Sam.

~~~

I woke up slowly, my head pounding like a drum. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, and I groaned as I lay there, trying to piece together the fragments of last night. My thoughts drifted to Raymond his easy smile, the way he carried himself. He seemed friendly, and approachable even, but there was an edge to him I couldn't quite place.

And why was I even thinking about him? He probably had a girlfriend, and I... well, I had Tom. Sort of. Not exactly. I sighed and swung my legs over the side of the bed until my feet touched the cool floor. Surprisingly, I felt okay once I stood up, aside from the ache in my head. Maybe I just needed more sleep.

Where's my phone? I realized I hadn't seen it since last night. It was probably still in my bag. Scratching my head, I wandered out of the bedroom and into the living room, my thoughts still muddled.

The apartment felt unusually quiet, its emptiness pressing against me. It always did after Molly moved out, leaving just me in the two-bedroom space. One of the bedrooms had become a guest room, though Molly was the only guest who ever stayed in it.

The rest of the apartment had a cozy, open layout that we'd designed together to make it feel spacious, not suffocating. The living room, with its balcony and massive windows overlooking the street, used to feel alive when Molly was here.

I found my phone on the coffee table and checked the time, after ten already. There were missed calls and texts waiting for me. My mom had called twice, and Scott more than that.

Before diving into the messages, I turned on some music. I couldn't stand silence, not when I was alone. Guns N' Roses filled the room, their familiar riffs grounding me as I picked up the phone again. I scrolled through the texts and saw Tom's name first.

Tom: Hi, how have you been? I missed you. I'm coming to Los Angeles in thirteen days for some business. Maybe we could meet?

I scoffed softly. It was almost as if he had a sixth sense for when I started to move on. Still, I typed out a quick response.

Me: Hey, I'm good. And you? Sure, we can meet. It's been a while.

As I hit send, my chest tightened. I knew why he was coming. I knew Tom too well. This was his way of keeping a door open, even when I'd spent the six months convincing myself I was ready to close it for good. His visit would be the perfect chance to settle things once and for all. I couldn't keep clinging to the past.

I turned to Scott's messages next, sipping the coffee I'd brewed while Tom's message replayed in my mind.

Scott: Where are you? I'm worried.

Scott: Stop dodging my calls!

Scott: Seriously, Sam, I threw you a fucking concert, and you don't even pick up my calls. What the hell is wrong with you? Ungrateful bitch.

The last word hit me like a slap. Bitch? Really? The next message came not long after.

Scott: I'm sorry, didn't mean what I wrote in the last message. I'm just worried you're in some kind of trouble.

Scott: Rory said you went home. He saw you with Ray. Are you guys friends now, or what? I hope you're okay. Call me when you wake up.

I leaned back against the couch, gripping my phone tightly. Scott was drunk last night that much was obvious. He had every right to be upset; I hadn't been the most gracious guest at the concert he'd arranged. But calling me a bitch? That crossed a line.

Still, he'd apologized. I sighed, deciding to let it go for now. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard before I typed out a response.

Me: Hey, I got back okay. Ray walked me home, and I went to sleep. Sorry, I didn't see your messages until now. Thank you for the show. Molly and I got into an argument last night, and my party mood was gone.

I hit send and took a long sip of my coffee. Setting the mug aside, I absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram. It didn't take long for his face to appear on my feed. Raymond Lawrence stared back at me in a photo that had been posted by his bandmate last night. Something twisted in my chest, and I sighed, scrolling past it quickly.

I needed to call my mom back, but first, I needed a shower. I'd been too buzzed last night to bother, and my muscles ached from all the standing and dancing.

In the bathroom, the hot water hit my skin, washing away the soreness and the lingering memories of the night before. The steam rose around me, carrying the sweet scent of coconut. That familiar fragrance was a comfort, my signature scent.

After the shower, I dried off, wrapped my hair in a towel, and smoothed lotion over my skin. My reflection in the mirror looked tired but not completely shit. I slipped into a pair of leggings and a loose T-shirt before heading back to the living room.

As I sank onto the couch, I stared at my phone, debating what to do next. There were calls to make and emotions to sort through, but for now, I just sat there, letting the music fill the silence.

The sound of my phone ringing in my hand jolted me. The aroma of coffee still lingered in the air, mingling with the empty space. I glanced at the screen, and Jennifer's photo lit up. My chest tightened, I loved my mom, but her calls always carried the weight of expectations.

I inhaled deeply before answering. "Hi, Mom."

"Sweetheart, this is the third time I'm calling you!" Her tone was sharp, making me wince. I pulled the phone away from my ear slightly, bracing myself.

"Sorry, I slept in and just got out of the shower," I said, my fingers unconsciously scratching through the towel wrapped around my head.

"When are you coming back home?" Her voice softened just as a new text notification buzzed in my ear.

I sighed, making sure she could hear it. "I am home, Mom."

