I was pissed.
This was because Sam had plenty of opportunity to bring up any of a variety of topics, first and foremost whatever he spoke with Lee and Tanner about the day before.
But he didn’t.
In fact, although still unfailingly courteous and demonstrative with affection – holding hands, sitting in the lounge with his arm slung around the back of my seat, reading his Sports Illustrated on the plane with one hand resting on my thigh – he was mostly quiet. He was doing that being aware of his surroundings thing again, this likely because he could not fly with a firearm and the bodyguard who was coming with us (the other one was driving) who, unlike us, was flying coach and couldn’t get into the rich and famous departure lounge, was also unarmed and not with us the whole time.
Though I guessed this, obviously, since Sam didn’t tell me he had any concerns.
I spent this time mostly thinking about everything that crowded my head.
Then I spent it getting pissed about it.
Firstly, it was my life in danger and I felt I should be kept apprised of that situation. Sure, I’d had a tough time with Cooter. And sure, when Sam and I met I’d had my fair share of dramas. But since Crete, I’d been me, moving onward, dealing with things, getting on with life and doing all of this totally drama free. Sam noticed everything, he had to have noticed things had evened out for me and, if I did say so myself, I was handling everything pretty freaking well.
Secondly, in the beginning I’d been clear several times when I didn’t feel like sharing. But Sam didn’t accept that. He pushed it and got what he wanted. When I pushed it, he shut me out.
Rudely and hurtfully.
And he didn’t even mention that night, turning his back on me, falling asleep at my side for the first time since we were together without me tucked close. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t explain. He just went on like it didn’t happen.
And as our plane touched down in Raleigh, I decided… no.
That was not acceptable.
I was not able to share my feelings with Sam as a captive audience in a car however. This was because Sam’s friend “Hap” was picking us up.
“Hap”, Sam had shared with me (a miracle!), was an Army buddy who was still in the Army. Hap had dropped Sam off when he went to Italy, Hap had looked after Sam’s house while he was gone and Hap was picking us up.
And Hap, I suspected (though wasn’t told) would be bringing Sam his hardware or carrying himself.
Hap’s nickname was short for Hap’s other nickname, “Happy”. Hap’s real name was George Cunningham.
And, waiting for us at baggage claim, I found Hap was a good-looking, five foot eleven, brown-crew-cut-haired, smiley-brown-eyed mass of compact but bulky muscle. So much of it, it had grown up his neck so he no longer had one.
“Dude!” he’d shouted so loud several people jumped and turned to look or, that was to say, those who weren’t already staring at Sam started staring at all of us.
Then he treated Sam to a man hug that included back pounding that was so hard I winced at the thuds. They separated and Hap stepped back a foot then faked a one-two punch combo to Sam’s body which Sam didn’t pretend to deflect, he just grinned down at his friend.
Then Sam turned and started, “Hap, this is –”
But he got no further, Hap’s dancing brown eyes came to me and he finished for Sam, “Your seriously fine piece of ass.”
I blinked.
Sam tipped his head back to study the ceiling.
Before I could recover and decide whether to be amused or offended, two iron arms closed around me, I was lifted clean off my feet and shaken about seven times.
“For f**k’s sake, Hap, put Kia down,” Sam growled.
I landed on my flip-flops with a body jarring thud but could not get away even though Hap’s arms went from around me. This was because his hands clamped on my jaw and he grinned huge in my face.
“Babe, you… are… seriously… fine. Shit!” he declared.
“Uh… thanks?” I couldn’t help it. It came out as a question.
He didn’t answer. He let me go but didn’t step back, only leaned back, doing a head-to-toe and back again then he asked curiously, “Now, who would wanna take out a fine piece of ass like this?”
As I suspected, Hap had been briefed.
“Bud, let it go once, that’s twice. There won’t be a third time.” Sam was still growling but it wasn’t a semi-amused, semi-annoyed growl. This one was full on annoyed.
Hap stepped back and tossed Sam a big smile.
Then he looked back at me and stated, “Luci says you’re not only not hard on the eyes but also you’re the freakin’ shit.”
“That’s nice since I think the same way of Luci,” I replied.
“Everyone does,” he told me. “When Gordo landed her…” he trailed off and whistled, feeling this said it all because he strangely (and crudely, I might add) went on with, “Couldn’t even jack off to pictures of her anymore. Gordo could sense that shit and he’d rip your dick off but he’d use your throat to get to it.”
I wasn’t sure but I thought my mouth had dropped open.
Hap finished with, “Sucked.”
“I, uh… bet,” I agreed.
“All right,” Sam got close and claimed me with an arm around my shoulders, curling in and tucking me to his hard side, “not sure you noticed but we’re in baggage claim, not a locker room. And even if we were in a locker room, not feelin’ happy vibes you’re not checkin’ that shit around my woman. So, I’ll say it once, be cool.”
“Dude, calm down,” Hap, apparently and surprisingly unafraid of Sam’s tone, replied at the same time pressing his hands down. “Kia and me, we’re just gettin’ the feel of one another.”
“Since I got a choice, and I do, I’ll tell you to give Kia a different feel for you, one that doesn’t make you look like an ass**le,” Sam returned.
Hap turned his unwavering grin to me. “He wants me to make a good impression so you don’t think he’s a dick because I’m a dick.”
“Yeah,” Sam concurred, “that’d be good.”
“He’s not a dick,” Hap assured me.
“I, um… kinda already noticed that,” I replied.
Hap’s grin got bigger. Sam’s arm got tighter.
“Me, the jury’s still out seein’ as I haven’t nailed down a fine piece of ass like you or Luci,” Hap shared.