Push Me (To The Edge series, #1) (11 page)

“Hey,
I’m not into sports. I mean,
at all
. Seriously. But I knew the name Steinbrenner.”

Sam
swallowed his beer and held up a hand. “Probably from
Seinfeld
, right?”

I tried to keep a straight face, but it betrayed me. “Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, that’s the guy she was sleeping with at the end of our marriage.”

“Oh, no.”

Sam waved it off. “I take responsibility for not getting the help I needed and not getting my life back on track.”

“She still shouldn’t have cheated.”

“I know, but I kind of set the stage for her to stray.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He was blaming himself. I couldn’t relate to that and I guess it showed on my face based on what he said next.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know she’s responsible for her actions.” He smiled. “That’s another thing that came out in my therapy. It sounds cliché to say it, but it’s true: I’ll never forget, but I have forgiven. Just to free myself, really. Enough about me. Your turn.”

I’d been dreading this. I hadn’t yet decided what to tell him about my last relationship with
Ian, if anything at all.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“You’re married,” he said, a serious expression on his face.

“What? No!”

“Dawn, I’m kidding.” He smiled. “Plus, it wouldn’t matter if you were.”

“Oh
, really.”

The waitress stopped by our table to ask if we needed anything.
Sam asked for the check, paid her on the spot, told her to keep the change, and said to me, “You can tell me the long story later. We have to get going.”

We stood.

“Hang on a second,” I said. “Why wouldn’t it matter if I was married?”

“Because we’re old acquaintances, just hanging out. Nothing’s going on, right?”

The sinking feeling in my stomach bothered me. I shouldn’t have reacted that way to what he had just said. He was right—there was nothing going on between us, at least nothing more than old acquaintances hanging out, which was the plain truth.

“Right,” I said. “Where are we going?”

“To a concert.”

.  .  .  .  .

Sam hadn’t bothered to ask if I liked the band My Morning Jacket. Judging by the enthusiasm he displayed during the show, I figured he must have assumed that everyone was a fan.

I
wasn’t very familiar their music. I’d heard some of their songs on the radio, but didn’t realize it until they played a few that I recognized.

My music taste ran more along the lines of female pop and rock bands, mostly from the ‘80s. Sure, they were a little before my time, but I was always in the mood for a song by The Go-Go’s or Heart
or Blondie.

So I was surprised
that by the end of the concert I found myself having a great time. My Morning Jacket put on a fun show. Watching Sam having such a great time made me enjoy it even more, and by the end of the night I was reminding myself to download some of the songs I liked from iTunes.

It was just before
1 a.m. when we got back to my hotel.

“I hope you don’t mind me keeping you out so
late on a work night,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly from yelling at the concert.

We were standing outside the hotel. I was leaning on a section of wall between two large windowpanes.
Sam stood close, but not too close. I felt my chest swell with short breaths, anticipating something, even a simple goodnight peck on the cheek. Lips would have been fine, too. So much for that whole old acquaintances hanging out thing.

“I don’t mind being out late. I had a great night. Thank you.”

“They’re one of my favorite bands.” Sam’s facial expression changed from a smile to the kind of look someone gets when they’re realizing something. “Your long story. You never told me.”

I shrugged it off and said, “The night kind of got away from us.”

I had completely forgotten about saying my relationship history was a long story, and was a little worried that I’d have to tell it now, capping off a good night with something unpleasant.

“Maybe tomorrow?” I said.

“Sure. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.”
Please don’t apologize, you have no idea how grateful I am to escape without telling it
, I thought.

“I’ll be busy tomorrow night with the first game, but it’s starting earlier than usual to fit in with the East Coast TV schedule. How about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

We walked closer to the hotel entryway and I stopped.

There was an awkward silent moment and it struck me that, had this been someone like Ian, there would have been intense staring deep into my eyes, followed by the slow lean-in, with maybe a lift of my chin with his finger, before the kiss.

Realizing now that it was nothing more than a well-scripted and probably well-practiced act
, I was glad Sam wasn’t trying anything like that, but I still found myself a little disappointed when he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” and then turned to walk down the sidewalk.

Chapter Nine

I woke up the next morning, turned on the TV, and there was Ian’s story leading the news on
Good Morning America
. Sure, I had tuned in looking to see if there was anything new being reported, so it wasn’t as though I was putting up a valiant effort to avoid him, but I sat there thinking it was going to be very difficult to escape Ian. At least for the next few months, or however long cases like this stayed in the news.

I had expected
Sam’s call to be the lone highlight of the workday, but just after he called in the late morning and we set up a time and place to meet after his baseball game was over, my day took an even more interesting turn.

I got a call from
Beth, back in the New York City office. It wasn’t uncommon for her to call me while I was on the road. Usually she wanted to check up on how things were going, but when I answered my cellphone she asked me if I was alone.

