Sam.

~~~

Talking with Raymond brought bittersweet memories. After my grandfather Michael passed away, the lawyer gathered our family to reveal his will. They played a video recording of him, just a week after the funeral. I cried the entire time the video played. It wasn't just the grief; it was the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, even in pixels—it was too much.

I didn't even realize at first that I had inherited everything. The house, the art, the possessions—they were all left to me. But of course, there were conditions.

One condition was that I had to ensure my grandmother, Rose, lived comfortably for the remainder of her life. Another was that his final book had to be published with my name on the cover as a co-author, and I had to do at least one book signing event in his honor.

And then there was the last one—no selling any property or artwork for the next ten years.

Not everyone in the family was happy about his decision. I could feel the tension in the room, though no one said it outright. But Michael, being Michael, had explained his reasoning clearly in the video. I knew they couldn't challenge it, but it didn't make the bitterness any less palpable.

I never wanted to talk about that drama with Raymond. There was no need to drag him into the mess. But as I sat there beside him, talking about my grandfather, a strange sense of liberation began to settle in. It was bittersweet—like peeling open a wound to let it breathe.

"Do you want some ice cream?" I asked suddenly, needing a change of subject, needing something light after the heaviness.

"Sure," he said easily, his warmth a comforting contrast to my tangled emotions. "What flavors do you have?"

I moved toward the freezer, pulling out two tubs. "Vanilla and pistachio," I said, holding one in each hand.

"Pistachio," he answered without hesitation, stepping closer to take the green container.

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow at him, amused.

"Yeah, it's my favorite. I'm actually kind of surprised you even have it," he said with a grin, already popping the lid off.

"It's my favorite too," I replied, a playful smile tugging at my lips as I grabbed two spoons from the drawer.

Without much thought, I headed toward my bedroom, spoons in hand. When I glanced back, Raymond hesitated for a long moment before following.

The bedroom was my sanctuary, carefully arranged with everything I needed. On one wall, there was a walk-in closet. Across from it, a bookshelf spanned the entire wall except for a single door in the middle—the bathroom. My bed was king-sized, flanked by matching nightstands, with brown roller blinds framing the window above it. Every detail of the room matched the apartment's white-and-brown theme: white furniture, and brown accents.

Raymond wandered in, his curious gaze sweeping across the space. His eyes landed on the bookshelf. "The famous bookshelf," he said with a grin. "What's behind that door?" He pointed to the bathroom.

"My bathroom," I replied, noticing the condensation dripping from the ice cream tub.

"So, two bathrooms, huh? Interesting," he remarked, nodding as he took in the rest of the room.

I left him there, rushing back to the kitchen to grab a towel. When I returned, he was already sprawled on the right side of the bed, eating ice cream like he owned the place.

"I wiped the water with my shirt," he said, watching me with a cheeky grin as I let out a small sigh and tossed the towel onto the nightstand.

"Why would you do that?" I asked, settling onto the bed beside him, lying on my stomach with a spoon in hand.

"Oh, Molly warned me about how everything has its place in your apartment," he said with a chuckle, the spoon in his mouth muffling his words slightly.

"Molly," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "What did she say exactly?"

"She didn't say anything bad, don't worry." Before I could press further, he pressed the cold metal of the spoon to my shoulder forcing a shiver in my body.

"Okay, so the cat's out of the bag," I said with a grin, brushing the spoon away.

"Yeah," he laughed, leaning back a little. "But we didn't finish talking about the trip." His tone grew more serious as his dark eyes met mine.

"I thought we did," I said lightly, scooping another bite of ice cream.

"Nice try," he said, shaking his head. "I've been thinking, and I have a deal to propose."

Great, I thought. What is it with the men in my life and their deals? "Okay, let's hear it," I said, sitting up and crossing my legs beneath me.

"When I get back from San Diego, we should go on a proper date. Somewhere outside of this apartment." His voice was careful, almost shy.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with my apartment?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, flashing a disarming smile. "I love it. But I want to take you out. A normal date."

