It all started with three things. Three things she couldn't get out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. Three things that, if she weren't extremely careful, would be her undoing.
*
Monday, May 7, 2012
The evening breeze was warm, even though it was only the start of May. Spring always sprung early in DC. The cherry blossoms had already come and gone, and the air was beginning to get that hint of humidity that everyone who lived through quickly grew to dread. Sammy certainly wasn't complaining tonight though, because it gave her a chance to air out her favorite navy minidress. She had just finished her last final of the semester – a brutal global economics monster – and a couple of friends had dragged her out to Adams Morgan to celebrate the end of their junior year at Georgetown. Well, maybe dragged wasn't the right word. She was somewhat of a willing participant.
Okay, if she was being honest, she had been anticipating this day for months. It was the first night in almost a year that she didn't have to think about anything related to school or work. She didn't even have a whole summer to look forward to, seeing as she was starting a summer internship in a week. Six short days of freedom and then she would have to put her nose right back to that proverbial grindstone. With all that in mind, she really needed this one night to let loose.
Sammy was definitely grateful for the job she'd be starting, but right now she wished she didn't have anything to look forward to other than lazy summer days working on nothing but her tan. She fondly recalled the summers of previous years, filled with boys and booze and beaches and baseball…but there was no point in being nostalgic. She had to face the fact that she was growing up and becoming a real adult with real world responsibilities.
She just didn't have to face that fact tonight.
"Can I get four shots of Wild Turkey American, two Sailor Jerry and Diets, a Corruption, and an Optimal Wit, please?" Sammy rattled off to the bartender at Bourbon.
After they had grabbed a table in a relatively quiet corner, Sammy had been tasked with getting the first round (or two) of drinks from the bar. She was in the process of searching for her credit card and wondering how she was going to carry everything back to her table when –
"You can put those on my tab." Someone over her left shoulder told the bartender.
It started right then: the first thing was the accent. Thick enough to float in, the country twang in his voice was practically a parody of a stereotypical southern drawl. That cannot actually be real, Sammy thought to herself. People don't talk like that in real life, right? She turned towards the stranger with the ridiculous accent with the intention of politely rebuffing him.
The second thing to hit her was his eyes. She was suddenly looking up, way up, into a pair of eyes that she never knew actually came in that particular shade of blue. That sappy quote from The Princess Bride popped into her head—you know, "eyes like the sea after a storm"—and she immediately christened him "Farm Boy" in her mind. As in, fetch me my drinks, Farm Boy! Appropriate, as he seemed more than happy to do just that at the moment. She laughed internally at her ridiculousness.
The first two things wouldn't have been enough to rattle her, if it weren't for the third. Because at that moment he grinned at her, a grin that would (and let's face it, probably did) make the panties of any farmer's daughter within a 50 mile radius drop faster than you could say "good southern boy", and she lost all train of thought.
Hoo, boy. And she didn't even like southerners.
Play it cool, girl, she told herself. I know you're looking to blow off some steam, but you certainly don't need to go tearing the clothes off the first cute guy you see. …Although he is REALLY cute.
"Seriously? You're going to buy me"—she quickly counted—"eight drinks before you even say a word to me?"
He leaned his elbows on the bar so he could talk on her level instead of towering over her, and actually spoke to her for the first time.
"I'm sorry, you're right, that was very forward of me. Let me start over. Hi, my name's Tyler. I noticed you as soon as I walked in and I think you are just about the prettiest girl I've ever seen, so I'd like to buy you a drink…or eight, I guess. What do you say?" He looked up at her through eyelashes that had no business being on a guy that was already that good looking.
She rolled her eyes but smiled in spite of herself. "Does that nice country boy routine always work for you?"
He grinned cheekily. "Pretty much."
She laughed outright then. "Fair enough. So what brings you to DC, Farm Boy?" She asked.
"What makes you so sure I'm not a local?" He shot back with a lopsided smile, clearly amused at his new nickname. She barked out another laugh and continued as if he hadn't said anything.
"Let me guess, intern for a junior congressman from Alabama." He looked appalled at that.
"How dare you! I am from Mississippi, thank you very much. Hail State, not Roll Tide."
"Oh, I'm sorry for making such a grievous error!" She gasped and placed a hand on her heart in mock horror. "I can't believe I mixed those two up, seeing as they're sooo different and all. Tell you what, I'll make it up to you by not putting up any more fuss about the drinks, as long as you help me carry them back to my table."
"May I join you? Or are you going to force me to creepily stare at you from across the room all night? Because I totally will." Sammy shook her head, still chuckling, but let him follow her back to her friends.
*
"Check it out, T-Mo's turning on that 'please and thank you ma'am' bit again for some chick at the bar." Michael Morse, Ian Desmond, and Danny Espinosa had taken it upon themselves to take some of the new players out—making them pay, of course—and they were all currently laughing about Tyler Moore immediately abandoning them to go talk to some brunette. She had her back turned to the group but they all agreed that there was nothing wrong with the view from that end.
"Man, girls eat that southern shit up. I don't get it. He sounds like he's straight out of Deliverance." Steve Lombardozzi rolled his eyes.
"Aww, is someone a little jealous? You know you're still number one in his heart, Lombo." Michael joked.
Danny looked up at the pair right as the girl turned a little so he could see her face—and he nearly choked on his beer.
