My Always One Page 2

  Sami lays her head back beside me. "What if I never find that forever guy?"

  I reach over and squeeze her hand. "You will, but if you don't, you'll always have me."

  "Always?"

  "Always and forever."

  Sami

  Eight years ago

  * * *

  I practically bounce on my toes when I see Marshal’s truck turn down the street. I can’t believe he came all the way to Ann Arbor for me. In reality, I didn’t ask him to do it. I just texted him and told him how upset I was that Josh had to leave town for a job interview.

  Josh and I have been dating since the beginning of my freshman year. Now, I’m finishing my sophomore year, and Josh is about to graduate with a degree in kinesiology. I’ve never seen him as excited as he is about the job possibility. It’s in Detroit, working for the Lions’ organization. Josh recently completed his internship with the U of M football team, and working with the professionals is his dream.

  My sorority has its big end-of-the-year dance tomorrow night. In many ways it’s like prom on a fancier and more intimate level.

  I’ve been excited about the dance for weeks. Since freshmen can’t attend, this is my first one. Josh was looking forward to it too until he received the call. He’s a finalist for the position he wants, and they want him and the other applicant to spend the weekend in multiple interviews as well as social engagements, getting to know members of the staff and the owners.

  Of course, I encouraged him to go. I’d even told him, “This is just a dance. There’ll be another one next year.”

  Yes, I am thinking forever.

  Marshal’s truck pulls into the space in front of my friend Rita’s apartment as I run to the sidewalk and wait for him to open the door. A smile fills my face as I see my best friend. From his light brown hair to his cocky grin, it’s hard to imagine him as the scrawny little boy who moved in down the block.

  Even though he’s not playing football at Michigan State, Marshal has grown into a man, tall, solid, and muscular. Sometimes when I see him, I think of him like a brother. The truth is that Marsh and I are closer than I am with my brother. Byron—my brother—is a good guy, but being he’s three years older, we aren’t close, not like Marshal and I.

  And then sometimes, like now, as he opens the door of his truck and flashes me a Marshal special smile, I see him the way other girls do—for the incredibly handsome man he’s become.

  It’s no wonder girls throw themselves at him.

  “I can’t believe you came all this way,” I say as I run toward him and wrap my arms around his neck.

  Marshal laughs as he twirls me around and sets my feet back on the ground. “Are you kidding? What’s an hour drive to see my best friend?”

  He reaches inside his truck and pulls out a long hanging bag.

  “You really have a suit?”

  “Of course I do.” He flings the bag over his shoulder. “I could make it a full-time job going to sorority dances.”

  “Am I keeping you from one of your groupies?”

  He reaches around me and tugs me close. “Well, there are probably tears in Lansing.” He grins. “No, I’m right where I want to be. I wouldn’t miss being your stand-in for anything or anyone.”

  I briefly lay my head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.” Pulling away, I reach for his hand. “Come with me. Rita’s roommate moved out, and she’s letting us stay here this weekend.”

  “I thought you’d sneak me into the sorority house,” he says as he wiggles his eyebrows.

  I fake a gasp. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been snuck into sorority houses up at Michigan State? It’s against the rules.”

  “Um, of course not.” He laughs. “Since when did you become a rule follower?”

  I lead him into the building and down the corridor to Rita’s apartment. “Oh, I know you, Marshal Michaels. If I snuck you into my sorority house, it would be like taking a five-year-old you to a candy store and saying, take your pick.”

  We step inside.

  It’s a nice apartment for college students with a simple floor plan: living room, kitchen, one bathroom, and two bedrooms. The glass doors in the living room are open to the patio, letting the spring breeze flutter the lightweight curtains.

  Marshal lays his hanging bag and duffel bag on the couch and says, “It’s a good thing we’re not there if I’m only supposed to choose one.”

  I shake my head. “Some things never change.”

  “They don’t. I couldn’t let my best friend miss her big end-of-the-year dance.”

  “I hope it will be better than prom.”

  “I told you not to do it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, wise one, one day I’ll listen to you.”

  “Where’s Rita?” he asks.

  “She’s staying with a friend and said we could have her apartment for the weekend.”

  “A friend?” His eyebrows dance.

  I scrunch my nose. “Do you remember when you were here last time and met a guy named Marvin?”

  “You’d think I’d remember that name.”

  “He was at that party we went to off campus.”

  Marshal’s brow furrows. “Tall guy, talked about himself all the time? His dad owns some big construction company?”

  “Agricultural co-ops, but yeah, that’s him. Well, he and Rita have been dating for a few months and...”

  He lifted his hand. “Stop. I can fill in the blanks.”

  “I bet you can.”

  This obviously isn’t Marshal’s first visit to my campus, and I’ve been up to his on multiple occasions. He was right, an hour isn’t too long to visit your best friend. With all of our visits, this is the first rescue mission, and I can’t let it pass without thanking him. “I mean it, Marsh, thank you.”

  He reaches for me, laying his palm on my cheek. “I’ll never let you down.”

  My face inclines to his touch.

  “Am I supposed to get you a corsage or something?”

