I met him when I was in high school. I had just come home from school and was dripping wet. My high school is only a block away from my stepfather's neighborhood (my mother moved both of us and my cat, who got hit by a car trying to go home, to his house). After shutting the door, I dripped on the rug and yelled at the top of my lungs, "MOM, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT THAT BITCH NIKKI WATSON DID TO ME TODAY!" The rain had only heightened my infuriation throughout the day. Suddenly, a gorgeous male stepped out of the hall. My mouth dropped as I stared at him, unable to tear my blue eyes away.
"Um, hi!" I squeaked out, wanting to ask my mother why a college hottie with good arms was in the hall of my class, or "wherefore", my new favorite word, since I found out it was a fancy way of saying why (although I'm not a fan of Shakespeare, I love the way Juliet says, "Wherefore art thou Romeo? Would a rose by any other name smell so sweet?" Aside from those lines, I think stuff most girls see as romantic is stupid). I knew there must've been a logical reason wherefore he was standing in our living room, but I needed my mother to tell me. However, instead of yelling, "Mom, wherefore is a yummy hottie standing in our living room?" like I meant to say, I blurted out, "What are you doing here?" all the while picturing him without clothes, letting me use my mouth on his maleness, throbbing beautifully at my kiss. Rather funny because I'd never seen an actual naked guy before, unless you count sneaking my mom's porn up to my room when I found out she had some. To be honest, it wasn't that good. Rather dull.
"I just came to see my dad," the nude image was saying in a deep, sexy voice as I stared at him intensely. Really, this is what males are said to do; I've always thought of myself to have a bunch of virile traits. However, I was sure he wasn't picturing me naked, not after the way I'd just screamed like a two-year-old.
"You've got the wrong house then," I informed him as disappointment enveloped my senses.
"He's my son," my stepfather announced as he came around the bend, his bald head shining as the overhead light bounced off of it.
"You don't have a son," I reminded him.
"Yes I do. From my first wife."
"Ohh. Then wherefore haven't I met him before?"
My stepfather laughed with a teaspoon of nervousness. "She's nosy," he told his son. "Um, Saffron, this is Sam Burgess, my son." A tiny bit of pride found its way into his tone as he uttered the words, "My son." "Sam, this is Saffron, my stepdaughter."
"Yeah, my dad named me for my eyes." I didn't look at Jake, my stepfather, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch. It really irks me that he thought all he had to do was marry my mother and—bam!—I see him as a father. I mean, I liked him and trusted him then, but I still sometimes felt the urge to remind him he wasn't my father to me and never would be. I loved my father, for, though my mother divorced him because of his womanizer ways, he never hurt me and always treated me like a father should treat a daughter, and I never stopped loving him for it. There was no way I was going to let my mother's husband whisk me away from the one person who loved me more than anyone. "My mom was zonked out when I was born. The nurse asked Dad for a name, and he took one look into my big blue eyes and said I was Saffron."
"That's a lie," Jake utters bitterly, so eager to believe anything horrible about my father. "The latest girl he was sleeping with that wasn't your mother was the real Saffron, and it was all he could think of."
I glared at him fiercely and told him to shut up. In front of Sam. I really couldn't help it. It infuriated me more than the cold air surrounding my damp clothes and hair. How he could say such awful things about the father I adored so...well, it was enough to make me decided I didn't like him after all as the hairs to the back of my neck rose in my defensive mode.
"I like your name," Sam uttered to me in that wonderful voice, causing his father to shoot him an annoyed look, which he ignored. "It's pretty." I guess he was also mad at his father for making such a comment though I have no idea what he stood up for me after I called Nikki Watson a bitch.
I smiled at Sam, thinking, I like seeing you without clothes. "Thanks. I like yours. Short and masculine," and sexy, I added mentally, not ever wanting to tear my eyes from this sexy babe in front of me.
I was fourteen then, on my way to fifteen, and Sam was twenty-two and a bit behind in college. He finished two years later than he should have, as age twenty-four.
Now I am nineteen and in college. Still I see Sam often enough. Even though I wanted to get away from home and experience freedom (not to mention, show Jake that I don't need him after all), I couldn't stop my wishful thinking that maybe...just maybe...but I am not his type. He was the reason I turned down the three guys and one girl who asked me out in high school, but with my natural blonde hair, I don't have a chance. He digs brunettes and has never once dated a blonde. Nevertheless, ever since I first set eyes on Sam, he's the only guy I want. And the way he treats me...ooh. Sometimes, it is wonderful, but sometimes it hurts. He's so nice and respectful to me, and all I want is for him to want me, to kiss my mouth and take me to bed. Still, it is a bit nice to be respected.
"So, um, what are you doing here?" I utter softly as I look at Sam and hope beyond hope that he has gone stark raving mad and is here because of me. "I mean your dad is gone overnight on a business trip..." and my mother is dead, I fill the blanks mentally and plaintively. I try not to let anyone see my pain of my loss in my eyes. Nobody is supposed to know my mother's death affected me, but it did. I told her everything before her death, like how Nikki Watson thought pantsing me in front of a bunch of nerds was funny and how she once thronged me (lifted my shirt and revealed my thong) in front of everybody in the PE locker room (which is how I met my best friend my own age, by the way).
"I know. Dad called me. He said he didn't like you staying alone all night."
Damn him he did, I think, feeling my mouth twist down from a soft smile that was on my face because Sam is here into a hard frown.
"You mean he doesn't trust me?" Sam looks away, those muddy brown eyes that are breathtaking to me darting hastily. "My God!" I fume even though I keep my voice from rising. "I've never even been on a date before! I never asked to date, and he thinks I'm going to throw a huge party?" I ask with disbelief, knowing I shouldn't really let my fury at his father be revealed in front of Sam but unable to help myself. Besides, he always catches me at the worst time anyway; what more do I have to lose? If he wants to hate me, he should already be there. Maybe he does but conceals it well.
"He's suspicious about that, yeah. He doesn't know whether you're secretly dating somebody, you've got an online boyfriend," oh heck, I never even use the Internet! What is wrong with Jake? I scream inside. "—or you're gay," he continues, paining me more than ever at that suggestion. Just knowing that he thinks it's a possibility that I'm gay when I want to jump his bones...yeah, it's enough to make my stepfather sound like a nice neck to wring for putting the idea in Sam's head. But maybe he didn't, I tell myself to be fair. "In any case, he doesn't see your reluctance to ask him for permission to date as a good thing."
