Of all the cities that were mapped out across the country, Samantha never thought she'd find herself in Houston. She liked the big cities best - they offered the anonymity of large crowds, and twenty-four hour cafés to appease her insomnia. She lived her life like a ghost: filtering between hoards of people on the street, only being seen when it was absolutely vital.
Houston was nice. A few good bakeries scattered here and there, some nice music stores. She'd even found a cheap motel just a few blocks from the school, this way she didn't have to risk driving into the depths of the city and getting caught in a mile long traffic jam, or even using the unreliable public transportation. She could just make her way there on foot. The closest coffee shop was a Starbucks, which Samantha grinned and bared, though she loathed their atrocious sizing system. Every time she had to clarify she wanted a grande instead of a large, she died a little bit inside.
And, of course, Texas wasn't too far from Tennessee. Though she'd been on the move for what seemed like forever, she had to stop somewhere. As hard as it was, this was the right choice. She was finally settling old debts, she knew this was all she could really hope for. She expected no real reward at all for this.
xXx
On Friday night, Michael faced facts and thought maybe, it was time he cleaned up around his apartment. It would be nice to be actually prepared for Monday, there were old assignments tucked away on shelves that he knew he could throw out. Figuring a lame-ass Friday night clean out was a good plan, he decided to celebrate with a beer and headed for the kitchen.
He hadn't even made it into the kitchen when his phone started vibrating on the counter. He picked it up, while checking the caller ID. He groaned quietly and swiped his this across the screen to answer.
"Hey, Dean." He propped himself up on the kitchen counter. No point in getting that beer now, he knew where this was going to end up.
"You're up, Cohen." Dean said, "Lace up your boots, I'm taking you off the bench."
"Sports metaphors?" Michael pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Hey, you used to play ball." Dean laughed. "Bottom line: we're going out. I started early, so I need a ride. We also gotta make a quick stop."
Michael sighed. "Alright then."
"Awesome. Can you be ready in ten?"
Michael looked down at himself. He had changed into a grey jumper and jeans - it's wasn't much - but it was about as dressed up as he was willing to get.
"I'll be ready. You better be outside or I'm driving away without you."
"Roger that."
Fifteen minutes later, Michael followed Dean into one of the smaller bookstores Houston had to offer, a small bell sounded as they entered. Dean made his way purposefully down the aisles, by-passing "fiction", "non-fiction", "sci-fi", heading straight for the section labelled "graphic novels."
"What are we doing here?" Michael scowled at the store. "I teach literature for a living, what makes you think I wanna be around books after hours? It's like taking a lighter to a bonfire."
"Totally not the same thing." Dean looked over his shoulder at him. "Charlie wants a bribe." Dean scanned the spine of the books, looking for a specific title. "You liked books at some point, go get re-acquainted."
Michael huffed a little bit, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked away from him. He was right, Michael liked a good book. Lots of books were completely lost with him though, he didn't understand Old English at all, he detested romance novels. But if he was given a few complicated characters and a plot line with some violence, then he was in. Although the need for reading had faded slightly over the years, he could do with getting back into it.
Without realising, Michael had made his way to the "classics" section. His eyes roamed the shelves, fingers reaching out to run over a few familiar titles, smiling as he did so.
Then, his fingers ran over an even more familiar title, and he stopped. He pulled the book out of its place, grinning at the familiar cover.
'The Outsiders'
He turned the book, reading the synopsis he had memorised since high school. He remembered reading it for the first time, how it really woke him up and introduced him to the beauty of literature.
He used to teach it to his senior students, but there was always a feel of disapproval when his students didn't get it like he did.
Maybe it was time for another shot.
"Nice choice." The soft voice seemed perfectly at home in the quiet store, but Michael still jumped when he heard it. His head snapped up, his eyes landing on Samantha, talking to Michael but facing the book shelves a few feet away.
"Yeah.." Michael looked down at the book, assembling his thoughts. "It's one of my favourite novels, actually. I used to teach it, but I don't think they really appreciated it."
