What Matters Page 9

  Sam picked up the pace and fucked her as brutally as he’d done the first time, slamming into her, pounding, driving all coherent thought from her. A rag doll beneath him, she gasped and her eyes rolled, her cries once again muffled by her hand in her mouth.

  Climax hit her hard and fast, and Sam came quickly too, stiffening as Eddie fell to pieces, the sharp drive of his cock faltering to become erratic. He released her legs, dropped his chest to hers, and groaned into her neck, thrusting into her a final time before he went utterly still, his dick pulsing heat where they were joined.

  Eddie fell slack, her hands buried loosely in Sam’s hair as she counted his laboured breaths, the beat of his heart hammering against hers, anything to tie her down to a world that had narrowed in the last half hour to become all about Sam Nowak.

  She couldn’t say how long she’d been holding him when he finally raised his head, and his face was unreadable. For a fleeting moment she feared that he would pull away from her and leave again.

  But he didn’t leave. He kissed her cheek and scooped her into his arms, before lifting her to the head of the bed and snagging the rumpled covers to drape over them both.

  Being in bed with Sam was a strange feeling. Eddie rolled over and propped herself up with one elbow as Sam did the same. “Are you okay?”

  She half-expected him to scoff and sneer, but he fixed her with an intense stare and nodded. “I am now, and I guess I owe you an apology. Seems it ain’t just you that jumps to conclusions.”

  “I can see why you thought what you did, though. There’s no excuse for what I did, Sam, and I really am sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault that I was having a bad day.”

  A bad day. Eddie pictured Sam slumped at the café table and her heart skipped a beat. “What happened?”

  Sam shrugged. “Sometimes I can do everything right, take my shots, eat all the right shit at the right time, and it still fucks with me. Having breakfast chucked in my face definitely helped, though.”

  His laughter eased the worry in Eddie’s heart. She gave in to the urge to kiss him and drove her tongue sweetly into his mouth, before she pulled away and returned to the matter at hand. “How long have you had it?”

  “Diabetes?”

  “Yes.”

  “It runs in my family. I was born with it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” Sam rolled onto his back. “I don’t know any different, and I’m okay most of the time. I’d probably never have told you if you hadn’t walked in on me.”

  Eddie wasn’t sure how she felt about Sam never trusting her enough to tell her something so important. “Does Dylan know?”

  “Dylan?”

  “I met him this morning—yesterday morning, I think? I liked him.”

  Sam grinned. “I like him too.”

  “He said he was your best friend.”

  “He is.”

  The distinct sensation of missing something washed over Eddie, but the sensation was brief, and quickly overcome by Sam idly trailing his work-hardened fingers across her belly.

  “What’s your real name?” he asked suddenly.

  “My real name?”

  “Yeah. Don’t tell me it’s Eddie, ’cause posh people aren’t born with names that cool.”

  That he thought her name was cool was almost enough to make her jump him again. “It’s Edwina, obviously.”

  “Lady Edwina?”

  “Of course not! My dad’s a stockbroker, not a bloody earl. At least, he was.”

  Eddie’s humour faded as quickly as it had come on, and, perhaps sensing her shift in mood, Sam sat up, leaning over her, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the room. “Is he dead?”

  “No, just broke. He went bankrupt a few weeks ago.”

  “Bankrupt?”

  “Yes, as in bust. His business folded and he’s lost everything—job, house, cars. He’s even stopped paying my tuition and rent.”

  “Ah.” Sam nodded, like Eddie’s appearance in his life suddenly made sense. “But don’t you go to that fancy uni in New Cross?”

  “Goldsmiths?”

  “If you say so.”

  Eddie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m a student at Goldsmiths.”

  “So how are you going to pay for it working part time in my family’s crappy café?”

  “Your grandfather offered me forty hours a week, and the café isn’t crappy and you know it, but to answer your question, I won’t need to pay for it all myself up front. I’ve applied for some loans and grants to help me out. My wages from the café will top up my rent and keep me fed.”