  I shake my head. “No, and remember, I’m allergic to roses.”

  “No, you’re not. You just don’t like them since that kid in middle school sent you a bouquet.”

  “His name was Lee and who sends roses at thirteen?”

  Marshal smiled. “Hey, if I’m not getting my pick of your sorority sisters, tell me that you plan to feed me well.”

  That’s my Marshal. He’s smart as can be, but his two favorite subjects are girls and food.

  It’s a big weekend on campus, the last before finals, and the mood is joyous everywhere we go. We both have friends who go to both of our schools. After pizza at one of the local hangouts, Marshal gets a text from Jordon, a guy who graduated two years before us from our high school.

  Marshal looks up from his phone. “Jordon invited us to Delta Tau Delta. He said they’re having a blow-out party.”

  I can’t help but sigh. “They’re always having big parties.”

  Marshal sits back against his chair and narrows his gaze. “Why don’t you want to go?”

  “Todd will be there.”

  “Oh yeah, Mr. Thirty Seconds.”

  “Shut up.” Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so honest with Marshal, but as his lopsided grin grows, I can’t help but smile too. “Fine,” I say with a shake of my head.

  “This is your weekend, Sami. We’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Josh won’t be thrilled about me going to a party at the Delta Tau Delta house.” I shrug. “Unless I can tell him you were there, not disappearing with some freshman.”

  “Give me more credit.”

  “Okay, a senior.”

  Marshal nods. “No, Sami, you’ve got me stuck like glue.” He leans forward. “What did Joshy Boy say about me coming this weekend.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “About the two of us alone at Rita’s?”

  “Josh knows how much I want to go to the dance and he knows you.” I motion between us. “He knows about us and that means he’s good with it.”

  “I
s he your forever?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure.” A smile comes to my lips. “He’s lasted longer than Todd.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  “No,” I say too loud, my cheeks warming by the second. “Dating, not sex.”

  “He doesn’t last longer than thirty seconds?”

  “Stop, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  At nearly ten p.m., Marshal pulls his truck into a parking spot on the street and leans my way. “Do you want me to tell Todd you’ve found someone better than Speedy Gonzales?”

  “I’d rather not talk to Todd at all.”

  Marshal reaches for my hand. “Deal.”

  Saturday night, I step from Rita’s bedroom, smoothing my dress. It’s red and short and fits in all the right places. The shoes I’m wearing aren’t mine. I found them in Rita’s closet, and after a quick text to my friend, she said I could wear them. They’re tall and slender. I figure since Marshal is taller than Josh, why not wear tall heels?

  “Oh hell to the no.”

  I look up at my best friend.

  He’s freshly shaved. The sparse beard he was sporting when he arrived is gone, showing off his chiseled jawline. His light brown hair is combed back, and as my gaze lowers, I see his suit fits him like a glove. I haven’t seen Marshal dressed up since our high school graduation, and I have to admit, he’s changed. I mean that in a good way.

  “Hey, your tie is red.”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. This” —he motions up and down at me— “is not going out of this apartment.”

  Looking down at myself and back up, I laugh as I step closer to him and grab his hand. “I love your big brother side...now shut up and be a best friend.”

  “First, you know Byron wouldn’t let you out that door wearing that, and as for best friends, best friends don’t let best friends go out into the world looking hotter than a six-alarm fire.”

  “Do fires have that many alarms?”

  “Fuck, Sami.”

  “You look hot too, Marshal. We’ll wow them together.”

  “If any other guy so much as gets close to you...”

  I can’t suppress my smile. “I think I know why Josh was good with you as my date.” My phone rings from a distance, on the charger in the kitchen. As I go to answer it, Marshal reaches for my hand. I stop and look up at him.

  “You look good, Sami.”

  “Thanks, so do you.”

  The screen says Josh.

  I hit the green icon. “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not there.”

  “Don’t worry about it. How is the weekend going?”

  “Good, I think.”

  “What about the other candidate?”

  “First, damn, Sam. That picture. You’re gorgeous.”

  My eyes sparkle as I look at Marshal. “Don’t tell me I look too good to go out. I’ve already heard that.”

  “You have?” He laughs. “Is Marshal there?”

  “Yeah.” I grin. “I’m looking at him right now.”

  “Hand him the phone.”

  “Um, okay.” I hand the phone toward Marshal. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Marshal shrugs and takes the phone. I can only hear one side of the conversation, but by the way my best friend is smiling, I know it’s going well. Finally, he hands it back.

  “What did he say?” I ask as I cover the microphone.

  “He said to lock the door and keep you inside.”

  My lips purse. “Seriously?”

  “He said to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  Marshal laughed. “He said you’d say that.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said for always and forever.”

  I let out a breath and spoke to the phone. “Hey, for the record, I don’t need men conspiring against me.”

  “No one is conspiring,” Josh said. “We’re watching over a person we love.”

  Love?

  I felt my insides melt like a candle left too long in the sun. “Come back soon.” It was all I could say.

  As I hung up, I looked at Marshal. “He might be.”

  “Your forever?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not sure I one hundred percent approve, but he seems like a good guy.”