"I know what you mean." Samantha smiled, somewhat timidly. It was different to her other smile; this one seemed more genuine. "Books are popular with kids when they're really short, or if they contain a considerable amount of swearing."
Michael laughed softly and pushed the book back into its place on the shelf. "I'm with you on that one. I swear that's why most kids like 'A Catcher in the Rye.' They like Holden, but they don't really care or get what the story is actually about."
Samantha turned to face him now, and it occurred to Michael that he'd never seen her out of school before. It was almost strange to see her in jeans and a t-shirt.
"Listen," She said, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, "I hope you didn't take offence the other day, when I took over your class. You seemed a little irritated."
Michael shook his head. "No, it's totally cool." Lifting his eyes to meet hers. "I slept late; I was half-asleep when I walked in. I was just happy I didn't have to split up any fights."
Samantha smiled again, her usual cool eyes swirling with warmth. Michael had spent a whole week working across from Samantha, but he'd never seen that smile before. And yet he'd coaxed two out of her in the space of ten minutes.
Just then, Dean appeared from around the corner.
"I thought you left-" He started, but his eyes widened when they landed on Samantha, "Oh. Hi!"
Samantha smiled at Dean, Michael proudly made a mental note that it wasn't the smile she had given him. "Hi, Dean."
"I gotta say, I'm surprised to see you here. I thought it was only locals who knew about this place."
"I was just looking around town." She replied. "I don't quite know where everything is yet."
Dean smiled back at her, but Michael could see the gears twisting behind his eyes. He crossed his arms over the book he was carrying, giving Samantha a quick up and down. Michael thought back to what Dean said at lunch the other day - about how Samantha was a mystery, how he was determined to solve it. Michael soon found himself wanting to get as far away from them as possible.
"Well, you're in luck." Dean continued. "Michael and I know the best bar in town - actually, we're headed there now - it's just down the street. You should join us."
"That's nice of you, but it's alright." Samantha's voice was nervous, her eyes were uncertain. "I don't want to intrude."
"You wouldn't be intruding," Dean rolled his eyes at the word. "That's why we invited you. Come on, one drink - consider it an official Houston welcome."
Samantha glanced at Michael who was looking at the ground, but he soon lifted his head and smiled half-heartedly at her. He nodded.
"Yeah, okay..." Samantha looked at Dean. "One drink."
This was how, ten minutes later, Michael found himself at the back of Jo's bar, with Dean, Garth and Samantha. He thought this was horribly unfair. Convincing him to come out had been difficult enough before - and that was when he knew what he was getting into; when the night held nothing but another predictable night out with his friends. Now, nothing was predictable, because Samantha's knee was inches away from his under the table and Michael was trying not to watch the woman's fingers trace the rim of her wine glass.
The bar had already shot up ten degrees which caused Michael to subconsciously roll up the sleeves of his jumper.
Garth and Dean seemed to be oblivious to Michael's discomfort. He hung back in the conversation, deciding to listen as they talked about the odd collection of things they had in common. Samantha and Garth seemed to share the same taste in movies, whereas she and Dean shared the same type of music.
Michael realised Dean wasn't as oblivious as he originally thought, because when he challenged Garth to a game of pool, he glanced back and shot Michael a traitorous smirk.
He was going to kill him.
Michael sighed and gestured to the waitress to bring over another beer. Just like his father, Michael got rid of any unwelcome emotion with a healthy helping of alcohol. Self-medication was practically inherent in the family genes.
"You don't play then?" Samantha asked, nodding over to the billiards table. Michael followed her eyes to where Dean was chalking his pool cue.
"Oh, I do." Michael replied, a little boastfully. "Neither of them will play me anymore, though."
"Why's that?" Samantha turned her eyes on Dean, narrowing her eyes with curiosity.
"Because I always beat their asses, and they're sore losers." Michael's lip quirked up a little. The waitress walked over to the table and set his beer down, he took it from her, offering a small 'thanks'. The waitress smiled at him, the corner of her mouth turned up somewhat suggestively. Michael looked away. She was cute enough: Blonde, tight-fitting top, nice eyes. But Michael had long since outgrown trying to pick up girls in bars - especially girls who look like they've barely cleared the drinking age.