  “Hey, you won’t ever go hungry while you work for Pops. It’s against his religion.”

  “And yours, as best I can tell. Apparently, the only person you don’t feed is yourself.”

  “Very funny.” Sam stuck his middle finger up, and then leaned backwards over the side of the bed in a startling show of flexibility. When he straightened up, he was holding the envelope he’d given Eddie in the street. Somehow, in their haste to fall into bed, it must’ve ended up on the floor. “You’ll be needing this, then.”

  My wages. Eddie sat up and took the envelope, her hands feeling oddly shaky as butterflies flitted around her stomach. “You know, I’m so naive that I thought this would somehow find its way to my bank account, even though I never gave your grandfather my details. It never occurred to me that he’d pay me in cash.”

  “He’s old fashioned,” Sam said. “And his bank charged him a penalty fee about a decade ago. He's never trusted them since. Are you going to open it?”

  “I don’t know if I dare. I should probably take it straight to the bank in the morning.”

  “It is morning.”

  Eddie glanced through the crack in the curtains. The sky outside was still as black as tar. “No, it’s not.”

  But she opened the envelope anyway and fanned out the crumpled notes inside like it was the first money she’d ever held. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much, but to her, it was everything, and Sam seemed to know it, even though he said nothing as she gazed at the fruits of her own hard work.

  “I wish I could save it all for next year, but I need to find my rent for the next few months before my loans kick in—if I get them.”

  “Are things really that bad?”

  “Worse,” Eddie said with a sigh. “This is great, but after my rent and bills, it only leaves me about twenty quid a week to live on. Good job I have the Nowak family feeding me, eh?”

  Sam smiled slightly, his half grin lighting up the dark. “I’d say it’s working out for all of us right now.”

  “Thought you didn’t like me?”

  “I don’t, but I like fucking you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bright sunlight woke Eddie the next morning—sunshine that was far too bright for the dawn alarm she was sure she’d set. Shit! She bolted upright, her heart in her mouth, before she remembered that it was Wednesday and she wasn’t working until the evening.

  And then she remembered Sam too, and glanced to where he’d fallen asleep beside her, fully expecting to find empty space. But—

  He stayed. And more than that, he was still fast asleep, stretched out on his back with one arm flung over his head. God, he’s gorgeous, and though Eddie was loathe to disturb him, her hand found its way, unbidden, to his chest, her palm resting instinctively over his heart.

  On cue, Sam woke, opening his eyes with a slow smile that brought his face to life in a way Eddie had never seen before. “Mornin’.”

  “Morning,” Eddie said tentatively, still half convinced that she was dreaming. “Don’t you have to work?”

  “Nope. Dylan’s doing it. He helps out from time to time when he’s not busy with his own shit.”

  Eddie pictured Dylan lounging on the kitchen counter and his easy demeanour suddenly made sense. “He never said he worked at the café.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t really. Hasn’t since he graduate
d and got a real job. He only does it once in a blue moon to give me a day off.”

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “I know, that’s why he’s my mate.”

  “Your best mate.”

  “Yes.”

  Eddie couldn’t say why it mattered, but it did. She’d never seen Sam and Dylan together, but the subtle burn in their eyes when they spoke of each other was exactly the same. “I like him.”

  “He liked you too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He said you were nowhere near as stuck up your own arse as I’d said you were.”

  “Charming.”

  Sam shrugged. “I’ve never claimed to like you.”

  Eddie couldn’t argue with that, and knowing that she’d made a good first impression on Sam’s best friend felt better than she cared to admit. Mr. Nowak liked her too, so perhaps Sam’s issues with her were all his. Or a healthy dose of sexual tension—

  “What’ve you gone all red for?”

  Eddie blinked. Sam was all up in her face, smirking, like he’d read her mind. “I’m not all red.”

  “Are so.”

  “Bloody hell!” Eddie pushed him away. “You’d say black was white just to disagree with me.”

  Sam laughed and rolled away. “Only because you’re always wrong.”

  “Am not.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He sat up. “Keep telling yourself that. I gotta go.”

