Sam.

~~~

I admit I was freaking out, I almost fucked, well dry-humped for sure, Raymond Lawrence. While I tried to be casual I can't help but think. Was this a dream?

I was still out of breath, my body buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened. The make-out session wasn't just unexpected it was everything I hadn't planned for. I didn't expect to feel this way, to let myself go like that.

It felt strange, almost foreign to me like I was a different version of myself. Maybe it was because he was someone new, or maybe it was because I had never felt this way before. I wanted to blame it on the hangover, but I knew that wasn't entirely it.

"I'm hungry. I was planning to make some lasagna today," I said, trying to pull myself together. I needed something to focus on, something that wasn't the ache I felt in my chest, the lingering sensation of his touch.

My mind kept drifting back to thoughts of him—of us and part of me was thankful he stopped us. I was so tempted to just, God, I wanted to fuck him on this couch.

To be fair, my sex life had been nonexistent for the last six months. So yeah, a make-out session like that didn't happen often for me. Cooking, though? Cooking seemed like a safe, non-sexual activity. It was the perfect excuse to keep myself occupied.

"Can I help with that?" Ray beamed at me, his eyes flashing with an enthusiasm that made my stomach flutter. "Although, I'm not very good at cooking."

I raised an eyebrow, a laugh escaping me. "So why did you offer to help?"

"It's a polite thing to do," he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

"Well, I'll make the food, and you can tell me more about Europe," I suggested a playful glint in my eyes. Ray smiled and nodded, agreeing to my plan.

We moved to the kitchen area, and I began pulling out ingredients and setting everything up. Ray sat on a stool across from me, watching intently as I began chopping vegetables.

"So, what's your favorite country in Europe?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

"It's hard to pick just one," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Every country has its perks, you know? But I'd say Netherlands and France would probably be my top picks."

"France," I whispered, the word slipping out before I could stop it. I wasn't sure why I said it so quietly.

"Have you ever been there?" Ray asked, his eyes on me.

"No, but I've always wanted to go," I replied, feeling a little wistful. I dropped the chopped onions into a bowl and moved on to the next ingredient. "I was supposed to go last summer, but my plans got postponed," I said, my voice trailing off. I tried to push the disappointment aside as I rinsed the cutting board. "I might go this year."

"I'm actually going to France in three weeks," Ray said casually. I froze for a moment, my heart sinking slightly. "We're starting our European tour there."

"Oh..."

I couldn't hide the disappointment in my voice. The thought of him going on tour meant I might not have the chance to get to know him better, and I was just starting to feel like I wanted to. I glanced over at him as he watched me work, his gaze soft but focused.

The music in the background filled the space between us as I finished preparing the meal, and the conversation continued to flow casually, and easily. Raymond seemed content, and I tried to keep up the small talk as I slid the lasagna into the oven. Then I joined him at the kitchen island, sitting on the stool next to him.

"Speaking of your band..." I started, trying to steer the conversation into safer territory. "There were two songs I'd never heard before."

Ray's face lit up with pride. "We're recording a third album," he said. "One of those songs I'll be recording today, actually." He glanced down at his phone. "I've got time, though."

"And you'll include those songs in your new tour?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "My brother usually takes care of the setlist."

"It seems like a fun way to live," I said, half-joking.

"It is, to some extent," Ray said, leaning back against the kitchen island, his voice a little distant. "We get to see a lot of countries, and meet a lot of new people." He paused, his eyes far away as if he was seeing something else. "But maintaining relationships of any kind is very difficult."

"Is that why you broke up with your girlfriend?"

He tensed slightly, and I immediately regretted asking. His expression shifted, and I could tell he didn't want to talk about her. He was open about so many things, but this? This was clearly sore spot.

"That, among many other things," he answered, his voice flat. I didn't press. He didn't seem ready to open up about it, and I didn't want to push him.

"How long will you be traveling?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Almost a month in Europe," he said, leaning back even further, stretching his arms out. "It's still a bit unclear how many shows we'll have in America after that."

"So, you'll be touring here too?"

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "We pretty much live on the bus."

"That part doesn't sound too fun," I said, grinning, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's not," he laughed, the sound low and rough. "But you get used to it. We usually write songs while traveling between places."

"And who writes the songs?" I paused for a moment, then asked, "More importantly, who wrote 'Daydreaming'?"

"I wrote it," Ray said with a smile, "and as for the other songs, it's mostly me and Andrew. We both play acoustic guitars, so it's perfect for writing unless Logan or James protests to some parts." He laughed, and the sound of it felt warm and genuine.

A strange sensation washed over me. I felt an unexpected comfort with him already, just after one day. I didn't know how it happened, but I started to like him more than I probably should. It was like talking to someone I'd known for years, someone familiar. The awkwardness I'd felt the night before had somehow disappeared in just a few hours, and it left me confused. How could I feel this way so quickly?

