“No, there was no rejection the other night,” I said firmly. The only way to salvage this was to make sure she understood that I still wanted her. “It was a delay. The coffee wasn’t in the right mug. I needed a different mug.”
“A different mug?” She looked at me like I was crazy—and maybe I was.
I drew a hand through my shorn hair. “Yes, the one we’d used felt like someone else had drank out of it.”
“Oh, so you need a perfectly new bed, or excuse me, mug for coffee every time you have it? Good luck with that.” Sam turned and began throwing open kitchen cabinets and them slamming the doors shut. I knew she wanted me to leave, but I wasn’t going anywhere. “I mean, how many new mugs do you offer to girls you invite over for coffee?”
“A lot fewer than you seem to think, but it just looked like you weren’t ready to have coffee.”
“Wasn’t ready? I was climbing you like a pole in the hallway of the bar and even after you accused me of cheating, I stupidly issued you another invitation. I’ve never been so ready for coffee!” she shouted at me.
“I know. And I’m sorry. I want your coffee. Bad,” I pleaded.
“Well,” she huffed. “You aren’t getting any.” She slammed the last cupboard closed and stomped out.
When dusk had fallen and Adam and Finn had fired up the grill, I'd made up my mind. She needed to give me one more chance. I’d show her exactly what I was feeling. People surrounded us and there wasn't any good way for me to extricate her from Adam's side. But when everyone gathered around the fire pit, he couldn’t sit in both chairs beside her so I sat on her right before anyone else could. I’d convince her somehow that I wanted her more than anything and that all the shit she had in her condo and the jewelry she wore didn’t matter. Around the patio, the after-dinner conversation turned to zombie survivalist techniques.
"If we did live in a post-apocalyptic world, people who worked with their hands would have a better chance of survival,” Bo said. "So Noah, Gray, and I are going to be around." I think that was Bo's weak wingman attempt. Hook up with Gray, he'll save you if the zombies come after you. I wasn’t sure that was helpful since we weren’t even close to needing to jump someone’s bones for survival’s sake.
"Hey, I can kill a few with my instruments. Drumsticks or the broken throat of the guitar is going to do some damage,” Adam protested.
Sam offered her up her own viability. "Then I'd be a valuable asset. I could skewer people with my needles and knit clothes out of fibers."
"Okay, you're in," I said immediately. She cocked her head and gave it a shake like she couldn't figure me out. I was going to make it clear to her that I was interested even if I couldn't get her alone.
"What about the repopulation of the human race?" a dark-haired girl with a ruffly swimsuit that barely covered her impressive knockers said coyly.
"Do you need some instruction? I can help out," another guy joked. I kept my eyes on Sam to see if she was interested in anyone else in the group. Her eyes were pinned on a square patch of concrete between her feet.
The girl scoffed. "I don't need instruction. I'm already amazing." She stretched her arms and the move showcased her admittedly perfect form to all those around.
"That's what they all say," muttered the guy who'd been rejected.
"Oh yeah? What makes a girl good in bed then?"
This time Sam spoke up. “Yeah, Gray, what makes a girl good in bed?”
Her eyes held a glittering challenge and everything, including the meat between my legs, rose up to meet it. I jumped in, feet first, without a chute. I'd either catch the wind or smash to the ground, but she was giving me an opening whether she knew it or not. “Enthusiasm,” I responded without delay.
"She's there, doesn't that mean she wants it?" Sam said softly.
I shook my head, staring at her hard. "It's not the same thing. When you’re going down on her, she lets you know how good it feels by telling you, grabbing your head, squeezing her legs together. When you’re inside of her, she's squeezing the shit out of your piece and milking every last orgasm out of you. Guys want to see and hear and feel how hot she is for you."
"Sounds exhausting," said someone else. "What makes a guy good in bed?”
"Someone who’s paying attention.” My gaze was fixed on Sam.
"That's it?" she asked.
"Yup. Every time I touch a girl, I'm cataloguing the sounds she makes, the clenching of her muscles, how wet she is getting. It's my responsibility to make sure that she is wetter than an April shower and I do that by paying attention.”