"Whoa hold up, is that who I think it is?" He asked Morse, slapping him on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Holy shit!" Morse burst out and the pair cracked up. "Someone's gonna be in trouuu-ble!" He said in a sing-song voice, while the newer members of the team looked on in confusion.
"I don't get it, did one of you already screw her or something? I mean, she is a total piece…I don't know if I'd mind the sloppy seconds." Steve joked.
Ian held his hands up. "Nooo, and watch what you say about that one."
"That lovely young lady over there," Michael explained as he slung an arm around Steve's shoulders, "is none other than Samantha Rizzo, the boss's daughter."
Steve's eyes got wide. "Whoa. Um, don't you think we should tell him?"
"Rizzo? Are you kidding?" Danny looked at him like he was crazy.
"God no, I mean Tyler!"
"Aw come on, this is hilarious. Let him dangle for a bit."
*
Sammy had had too much to drink. That must be the reason she was feeling so lightheaded. It had nothing to do with the rather large amount of boy that was sitting way too close to her on the couch. On the other hand, the subtle scent of his cologne was slightly overwhelming, and she could feel the heat from his hand a hair's breadth away from her thigh where her dress had hiked up a bit.
So maybe it wasn't the alcohol after all. She had long ago ceased to acknowledge any of her friends at the table and was totally engrossed in the low voice coming from her right side. She wasn't even really paying attention to what they were talking about—nothing of import, as she still barely knew a thing about him—but she couldn't tear her eyes away from his.
A second longer and she was going to do something embarrassing, like straddle him and go to town, despite how crowded the bar was. She needed some air. She stood up suddenly, mentioning that she had to use the restroom. But she quickly ran into a problem: the low table was too close to where they were sitting and she practically had to straddle him to get out anyways. She stepped one leg over and made the mistake of looking down. His blue eyes were bright—from the alcohol or something else, she didn't know—and as his chest rose and fell he clenched his hands by his sides, the tendons in his forearms bunching and his fingernails digging into his palms, like he was fighting off the urge to slide them up her legs. She felt the heat of his gaze all over her body and shuddered. Jesus, where was that air? She scurried away towards the back hall where the bathrooms were located and paused to compose herself.
"Sammy!" She heard a call from behind and turned around to see Tyler had followed her. Before she could even blink, his hands were around her waist and his mouth was on hers, and one of her hands found itself clutching his shirt by the waistband of his jeans and the other was in the hair at the nape of his neck, and he was pushing her up against the wall and her whole body was on fire—
He pulled away slightly, and as his hands made their slow determined way up her sides, he murmured in a voice slightly hoarser than normal, "God, I want you so bad."
As soon as he spoke, he seemed to realize what was happening and pulled farther away. "I'm so sorry, I've just been aching to do that all night. I'm, uh, gonna go sit back down now."
He left her still leaning against the wall, dazed. Did that really just happen? Stick a fork in me, because I am fucking done. Propriety be damned, there was nothing on earth or in hell that would stop her from going home with that boy tonight.
*
Talk about forward! Tyler berated himself, running a hand through his hair as he strode away. Way to practically attack a drunk girl in an abandoned hallway. Although she certainly didn't seem that upset about it…and I can't say that I regret it one bit.
He made his way back to where the two had been sitting, slightly dazed himself, but about halfway there he was intercepted by his teammates. Most of them were wearing shit-eating grins. They were definitely up to something. He had a very bad feeling about this.
"Y'all better not be planning to cockblock me right now." He glared at each of them in turn.
"You know T-Mo, it's funny you should say that." Morse said. "That's sort of exactly what we're doing. And trust me, you'll thank us later."
"I highly doubt—" He started to say, but Desmond interrupted him.
"Wait, here she comes."
Tyler turned around to see her stalking over to where they were gathered with recognition and fury in her eyes and gulped. Crap. Maybe he really did misread the signs and she was pissed off about the kiss. She seemed seriously pissed about something. She drew nearer, and before he could say anything to apologize, before he could even speak, she—punched Michael Morse in the arm?
"Well hey to you too!" Morse laughed, rubbing the now sore spot.
"Are you SERIOUS, Mike?" She shouted. Only then did she turn to Tyler. "Please tell me you just met these guys."
"Uh…no? They're my teammates. I, um, play ball for the Nationals?" All of his answers seemed to be coming out as questions. He was thoroughly confused.
This time he got a punch in the arm.
"You're Tyler Moore? Why, for the love of God, did you not mention that earlier?!" Sammy hissed angrily.
"Jesus I don't know, I didn't think it was a big deal! I mean I just got called up, and I didn't want to make it sound like I was claiming to be some hotshot superstar. I'm just lucky to be here." He looked at her, brow furrowed. "Why does it matter anyways? At least I wasn't using the 'I'm a professional baseball player' pickup line. You'd think I would get some credit for that."
She laughed bitterly. "Oh trust me, that would not work on me. I don't date ball players."
"Am I missing something here?" He asked slowly. "How do you even know these guys, anyways? What the hell is going on?"
"Aw, our dear sweet rookie has so much to learn." Espinosa clapped his hands together. "You two kids clearly didn't get past the first name stage in this little budding relationship, so let me do the honors. Tyler, I'd like you to officially meet Samantha Rizzo."
Sammy Rizzo.
"…Fuck."