"You know what I mean. New York, sweetheart." Her tone shifted to something gentler but no less pressing. "Your father has a position ready for you, but he's short-handed right now. He could really use your help," she added, her voice lined with that familiar blend of guilt and persuasion.

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. Saved by the bell. "Mom, someone's at the door. I have to go. I'll think about it, okay? Love you."

"Bye," she said curtly, hanging up before I could return the sentiment.

I stood there for a moment, holding the phone, the weight of the conversation pressing on my chest. I knew Dad was behind her mood, Richard Morris never hid his expectations. He always assumed I'd return to New York after graduation to work for him, eventually taking over his business.

But his dream wasn't mine. It was the reason I'd chosen Los Angeles to carve out a life away from the shadow of my family's influence. Sure, I'd earned my business degree, and I didn't hate it, but it wasn't me. I hadn't found my passion yet, and while that uncertainty gnawed at me some days, I told myself it was okay. I was only twenty-three. I still had time.

The doorbell rang again, snapping me out of my thoughts. I walked to the door and hesitated there wasn't a peephole, so I left the chain on and cracked it open.

Raymond stood there in the corridor, a tray of Starbucks cups in one hand and a brown bag in the other. His gaze was downcast at first, but as the door opened, he lifted his dark brown eyes to meet mine.

My breath caught. What the hell is he doing here? Panic and confusion swirled in my chest.

"Hey," he said softly, a modest smile spreading across his handsome face. "I brought breakfast." He raised the bag slightly as if to prove his point.

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "What are you doing here?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but my nerves were frayed, and my mind was racing.

His smile faltered for a second but quickly recovered. My cheeks burned as I realized I still had the towel wrapped around my head, and I instinctively scratched at it. Great. Just great.

Raymond didn't seem fazed by my tone, much. He just stood there, his presence as steady as the tray in his hand. My heart thudded in my chest as I wondered why he was really here?

"I think we should talk," Ray said, his voice careful, almost hesitant. I stared at him, my mind racing as I weighed my options. "Will you let me in?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, his dark eyes holding mine.

I closed the door without answering, my heart thudding in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked it and pushed it wide open this time. He dipped his head in silent agreement, stepping inside without hesitation.

"This better be good," I remarked, pointing at the coffee cup with my name scribbled on it. "Come in," I added, waving my hand toward the living room.

Ray handed me the tray and the bag, the rich, sweet smell of coffee instantly enveloped me. My stomach flipped part hunger, part nerves as I walked to the couch, eager to sip the comforting drink. Behind me, I heard him slip off his boots and set them neatly by the door.

I sank onto the couch and gestured for him to join me. "Talk," I said simply, wrapping my fingers around the coffee cup like it was a lifeline. I tried to be as nonchalant as I possibly could.

Ray hesitated, sitting down slowly. He rubbed his hands against his thighs, his movements restless. "I'm not sure where to start," he admitted, his voice quiet but earnest. I sipped my coffee, trying to mask the way my pulse quickened. He looked down for a moment, then back at me. "I'm sorry for kissing you," he said, his words tumbling out.

I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. He is sorry? It stung more than I wanted to admit.

"No, wait, not sorry," he corrected himself quickly. "I mean, I probably should've asked first. I can be impulsive, and I thought we had a moment. I wanted to kiss you all night, and that felt like my last chance to do it." His words spilled out in a rushed, nervous confession.

Wanted to kiss me all night. My insides churned from his words, I don't think I can be blamed here. The kiss lasted maybe a few seconds, but I couldn't stop thinking about it all morning.

I blinked at him, trying to process everything. "Okay," I said, dragging the word out as slowly as possible, my tone deliberately flat. My mind was a mess. What was I supposed to say to that? On the plus side, I'd been right about his feelings for me. But on the downside he had a girlfriend. So why was he even here? "I understand," I added, the words sounding more confident than I felt. Crap, crap, crap. I like him.

He studied me closely, his expression somewhere between hopeful and uncertain. "That's it? You understand?"

I could feel my thoughts tangling into knots, and for a second, I was too stunned to respond. I just stared at him like an idiot, a total creep. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to his coffee cup before coming back to me.

"Is the reason you rejected me because you think I have a girlfriend? Or... is there something else?" he asked, his tone steady but curious.

The question hit like a jolt. My heart sank as memories of my last relationship bubbled up, unwelcome and bitter. "The girlfriend thing," I said quietly, my fingers tightening around the coffee cup. "My last boyfriend cheated on me." And I cheated too, but he doesn't need to know that. I shook my head, pushing the memory away. "I'm not into that kind of mess." I paused, trying to sound neutral despite the war going on inside me. "You seem like a nice guy, though. We could be... friends."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Friends? Really? I couldn't be his friend. Not with the way he made me feel.

Ray looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Friends?" he repeated, his voice soft, like he wasn't sure if I meant it.

I nodded, even as a part of me screamed at how stupid I was being. What was I even doing?