As a teenager, I was obsessed with romance books, movies, those stories where people meet and fall in love instantly. I used to dream about that kind of love, the kind that swept you off your feet. I thought I'd seen it in real life too, especially in my parents' and grandparents' seemingly perfect marriages. They made it look so easy.

But I grew up, and with that came the realization that love at first sight was a fairytale. I'd been in love before, with Tom, and sometimes I still thought I was. But what do I feel around Ray? That was different. It wasn't like anything I'd ever felt with Tom. Maybe the years I spent with him had clouded my feelings and made me hold on to something that wasn't there anymore. I didn't know.

We ate the lasagna while we talked. I was a decent cook. My grandmother Rose had taught me a few tricks and recipes over the years, so I never really worried about how my food turned out. It was always something I could do well.

"This is fantastic," Ray said, his voice warm as he pointed to his empty plate. "Now I feel bad."

I glanced at him, puzzled. "Why?"

"Because I have to leave," he admitted, his face suddenly looking disappointed. "I promised my brother I'd help him load some stuff for the recording."

I tried to smile, but I couldn't help the slight tug of sadness I felt. "That's fine," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "I should probably take a nap, anyway."

He checked his phone. "I really have to go now," he said, looking reluctant.

We moved from the kitchen to the front door. I walked with him, not wanting him to leave, even though I knew he had to. He bent down to put on his shoes and unlocked the door.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, turning back to me. "Can I get your number? It's weird... I know where you live, but I don't have your phone number." He smirked, and I couldn't help but giggle at the awkwardness of it.

"You're right, that is weird," I said, still laughing. "I'll go grab my phone. I don't remember my number." My heart raced a little as I rushed to the living room, my mind dashing with thoughts I couldn't shake.

I quickly grabbed my phone, my hands feeling a little shaky, and returned to the door. I gave him my number, all the while noticing a message from Tom flashing on the screen. I didn't check it, though. Not now.

I stood in the doorway, watching as Ray turned to leave. Just as he reached the elevator, he came back to me and kissed my lips gently. It was quick but soft, a brief moment that left my heart fluttering. Then, just as quickly, he ran to the elevator again.

I closed the door behind me, feeling the rush of emotions still coursing through me. Part of me wanted to scream in frustration at how easily I was falling into this, but another part of me just wanted to feel it all.

This guy makes me feel stormy. The thought rolled around in my mind like thunderclouds, and I still couldn't shake the feeling of him. His cologne lingered on my skin, making me dizzy every time I caught a whiff of it.

I let out a silent moan as my thoughts drifted to his long fingers brushing against me, a touch that seemed to burn into my memory. It felt eerie, almost unsettling, like a storm I didn't know how to weather.

I looked at my phone, trying to ground myself. Tom's message flashed on the screen, pulling me back to reality.

Tom: I can stay at a hotel. I just want to see you, and we should talk.

My fingers hovered over the screen as I considered how to respond. There was so much between us, so much history. Talk? I thought. But I didn't hesitate. I typed back quickly.

Me: Sorry I've been busy, you can stay with me, don't worry. Talk? Sounds serious.

I hit send and then stood up to clean the kitchen. It was already four p.m. Ray had been here for almost five hours, and the time had flown by in a blur. Being with him felt effortless like everything just clicked into place in ways I hadn't expected. I tried to focus on the dishes in front of me, but my mind kept wandering back to Ray, to the way his presence seemed to stir something inside me.

When I finished cleaning, I knew I needed a nap. The exhaustion from the night before was finally catching up with me, my body demanding rest. Just as I was about to step into my bedroom, another message from Tom popped up on my phone.

Tom: It is serious. Do you remember our deal four years ago? It's about that.

My heart skipped a beat as I read his words. Do I remember? Of course, I did. How could I forget?

When we broke up, we made a promise. If we were both still single after I graduated, I'd come back to New York, and we'd try to make things work. That was four years ago, but it felt like another lifetime. So much has changed since then. For a while, New York hadn't felt like home to me anymore. I didn't feel comfortable in my parents' house, and I'd spent more time at my grandparents' place than anywhere else.

Now, I knew I'd have to move back eventually. I had responsibilities there, a life I couldn't just walk away from. But I wanted more time for myself. I wasn't ready to go back to the life I had before.

And then there was Raymond. The strange, confusing pull I felt when I was around him. I wasn't sure what it was, but I couldn't ignore it. Did I want to be with Tom? Did I still love him? I used to think I was in love with him, but what if I wasn't? What if I'd only convinced myself I was because he was always there because I never gave anyone else a real chance?

I didn't want to overthink it anymore. I had time, and I wasn't going to waste it by getting lost in my thoughts. I still had days until Tom arrived, and I didn't want to spend them drowning in confusion. I took a deep breath and decided to shut off my racing mind for a while. I grabbed my phone again, typing a quick reply to Tom.

Me: I remember. We will talk.

With that, I put my phone down, trying to let go of everything for the moment. I needed rest, and I needed to stop thinking about Tom until I had to face him.