“I’m on the sales floor
,” I said.

“Can you go in the office, or step outside?”

“Sure, just a second.”

I went to the back of the store, through the door that led to the stockroom and
the manager’s office. Steph, the store manager, was sitting at her desk. She looked up when she saw me standing in the doorway.

“Would you mind if I used your office for a minute?” I mouthed the word “
Beth.”

“Oh, yeah, take your time.”

She left, closed the door behind her, and I sat in her chair.

“Okay, I’m alone.”

Beth said, “Stein wants to meet with you when you get back to New York.”

I had been looking down at
Steph’s desk, specifically at the printout she’d been reviewing that contained last quarter’s sales numbers for the store. When Beth said Rick Stein’s name, my gaze rose and I stared at the wall in shock. He was the VP of our company. I briefly worried that this had something to do with Ian and the FBI.

“
I’m standing behind you one-hundred percent for this promotion,” she continued.

I let out a huge sigh.
“I…wow, thanks.”

“You deserve it,” she said.

Just as she was saying that, I opened an email from Corrine. She’d written to tell me that she just had an interview with Stein for the new position. While Beth’s call made me feel elated, that feeling vanished as I read Corrine’s message.

Shit.

“Beth, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

I told her about the email I was looking at, and asked her if she thought I should be concerned.

“
Dawn, you’re the only one I recommended for the job. Stein is talking with several people, just so you know. Don’t freak out, though.” She was trying to reassure me, something I really needed at that moment. “Don’t worry. Trust me. Seriously. How are things going there?”

I brought her up to speed on the store in general,
and then on the merchandising side of things, which was our main focus. We talked for another five minutes, and she told me she’d talk to me when I got back, and before my interview with Rick Stein.

I sat in the office for the next fifteen minutes, thinking about what a promotion would mean to me,
professionally and personally.

I’d be traveling less, which was fine with me. I’d have more creative input as far as the merchandising went, which would be fun, exciting, rewarding, and a hell of a thing to put on my resume. I’d also have more money, which would mean a better—and bigger—apartment. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say this would change my life.

The longer I sat there thinking it over, the more I wanted the promotion, and the more eager I became to get back to New York.

I
considered wrapping things up in Phoenix and flying back late that night. I had the freedom to do that. My travel itinerary was almost entirely up to me. I could have been back in the offices the next morning, talk to Beth, maybe even get her to see if Stein would speak with me sooner.

I decided against it, though. I needed to finish my work here and I also didn’t want to look too eager.

And a small part of me was glad I would be seeing Sam again, and I didn’t want to miss that.

.  .  .  .  .

“It sounds like a good thing,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Worrying is something I really excel at,” I said.

Sam looked at me from across table. “How much worrying do you think you’ll need to do in order to secure the promotion?”

The question really put it in perspective. “You’re right.”

We were at a chain restaurant, having some appetizers and beer. I had eaten a light dinner earlier, and Sam said they had sandwiches delivered to the broadcast booth.

“Look,” he said, “early on in my career—playing, not broadcasting—I used to have sleepless nights all the time, especially just before a game after having a few days off. I’d toss and turn, wondering: what if this, what if that, suppose this happens? And you know what I got for all that worrying?”

“Less sleep.”

He nodded once, emphatically.

“Is that in your book?” I asked.

He finished off his beer and put the mug down. “Well, now
that I know you haven’t read it.”

“I haven’t had time.”

He smirked and gave me a long look.

“I swear,” I said. “I’ll start reading it tonight.”

“You brought it with you?”

“Yeah, I thought maybe it would help me pass the time on the plane.”

Sam picked up a mozzarella stick. “And?”

“I slept.”

“So my book put you to sleep?”

I rolled my eyes.

Sam said, “By the way, you’re not off the hook. Tell me this long story.”

This was it. The moment I’d have to decide whether or not to tell him
the truth, and if so, how much. I hadn’t had time during the day to consider it. I’d been completely preoccupied by the thoughts and worries about the potential promotion.

I decided, on the spot, to tell him as little as possible. Maybe he’d accept tha
t. Maybe he would pick up on my vibe and realize that I didn’t want to get into it too much. Maybe he would let me off the hook after all and not ask any questions.

“I’ve been single for about four months,” I began. “We were together for almost a year.”

“That’s not too long.”

If you knew
Ian, you wouldn’t be saying that
, I thought.

“No, it’s not,” I agreed, hoping my facial expression didn’t give away the fact that I wasn’t telling the truth about how I felt.
“I don’t have any contact with him anymore.”

“Was it serious?”

Oh, what a question, and what a choice of words. Yes, it was serious, but not in the way most people use that word to describe relationships. Sure, living together is serious. But I looked at it as a different kind of serious, stemming from Ian’s persistent intensity.

