier, fevered thing. In my mind, I send a thank-you to Lizzie for getting out of the apartment, and then I slowly pull Sam back to the couch until we land on it in a tangled, breathless mess.

“God, I feel so shameless,” she says, shedding her jacket and curling around my body. “Please tell me you don’t think I’m the world’s biggest perv.”

“Uh, hi, have we met?”

She laughs. “It’s different. You’re so…confident about all this stuff. You know what you’re doing. I never even kissed a girl before the other night, and in case you couldn’t tell, I was terrified.”

“Are you still terrified?” I ask, sweeping a lock of honey-blond hair back behind her ear.

“That obvious?”

Instead of answering, I press my mouth to hers again. Her hand curls around the back of my neck and I tease gently at her lips with my tongue until she relaxes enough to let me in. Little by little, her tense body melts into mine, and one kiss blends into another, and she doesn’t seem quite so terrified anymore.

“So I was really your first kiss?” I can’t resist asking when we finally take a breath.

“Well, no—Stanford Clayton beat you to that. But you were my first kiss that mattered.”

“Stanford? I got beat by a guy named Stanford?” I sigh. “No wonder you turned out gay.”

She laughs. “I don’t think I can blame it on the name, but, yeah. That kiss definitely sealed for me that I did not want to be kissing any more guys.”

“How old were you?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Why not?”

She noses into the crook of my arm. “Because you’ll laugh at me. I was late, okay? You were probably…I don’t even know what by the time I got my first kiss.”

“I would never laugh at you,” I tell her, and I mean it. But I also like the way she’s pressed against me right now, her fingers idly playing with the hem of my T-shirt, and I have no plans to dislodge her. “Anyway, I wasn’t as early to stuff as you think I was. It wasn’t exactly easy to meet guys in an all-girls school, and it definitely wasn’t easy to figure out which girls were safe.”

“Were you younger than sixteen?”

I drop a kiss into her hair. “Yes, I was younger than sixteen. But sixteen isn’t old for a first kiss; that’s perfectly normal.”

“I know. I was eighteen.”

“Oh.”

“Not a word.”

“I told you, I would never laugh at you! I’m just sorry you waited eighteen years and all you got was a lousy Stanford.”

She laughs, her breath ghosting over my skin through the thin cotton of my shirt. “Took just a couple more years and I finally got the right kiss.”

And I thought Catholic school had me repressed. “So when did you know?” I ask, remembering how I’d wanted to ask her this weeks ago, that night at the gallery. “I imagine you weren’t exactly chasing boys pre-Stanford.”

“No, definitely not. I was too busy trying to figure out why I kept getting myself in trouble so that I could spend more time with the guidance counselor.” She pauses. “The young, hot, female guidance counselor.”

“Ah.” An irrational flame of jealousy flickers low in my gut and I tilt her chin up for a kiss, just because I can. “How hot are we talking?”

She pretends to think it over. “On a scale from one to Frankie Bellisario, maybe a four?”

“Good girl.” I pull her close and kiss her again, and as we lose ourselves in each other’s arms and mouths, I think we might finally have figured out the perfect date.

• • •

For the rest of the week, we stick to my apartment or her room, depending on Lizzie and Cait’s schedules. I learn that Samara has a secret affinity for cooking shows, despite not being able to cook. She learns that I have a secret affinity for having the Florentine skyline tattoo on my wrist traced with her tongue.

It’s a good week.

By the end of it, though, I’m feeling desperately antsy. Much as I love making out on the couch—and I do, very much—I’m starting to feel a little like a cave dweller. So at lunch after work on Friday afternoon, when Cait casually mentions a particularly big game of Mase’s coming up that night, I say, “That sounds like fun. I’ll be there.”

Lizzie laughs. “Uh oh.”

“What?”

Cait shakes her head. “You have never wanted to come to a game when it didn’t mean ogling basketball players. Everything okay with you and Sam?”

“More than okay,” I assure them both, ripping off the corner of my panini. “I just need to get out of the house for a night, and going out on actual dates doesn’t really seem to be working while we’re still in this…test phase.”

“Fair enough,” says Lizzie, just as her phone lights up with a text. “I’d happily keep you company, but I promised to go to some lecture with Connor tonight. That’s him now, reminding me that this is an important one for him and I have to wear underwear this time.”

