Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

you a beer?"
    I glance back out the glass door. I don't see Sam coming. And, well, free alcohol. "No, but you can buy me a cocktail." He owes me for all the anguish he's caused.
    I haven't mentioned to Sam that I keep running into him. I bet Sam doesn't even remember his name. Not that Sam and I have had much time to talk these days, since he's in rehearsal all the damn time. This is the first time all week he's left the studio before dark. Or it would have been if he were here, but he's not. I wonder how much longer he'll be.
    "Not gonna lie," Matt says once I've got a gin and tonic in-hand. "Sam is hot. I'd give anything to—"
    "He's off the market."
    "Yeah, I get that." He looks over at me. I don't like his gaze. It seems to be analyzing me carefully, scanning for flaws and imperfections or whatever it is about me that he's going to exploit for personal gain. Or, I don't know, he's probably just trying to figure out what Sam sees in me. He nods as if he's figured it out. "You are very pretty."
    I like when Sam calls me pretty now, but the word on Matt's lips sounds like an insult. I bristle.
    Matt doesn't seem to notice. "How long have you been together?"
    "Long time. Since college. We moved here together."
    Matt stares into his beer glass. "Ah. So you've never had the strange and wonderful experience of dating in New York."
    "No." But I figure it's just as well. I've heard horror stories.
    Sam comes in then. The first thing he does when he gets to me is pull me off my stool and into his arms. He folds me into a tight hug. Everything about this is familiar, from the fabric of the tee-shirt he's worn a hundred times to the smell of him to the way the stubble on his chin scrapes over my forehead when he sort of nuzzles at me. It's weird because it's so public , but then I decide that I can exploit the moment, really prove to Matt that Sam is mine. I hug Sam back tight. I glance at Matt over his shoulders.
    "So sorry I'm late," Sam says. "Sick passenger on the subway."
    It wouldn't even have occurred to me to ask, but now doubt creeps in. Could something else have detained him? I think back to what Matt said about someone sleeping with the director to get the part. It's probably some actress. Sam would never. He said he wouldn't and I believe him.
    When he steps back, Sam looks at me and then follows my gaze toward Matt. "Uh, do I know you?"
    Matt looks startled. "I guess not. I live in the neighborhood. I'm Matt."
    "How was rehearsal?" I ask, both because I want to know and because I want to rub in that Sam got this part over Matt.
    "Not so great. Tyler's still being a dick. Then I kept flubbing the words to 'If I Loved You,' which is dumb because I totally know what they are."
    He puts an arm around me and pulls me close, so I kiss his cheek and put my arms around his waist. I try to comfort him without saying anything, because he doesn't need my platitudes, just my support and love. I remind myself that he's working hard, but he always comes home to me, and he's never done anything suspicious. I try to tell the doubts in my mind to shut up and calm down. Being in Sam's arms is familiar and comforting and just exactly the same as always. The way it should be.
    Without loosening his hold, he orders a scotch and soda from the bartender. Then he kisses the top of my head and eases away.
    I glance at Matt. He is staring into his pint glass.
    Sam sits on a stool with his legs wide and motions for me to come near him. He's barely aware that Matt is even there, which fills me with a perverse glee. The bartender slides him his drink, and he takes a sip. Then he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me close to him. When he's seated like this, our faces are at about the same height. He kisses me for longer than is probably appropriate in public.
    When I glance back at Matt, he's scowling.
    Sam suddenly realizes Matt is still there. He pushes me away gently, but keeps a hand on my waist. He says, "So, Matt, what do you do?"
    "Uh." Matt takes a sip of his beer. "I'm an actor."
    "So are we," says Sam, in a "you don't say..." tone.
    "I hardly act anymore," I point out. "I mostly do modeling gigs these days." I feel like such an ass when I say that. Modeling still sometimes feels like the consolation prize. I'm attractive enough to be on TV or in magazines, but not talented enough to actually get cast in anything besides the occasional commercial. Not to mention, as my agent keeps pointing out, I have a very specific look. I