"So, this is the deal? You want to take me on a date?" I teased, slipping the spoon between my lips, letting the sweetness of the ice cream linger.

Ray leaned back, flashing that signature grin of his. "No," he said, emphasizing the word like it was ridiculous. "I'm taking you out. And after that, you're coming on tour with me." He casually touched his bottom lip with his spoon, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb.

I froze, the spoon hovering midair before I placed it down in the container. "No fucking way," I said, narrowing my eyes. "So, in other words, if I don't go on tour, we're not dating at all?"

He looked taken aback, then scratched the back of his head, visibly flustered. "Okay, I phrased that wrong," he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "What I mean is, we'll have time together before I leave. But I think we should see how we'd be...you know, in public. As a couple."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "We're not a couple."

"Yes, we are," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, shoveling another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

"No, we're not." My tone was firm, unyielding.

He stopped chewing and pointed his spoon at me. "Look, I'm not going around town making out with random girls. That makes us a couple."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not doing that either, but it doesn't make me your girlfriend, Ray."

He stared at me for a moment, then smirked like he was about to pull something. "Alright, another deal. After our first official date, you'll be my girlfriend."

I wanted to argue, to explain how relationships worked in the real world, but the words died in my throat. Instead, I shrugged, feigning indifference. "We'll see," I said, my lips curving into a faint smile.

The ice cream was starting to melt, so I placed the container on the nightstand and turned toward him. I placed a hand on his chest as he lay back, his shirt warm under my palm. Lately, we'd been kissing more, touching more, but we hadn't gone further. Part of me wondered why.

Climbing onto his lap, I straddled him, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath me. He looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with something intense, something I couldn't quite place. I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. God, his lips were always so soft. Our tongues brushed, teasing and exploring, and his hand slid to my back, pulling me closer.

I sat up just enough to tug off my sweater, tossing it aside. He didn't stop me this time. My heart raced as I lifted his shirt. He hesitated, but then he helped me pull it over his head. My fingers traced the ink on his chest, following the curves of his tattoos like they held the answers to the questions swirling in my head.

I kissed his neck, trailing upward until our mouths met again. His hands roamed over my back, trembling slightly as he cupped my breast, his thumb brushing over the fabric of my bra. A shiver ran down my spine, and I felt his breath hitch. I moved my hips against him, my fingers finding the buckle of his pants.

"Sam," he breathed against my lips, his voice strained.

"Ray," I whispered back, fumbling with the metal clasp.

"We should stop," he said, his lips brushing my collarbone.

I pulled back just enough to look at him. "Do we?" My voice came out softer than I intended, shaky and uncertain.

He leaned up, cupping my face with both hands. His eyes searched mine, and I saw hesitation flicker in them. "I want you, Sam. I really, really do. But I don't want to rush this."

I blinked at him, confused. "So... going on tour with you isn't rushing, but having sex is?" My words wavered, somewhere between teasing and serious.

Ray let out a low laugh, resting his forehead against mine. "I'll explain everything," he said, his voice steady. "But first, you have to put your sweater back on."

I blinked again, this time more skeptical. "Why?"

His lips twitched into a sheepish grin. "Your boobs are distracting me. I can't think straight."

"Really?" I asked, narrowing my eyes but feeling a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I leaned closer, giving him a better view of my cleavage, his eyes stayed glued to my boobs for a long moment.

"Really." He nodded solemnly, though his eyes betrayed his amusement as he looked at my face.

With a dramatic sigh, I climbed off him and reached for my sweater. "Fine," I said, slipping it back over my head. I tossed his shirt at him, shaking my head as I sat down beside him on the bed.

"Thank you," he said, pulling his shirt on with a smirk. He looked at me, then glanced away, the faintest flush creeping up his cheeks. "I guess it comes to the way I view sex," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

I tilted my head, studying him. "What is?"

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "The reason I keep stopping us."