  “You’re leaving?” Disappointment joined the heat in her chest as Sam got out of bed.

  “I didn’t bring my insulin with me, and I’ve got some errands to run for Pops.”

  “Thought it was your day off?”

  “It is. I’m going out with Dylan later, if you want to come? Though I don’t reckon you’d enjoy where we’re going.”

  Eddie bristled. “Who are you to tell me what I enjoy?”

  “Like metal clubs, do you?”

  “Don’t know. Never been.”

  Sam snorted. “There’s a reason for that.”

  “You’re an arsehole.”

  “Yup.” Sam pulled his clothes on, and Eddie mourned his lean, flawless torso as it disappeared. “But you’re still welcome if you fancy slumming it more than you have already.”

  “Slumming it how? By working at the café, or fucking you?”

  “Ouch.”

  Eddie sat up, clutching the bed covers to her chest. “Yeah, well. You deserve it, and unfortunately, I can’t come out with you tonight. I’m working with your grandfather at the café.”

  “Fair enough.” Sam stamped into his battered boots. “Shame, though. I’d have liked to see you in a mosh pit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—” Sam came back to the bed and leaned over Eddie, pushing her down. “—you, missy, ain’t as clean cut as you make out. Reckon you’d be right at home, all grimy and shit.”

  Eddie wrinkled her nose, hoping her face didn’t give away how hot Sam’s words made her, because the idea of being grimy and dirty with him anywhere—even a grotty heavy metal club—made her wet between the legs.

  Sam’s ever-present smirk deepened, and his eyes blazed. “What are you doing today? Got somewhere to be?”

  “Not until later.”

  “Good. Now get on your knees.”

  Much later, after making Eddie come twice with his talented tongue, Sam finally left, and after a quick shower, it was time for Eddie to head to uni.

  Her lectures seemed more boring than usual, because despite her sometimes unhealthy obsession with her own performance, Eddie had little interest in the history of Romanticism and its legacy in popular music. She took idle notes, and doodled Sam’s name in the margin. At one point, she scrawled Dylan’s name too, which unnerved her enough to switch her focus to the lecturer droning on at the front of the classroom.

  Shame he’d finished for the day.

  Eddie gathered her things and ran for the bus, the days of when she’d stopped for a chablis and then hailed a taxi a distant memory. At the café, she instinctively looked for Sam, but he wasn’t there, and neither was Dylan, and Mr. Nowak was in one of his grumpy moods.

  All evening, Eddie stirred pots of Polish sausages and poured red wine, but she couldn’t seem to do anything fast enough for Mr. Nowak’s liking.

  “Why are you still messing with that pot? People are waiting all night for their food!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Eddie snapped, and swept out of the kitchen with her arms full of plates…straight into Dylan. “Oh. It’s you.”

  Dylan smiled. “The very same. You’d better come back to say hello, though. Artur looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.”

  It took Eddie a moment to twig that he meant Mr. Nowak—a moment too long if Mr. Nowak’s furrowed brow was anything to go by.

  Squeezing past Dylan, Eddie hurried into the café and delivered the last main course plates of the evening, then she returned to the counter where Dylan was waiting. “Are you here to meet Sam?”

  “Yup. He’s not here yet, though. Running late, as usual.”

  Eddie had never noticed Sam running late, but then, the only times she’d seen him outside of the café, they’d been fucking in her bed.

  Dylan apparently didn’t share Sam’s gift for reading Eddie’s mind. Instead of Sam’s devilish smirk, his smile was innocent as he poured himself a glass of Polish red wine and decamped to the “staff” table.

  “Come and join me when you’re on your break,” he called.

  A nice theory, but for once Mr. Nowak didn’t seem obsessed with feeding her. Instead, he was hell bent on pulling out the freezer and cleaning behind it, a task Eddie couldn’t let him attempt on his own, even if he could’ve fit behind it.

  Which meant she spent her break on her hands and knees, and not in the good way. She was up to her eyes in grease when Dylan popped his head into the kitchen to say goodbye.