  I reach for my purse and slide my phone inside. “Let’s go.”

  3

  Sami

  Seven years ago

  * * *

  I wake as I almost fall from the twin-size mattress. This thing would be too small for me alone, but it’s definitely too small for two. The musty scent of this house, shared by four college students, combines with body odor—a mixture of perspiration and too much alcohol.

  I’m not a virgin, but I’m also not accustomed to waking next to a guy, especially this guy, my best friend.

  When Marshal asked me to come to Michigan State for a weekend visit, I wasn’t prepared for his new living conditions—four guys lacking cleaning skills or the desire to clean—or a sleepover in the same bed. I’m not sure it was all planned on his part either.

  The off-campus house was rocking last night.

  Marshal and his roommates may not care about cleaning, but when it comes to throwing a party, they are professionals. From the Christmas lights strung all around the backyard, to the keg, bonfire, and loud music, I’m kind of surprised no police showed up.

  My stomach twists with that morning-after sensation of having too much alcohol and not enough food. I move my tongue around to try to conjure a bit of saliva.

  Eww.

  How can nothing taste so awful?

  Then again, I’m not interested in food either. Even the thought of eating covers my skin in a new layer of perspiration.

  Holding on to the edge of the small bed, I force open my eyes. The small closet-like room around us comes into focus as a rock band plays a drum solo behind my temples. Maybe if I close my eyes, I could go back to sleep. My stomach and this small bed aren’t my only issues. My bladder is screaming for relief, and I seem to recall some loud voices and an order from Marshal to wake him before I leave the room.

  Holding on for dear life, I nudge him as I fight for a sliver of the bed. “Marsh.”

  I’d considered sleeping on the floor, but decided for the sake of my health and welfare the bed was cleaner. Looking down at the carpeting, I wonder if it’s only covered with dirt and stains or if there are bugs too. Again, I hang onto the edge.

  “Marsh,” I try again, this time adding an elbow to his back.

  “What?” he says, rolling toward me.

  “Whoa,” I say too loudly as I throw back the sheet and spring from the bed. My bare feet squish on the carpet and my nose scrunches. “Marshal.”

  With only the sunlight sneaking through the mangled blinds, I see the outline of what just stabbed me and propelled me from the bed. Holy shit, my friend is equipped. I mean, he’s boasted of his prowess since we were freshmen in high school, but I’ve never seen or thought about...

  My eyes open and I know I’m staring. “Um.”

  I’m thinking about it now. After all, Marshal just prodded my lower back with what appears to be an erect huge dick. Taking my eyes away from my best friend’s equipment tenting his shorts, I look down at the carpet and step to a dry spot, wiping my feet.

  The tipped-over Solo cup eases my mind, giving me a clue of what made the carpet wet.

  Stale beer is definitely better than other possibilities.

  My bladder reminds me of the first reason why I woke. I reach over and shake Marshal’s shoulder.

  “Marshal, wake up.”

  Marshal’s eyes open. “Sami?”

  “Um” —I point to his erection— “do something with that. I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Oh. Fuck,” he mumbles as he scrambles from the bed. He’s high-stepping too as he lands in the moist carpet. “Shit,” he says as he looks for a safe place to stand.

  Once he’s
up—as in standing, since up isn’t his problem—he turns away. I’m many things, but naïve isn’t one of them. I have been with other guys, have a brother, and a male best friend. I can tell he’s adjusting himself. “Sami, shit.”

  When Marshal finally turns, his cocky grin, the one he knows will save his ass and has on multiple occasions, is beaming at me. “It’s morning.”

  I shake my head.

  Finding my phone, I peer down at the screen. “It’s officially afternoon.” My hand goes to my head. “And I feel like shit.”

  “Come on,” he says, “I’ll go out with you and see who’s up.”

  Even though it’s nearly one in the afternoon, the second floor is dark and quiet. All the doors are closed. When we reach the bathroom, its door is also closed. Marshal tries the doorknob. “Locked.”

  I wiggle on my toes, the pressure building.

  Marshal reaches for my hand. “Come downstairs.”

  There are more signs of life on the first level. Bodies are draped over the sofa and chairs. There are even a few sleeping people on the floor. Either they’re braver than I am, or they were too drunk to care when they finally fell asleep.

  Around the corner, there’s a small half bath under the stairs. Miraculously, the door is ajar.

  “Hurry,” he says, “I need to pee, too.”

  I scrunch my nose as I step inside. “Gross,” I mumble under my breath.

  Thirty minutes later, the two of us are sitting on one of the picnic tables outside McDonald’s. I’ve downed two bottles of water and a red Gatorade, and my headache has lessened but is still present. The rock band has been exchanged for a softer jazz drummer, but apparently, the concert isn’t over.

  Taking a bite of my breakfast sandwich, I groan. “Jeez, I feel awful.” I lift my large coffee in a mock toast. “Thanks for a great time.”

  Marshal grins. “You had a great time.”

  “Not waking to that.” I tilt my chin down to what’s under the table.

  “I’m a guy. What do you want me to say?”