Samantha watched the exchange, but she remained quiet. The quiet stayed for a few moments and Michael realised that nothing about the silence was comfortable. At all. There was too much tension between them.
"I have to admit, Michael," Samantha said after a moment, "You don't strike me as a teacher. Let alone a Literature teacher."
"Why not - do I seem dumb to you?" Michael asked in a mock offence.
"No, not at all," Samantha said quickly. "It's just most people have a type. When I saw you, I would've guessed you were the P.E. Teacher, if it weren't for the suit."
"P.E.? Do I really look that douchey?" Michael asked, taking a swig of his beer.
"That's not what I meant, either." She grimaced, and Michael chuckled, sort of pleased that Samantha seemed to have trouble getting her words out.
"No, I get it." Michael said. "That was actually the plan, at first - teach Phys. Ed. It would kinda be like having recess all day. What's wrong with that?"
Samantha nodded and tilted her head slightly, "So, what made you change your mind?"
"I dunno..." Michael shrugged, twirling the bottle in his hand. "I'm already an asshole - I think adding 'P.E. Teacher' to the mix would've been the last straw."
Samantha's eyes softened, just a little bit. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit."
Michael pulled off his jumper to hide his reaction - he was never really good at receiving compliments.
"Your tattoos," Samantha said suddenly, looking at Michael's arm. "They're nice."
Michael watched as her eyes roamed over his upper left arm, he followed her gaze and raised his t-shirt sleeve up onto his shoulder. The colours were a little bit faded, but the tattoos were still there. There wasn't really a specific theme. He had the mermaid-sailor chick from his fathers favourite rum, on his shoulder he had his mothers favourite flower, Gabriel's birthday was on there in a vintage font, his grandfather's dog tags, and a Zeppelin. It was all pretty random, but the colour scheme was the same. So it tied together nicely.
"Yeah, I-" Michael smoothed his hand along his forearm. "I never thought I'd get 'em, to be completely honest. But hey - you do crazy things in college, right?"
"The detail is amazing. They must've been expensive?" She looked up at Michael now.
"Actually, I knew a girl who was apprenticing in a shop just off of campus. She practiced on me for free - I was sort of her guinea pig. Lucky for me, she was crazy talented."
"Clearly." Samantha raised her eyebrows, glancing at his arm again. Michael was used to getting compliments on his tattoos, but Samantha was looking at him with the kind of appreciation only other tattooed people seem to have.
"So what about you?" Michael asked, taking a sip of beer. "Any tattoos?"
Samantha looked down, her cheeks blushing a faint pink. Michael's interest increased. "A few, not anywhere noticeable, obviously."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Tramp stamp?" He teased, and to his delight, Samantha laughed - an actual laugh. The grin lighting her face and her shoulders shaking made warmth pool in his stomach.
"No, nothing like that." Samantha shook her head, glancing up at Michael. "I try to keep them hidden, not a lot of people hire teachers with tattoos."
"I hear you." Michael agreed. "Still, you don't seem like the type of person who'd get herself inked up."
Samantha's brow furrowed a little bit, she tilted her head at Michael. "You seem to have a very specific idea of what kind of person I am."
Michael's jaw flexed. "Not really. I just have a habit of trying to read people."
"And are your assumptions usually correct?" It should have come out meanly, but for whatever reason, it didn't.
"Yeah, sometimes." Michael shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the only one making assumptions. You thought I was the P.E. Teacher."
Samantha laughed again. "True. But what was I supposed to think? You're young and you're attractive - I was going by stereotypes."
Michael looked up at her, his ears catching the word "attractive", Samantha seemed to notice because her head ducked and her eyes were on the table. Michael cocked an eyebrow, opening his mouth to - God help him - try and say something as equally as flirty back, when Dean and Garth appeared back at the table.
Garth suggested getting another round, Michael agreed, kind of thrilled when Samantha allowed herself to be talked into staying a bit longer.