  “I’m meeting Sam down the road now,” he explained. “You want to come meet us later?”

  “Thanks, but I’m a little too grimy, even for whatever craphole Sam’s dragging you to.”

  “It’s me that’s doing the dragging, actually,” Dylan said. “Sam’s too anti-social for clubs. He only comes so he can complain about it.”

  Eddie scrambled inelegantly to her feet. “Even so. I don’t think he’d be very pleased if I showed up like this.”

  Dylan grinned. “Sam gave me the impression that you don’t care all that much what he thinks.”

  “I don’t, but still.” Eddie turned to the sink and turned the taps on, hoping Dylan wouldn’t notice her flush. “I’ve got work tomorrow morning, and rehearsals after that. I need an early night.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Eddie glanced up. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve been working a lot,” Dylan said. “This place exhausts me, even when it’s quiet. I can’t believe I’m going out tonight. Sam will probably have to carry me home.”

  Eddie felt equal parts guilty for assuming Dylan was ribbing her, and oddly warm at the thought of Sam’s arms around him. Jesus. What’s wrong with me? “Well,” she said. “Have a nice time. I’m glad I got to see you again.”

  Dylan smiled and lightly punched her arm. “Me too—hey, take my number. Maybe we can have lunch some time when these Nowak’s haven’t got you chained to the sink.”

  They exchanged numbers and he left, and he’d been gone more than an hour when Eddie realised that she had his number, but no way of contacting the man who by now had turned her inside out more times that she could count.

  How the hell did that happen?

  Chapter Eleven

  Later that evening, Eddie found herself wide awake and roaming her bedroom, doing her best to keep quiet as Martha slept next door. She’d told herself that she didn’t want to go out, that she had no interest in “slumming it” at a grotty rock club, but alone in her room, at one with the accompanying silence, she craved company…stimulation. She craved Sam, in any way she could have him
.

  It was a crying shame that she had no way of telling him. Unless…

  Eddie glanced at her phone which she’d set to silent when a bunch of girls from her course had added her to a group chat about some lame end of term party. Dylan’s number was on her missed calls list from where he’d called her earlier to give her his number. Her thumb hovered over it. Dare she call him and ask for Sam? What would Sam make of that?

  After all, he hadn’t given Eddie his number. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear from her.

  Yeah, ’cause he probably wants this all on his terms.

  Whatever this was.

  Growling her frustration, Eddie tossed her phone on her bed. Even without worrying what Sam would make of it, she couldn’t think of a sensible reason to call Dylan. At least, not one that didn’t make her sound like some kind of maniac.

  “Sorry to bother you, love. But would you mind if I interrupted your night out to borrow your mate? I’m feeling kind of horny over here.”

  Eddie laughed out loud, couldn’t help it. Maybe that was the problem—that she was horny, even though Sam had sated her that very morning. Was that how it worked? The more sex you had, the more you wanted? Dear God. Eddie didn’t think it was possible to want Sam more than she did already.

  I still hate him, though. And it was mostly true. Sam’s mind-blowing touch didn’t take away from the fact that he was the rudest and most exasperating man she’d ever met.

  Which made her agitation now all the more annoying.

  And, impossible to ignore.

  Eddie snatched up her phone again and opened WhatsApp. A text wasn’t as desperate as calling, right? If she sent one innocuous enough, she could even claim that she’d sent it to the wrong person.

  But what to say? Eddie drummed her nails on the screen, and then tapped out a message that she hoped conveyed a casual and impersonal attempt at conversation. Having a good night? Bet you’re having a wilder time than me!

  She was tempted to add a photo of her fluffy slipper socks to further add weight to her girlfriend cover story, but the thought of Sam seeing them stopped her.

  Here goes nothing. She sent the message and then set her phone carefully by her pillow, and lay down. It crossed her mind to turn the phone off so she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the night staring at it, but with a curious anticipation bubbling in her veins, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not that she was seriously expecting a reply, mind. Men didn’t go in for texting, right? And Sam had already proved himself the master of silence.