here—the guy’s a ten.” When my jaw practically hits the floor, she shakes her head. “If I were a switch hitter, I’d tap that. But you don’t have to worry about your precious man-candy. I vowed to stop faking it with guys six months ago. That night on Todd’s couch was enough to have me showering for weeks. Anyway, I digress. Man-candy, you—no hanky-panky. What’s the deal?”
I’ve never confided in anyone but Mom. Unless you count One-syllable Sam, who in no way qualifies as the shoulder for me to lean on when needing to discuss his flirtatious self and my growing obsession with him. That leaves the formerly surly Leigh. The slim possibility of letting out the confusion clouding my brain has my ankle bouncing and my lips pursing while I try to hold in the flood of confessions that wants to flow free.
Reminder to self: I can always grab my pack and leave. Nothing and no one is keeping me here. If she turns all Mean Girls on me, I simply have to wake Sam and drag him to another hostel.
She’s playing with the short strands by her ears, not bothered by my internal meltdown and how long it’s taking. Then the word vomit flows. “I seriously don’t know what to do. It’s just, Sam’s amazing. So great to hang out with, and…well, hot. Obviously. Like really hot. And I’m not a total freak with him. A bit of nut-job, sure, but not my usual scale-tipping insanity. Even if I were, I don’t think he’d care. That’s the crazy part. He’s seen me at my worst, like my worst—you don’t even know what happened on that airplane. Anyway, it’s like he almost likes me, even with all that other…stuff. He flirts with me. At least I’m pretty sure it’s flirting. Touching me a whole lot, telling me he thinks I’m hot. It’s only been like five days, and I’m so wound up over him my head’s about to explode.” My chest heaves as I catch my breath.
“I’m not sure I follow.” She swings around to face me, her shoulder pressed into the wall. “You’re drooling over the guy, and he’s all handsy with you.” She wiggles her fingers in the air. “Why all the drama?”
“He has a girlfriend.”
She frowns. “No shit. I guess that’s why he didn’t seal the deal with Reese. But why is he leading you on? And why the hell would you want to be with a guy who’s willing to screw around on his girlfriend?”
There’s the million-dollar question. I shouldn’t entertain the thought of being with Sam, but I can’t shake the way he looks at me and looks out for me. And, most important, I’m more than ready to tackle my androphobia. More than okay with putting my trust in him. Even if I geek out in some horrifying way, I don’t think he’ll treat me the way the last guy did. In fact, I know he won’t.
So this is me trying to convince myself all is not well on the home front with One-syllable Sam and his picture-perfect girlfriend. This is me being a crappy person. I’ll refrain from sharing the bikini-sexy-ear moment with Leigh. “I don’t know. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get him out of my head. And I get the feeling things aren’t as good as they should be with him and Lacey. I suck, don’t I?”
“You don’t suck, Nina. Far from it.” She points to her head. “Look at this kick-ass haircut you gave me. Besides, I wouldn’t have chosen you as the first person to confide in if you sucked. I have my standards. So enough sucking talk. How about I feel Sam out in the morning? Try to get the lay of the land as an outsider?”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Yeah, whatever. No biggie. Don’t go getting all weird about it. I don’t do sappy.” She pushes off the wall, goes over to the sink, and turns on the dripping faucet.
I can’t remember the last time I had a friend go out of their way for me, let alone do such a personal favor. Maybe she’s trying to make up for the video thing, or maybe she’s softer than she lets on. Either way, I’ll take the olive branch.
After splashing and rubbing her face, she grabs her towel to wipe some of the mascara from her cheeks. She exhales heavily, probably still freaked out about her confession and hurting over