I made a face like I wasn’t sure how to answer the question, my mouth pursed a little. “In retrospect, no.”

That answer caused Sam to make a similarly curious face.

“We just weren’t
right for each other,” I said.

“Well, at least you figured that out before you got too deep into it.”

If only you knew…

I didn’t say anything, and neither did
Sam. It was obvious that he was leaving it up to me to decide whether I wanted to explain more. I thought I had done a pretty decent job of giving just the basics and not letting on that I still had a little baggage from that relatively short yet intense time with Ian.

One thing I had thought about was whether to reveal what
Ian did for a living. It’s not that Sam was living paycheck to paycheck and barely getting by. He was well off, but not on Ian’s level. Would Sam view me as someone who was interested only in men who were incredibly wealthy?

I had to face the fact that the label “gold
digger” exists for a reason. And even though I had to admit to myself that Ian’s wealth was part of the initial lure, I knew in my heart that it wasn’t why I had stayed with him as long as I did. If I really were a gold digger, I wouldn’t have left him. Or, rather, I wouldn’t have planned to leave him, even though he was the one who ended it first.

Aside from the gold
digger aspect, there was that whole matter of having been the secret girlfriend of a multi-millionaire criminal. That was something I definitely didn’t want Sam, or anyone else, to know.

And there was no way I was going to tell him that I’d dabbled in the BDSM lifestyle. There was no telling what he might think about that.

Luckily, Sam seemed willing to let it go and didn’t ask any more questions.

.  .  .  .  .

After another thirty minutes of light-hearted conversation, Sam said, “I don’t want to keep you out late two nights in a row.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that. Was he bored with me? Was he genuinely concerned about how much sleep I was getting? Was he fishing for an answer that would indicate that I wanted him to keep me out later?

I had a burst of courage—or maybe it was really more a case of smothering my fears. There’s a difference. I think it was sparked by the text I received from Rachel earlier, saying:
Rebound!

That’s it. That’s all it said.
I didn’t want to discuss it with her, and I didn’t want to debate it internally, so I didn’t respond.

I had played the role of the submissive girl with
Ian for almost a year, and look where that got me.

So I said
to Sam, “Why don’t you walk me back to my hotel room?”

He
said he would, though at the time I wasn’t sure he had picked up on the fact that I included the word “room” in my suggestion.

During our walk back to my hotel, he said, “Hey, if you have any trouble getting to sleep, just open my book and you’ll be out like that.” He snapped his fingers.

I turned my head and looked up at him as we walked. Only the left side of his mouth curled up, giving me a half-smile, what I believe people commonly call a “shit-eating grin,” the kind that shows a little too much self-satisfaction.

I decided to play along with his teasing. “You know, you’re right. I used to have a problem sleeping when I was traveling and my doctor prescribed something
for it. But ever since I got your book, I haven’t had to pop one of those pills. Interesting, huh?”

“I like a woman with a good sense of humor.”

“You think I’m joking?”

We had arrive
d at my hotel. There weren’t many people on the sidewalk. Nothing like New York foot traffic, anyway.

“I know you’re joking. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if your copy of my book was under a stack of old mail in your apartment back home.”

“Oh really. So you think I lied about bringing it with me.”

“You could have been lying,” he said. “How would I know?
I wouldn’t be the first time.”

“
Ohhh, not fair.”

“It’s not,
Dawn? Or should I say
Claire
?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You play dirty.”

This conversation was intriguing me. I knew what was happening, and it was a far stretch from the way someone like Ian would try to get into a girl’s hotel room. I really needed to stop comparing Sam and Ian, but it wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped.

We stood facing each other. I had to look up, as he
was so much taller than me. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to go back to your hotel thinking I’m lying about this, so here’s an idea. I’ll go up to my room, get the book, bring it down here, and show you that I have it. You can wait in the lobby. There’s a nice TV in there.”

Sam
put his hands in his jeans pockets. Our eyes were locked and I could tell he was thinking about what he was going to say next. My heart beat faster. This was kind of invigorating. Not just the back and forth playful verbal sparring, but also the fact that I seemed to have him on the ropes.

What I wanted to happen here was for him to suggest that I shouldn’t have to go up and get the book, then come all the way
back down to the lobby, and that it would be much more efficient for him to come up to my room with me and check out my story.

He nodded, pressed his lips together as though he were thinking about it and said, “Okay, you do that.
I’ll check out that nice TV.”

Dammit.
He’d bested me.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost midnight.

“So you would really do that? Make me go all the way up to my room and come back down, just to prove I’m not a liar?”

“I wouldn’t
make
you do anything you didn’t want to.” His tone changed in an instant from the frisky, light-hearted, joking to seriousness. His eyes, actually his entire face, changed with it.