"Go on," I prompted, crossing my arms.

Ray bit his lip, then finally met my gaze. "I just... I've never wanted anyone like I want you. It's not just physical, Sam. It's... everything. And I don't want to screw this up."

His words hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of me. For a moment, I just stared at him, my heart hammering. Then I smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"You're not screwing anything just yet," I said with clear intent in my voice, he smiled wickedly. "But you do realize you owe me a proper explanation, right?"

Ray's shoulders relaxed. "Yeah."

And just like that, the tension between us dissolved, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the sound of our quiet laughter.

"Go on," I said, motioning with my hand for him to continue.

Ray shifted uncomfortably, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "People view sex in different ways, I guess the main one being—pleasure, and I am not denying that part. But I just see it as being more, it's literally being inside someone else's body, and it's quite beautiful in a way. I am no saint but I feel it requires trust from both people, trust to let someone in, completely. I don't do halfways, if I am in, I am in—body and soul." I felt stunned, admittedly I never view sex that way, but I kinda saw his point.

I reached for his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. "So, does that mean you don't trust me?" I asked softly, though a part of me already knew the answer.

"In certain ways, I do," he said, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. "I had only two serious girlfriends, and I don't mess around, it takes time to trust someone. Courtney—she betrayed me so badly, and it took me a long time to get over it. It's just hard for me to trust someone new." His voice softened, and he lifted my hand, pressing it against his hot cheek. "I know it's not fair to you, and I'm working on my trust issues."

I gave him a small smile and leaned forward to kiss him. "Thank you for sharing," I murmured against his lips. "But now you've got me curious. What exactly did she do to you?"

Ray opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say a word, his phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting instantly. "It's Logan. I have to take this," he said, standing up quickly.

I watched as he answered the call, his tone shifting to something more professional. Apparently, his bandmates were downstairs waiting for him in the car. They were heading to San Diego to film a new music video, and they'd swung by to pick him up.

Ray dressed quickly, his movements efficient but hurried. Before I knew it, he was at the door, turning back to give me a quick, apologetic smile. "I'll call you later, okay?"

I nodded, watching him leave. For the first time in days, the apartment felt empty, almost too quiet. With nothing else to do, and Molly still at work, I decided to take a bubble bath. I grabbed my phone and a book before sinking into the warm water. For a while, I let the heat relax me, but it didn't take long before my mind wandered back to Ray.

He'd been honest about his past—more honest than I'd expected. And yet, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I wasn't being as open with him as I should have been. I hadn't told him about Tom.

I sighed, sinking deeper into the tub as the familiar guilt washed over me. Tom was a part of my past that I kept running from, yet he always seemed to pull me back in. That was the real reason I hadn't told Ray about him. How could I, when I wasn't even sure I was ready to let Tom go?

I stared at the ceiling, the steam from the bath blurring my vision. I liked Ray. More than that, I could see a real future with him. But before I could give us a real chance, I needed to face Tom one last time. After that—before our first official date—I'd tell Ray everything.

The sound of my phone ringing jolted me from my thoughts. I must have drifted off because the water was cold, and the bubbles had long since disappeared. Groggily, I grabbed the phone and squinted at the screen. Uncle John's name flashed across it.

I answered, the conversation brief but to the point. He needed money—again. After hanging up, I climbed out of the tub, wrapped myself in a towel, and headed to the bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I felt a familiar pang of guilt. John called it a loan, but I knew better. This wasn't the first time he'd asked for money since I inherited everything. He wasn't the only one who'd expected to cash in on the inheritance, but he was the one I couldn't say no to.

Michael's voice echoed in my mind, as clear as if he were standing beside me:

"For my sons, I have to tell you I love you. One of you used my money and built a glorious business, and I'm proud of you, Richard. You, John, never appreciated my good heart, and when I cut you off, you just used your mother's love for you. That's why, my dear Rose agreed that our entire wealth should go to my sweet Samantha. She will know what to do, and she deserves it. You, my dear sons, will have to accept that."