“Boo on all counts.” I chew thoughtfully on the bite of mozzarella, tomato, and pesto—nowhere near as good as my nonna would’ve made it—and turn back to Cait. “It’s okay if I invite Samara, right?”

“Of course! I’d be honored to be the third wheel on your billionth non-date.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“Honestly, neither can I.”

“That’s how the two of you first met, right?” Lizzie asks, massacring the chicken leg on her plate. “Maybe it’ll be cute to revisit.” She turns to Cait. “And since you were third-wheeling that night too, it’ll really be like old times!”

“Well, hopefully without me and Mase getting into a blowout fight at the end,” Cait says wryly.

“I’ll pull for the spanking to be less verbal, more literal this time,” I promise as I tap out a text to Samara about the game. Immediately, I can see her typing back, but for some reason, it takes almost a full two minutes before she sends,
Sure
. Then another thirty seconds for,
Sounds fun
.

“We’ll be there,” I tell Cait, hoping Sam’s seeming reluctance was actually just her getting distracted by a book.

“So, just to be clear,” says Lizzie, “You’ve been dating this girl officially for less than two weeks, and already you’ve planned dates involving running, yoga, and basketball. Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my lazyass roommate? I’m not sure I like what’s happening here.”

“Uh, hi, maybe you should start the harassment with your boyfriend—how are his personal training sessions with Mase going?” I shoot back.

Cait cracks up, then tries to smother it in a pretend coughing fit. Lizzie sticks out her tongue, and Cait dissolves in laughter again. “Oh, come on. It’s really cute.”

“The two of you are an infection,” Lizzie says flatly. “Leave me and my sedentary people alone.”

“Are you not pleased with the results?” Cait demands.

“I’ll be more pleased when I don’t have to listen to reports of how much Connor’s benched every day.” Lizzie sighs. “We have a perfectly good exercise regimen of our own happening, thank you very much.”

“Please stop there.” Cait shoves one last bite of salad into her mouth, then picks up her tray. “I have to run to a study group, but I’ll see you tonight, Frank? Come over around seven and we can all walk over together.”

“Sounds good. And just so I know for outfit purposes, this is the one with the hoop, right?”

Cait narrows her eyes at Lizzie. “See? This is what you encourage.”

I just smile sweetly, and we both wave goodbye as Cait huffs out a sigh and walks out.

“Someday, you are going to tell roommate-in-law stories that are going to sound remarkably like mother-in-law stories to everyone else,” Lizzie muses.

“I’m just gonna give Cait credit that she hasn’t set fire to my bedroom for dating her roommate yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time, though, isn’t it?”

“Oh, absofuckinglutely.”

• • •

True to my word, I show up to Cait and Samara’s room at seven. Well, it’s closer to seven thirty, but apparently Cait had planned for exactly that. It’s almost as if she knows me. “Look at you, all sporty-like!” she says cheerfully when she opens the door and takes in the sight of me in my most casual jeans, a plaid button-up, and a beanie perched on my brown waves. I didn’t bother with any makeup other than eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss, and the chalk has pretty much entirely washed out of my hair, so I sincerely hope Sam likes the natural look. “I barely even recognized you for a second.”

“Decided to try something different,” I say with a smile, stepping inside. “Where’s Sam?”

“Bathroom, drawing Radleigh Rs on her face, like a good fan.”

“Is that a subtle hint?” Cait shrugs, and I roll my eyes. “I’ll be right back.” I go down the hall to their bathroom, and sure enough, there’s Samara standing in front of the mirror, rubbing at a smudge on her face.

She looks hella cute in ripped jeans I’ve never seen before, a long, cozy-looking sweater, and a sporty, stick-straight ponytail hanging down her back like a golden ribbon, and I can’t resist coming up behind her and planting a kiss on her bared neck. Unfortunately, she’s so intent on drawing on her face that she completely misses me in the reflective glass, and jumps about a mile in the air when I do.

“Oh my God, Frankie.” Her hand flies to her chest as she catches her breath. “You scared the hell out of me.” Her eyes dart around. “What if someone else was in here?”

“
I’m
in here,” I remind her. “I can see no one else is. Relax.”

She doesn’t respond. It’s pretty clear she’s still a little pissed, but Cait’s waiting for us, so whatever her problem is, it’s gonna have to wait. Her face is a mess now, and I reach for a paper towel, wet it, and murmur, “C’mere, lemme fix you.”