The Color of Hope (28 page)

“His name’s Ben Willoughby.”

“The football player? I’ve heard about him. He’s interested in you, huh?”

Sam’s head lowered slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, obviously, silly. You’re on his mind on a Friday night, aren’t you?” Her mom leaned against the wall. “Turn around, let me see you.”

Sam did so. Felt good to have her mom’s approval.

“My little girl’s growing up,” she said. “Look at those curves.”

“Mom . . .”

“Here, let me fix your shadow. Subtlety is key.”

Her mom took a tissue and blotted some of it out, adding small strokes of a different color in the outer edges.

Sam watched the transformation in the mirror. “Thanks, Mom.”

A horn sounded outside.

“That’s him.” She got her purse from the living room. “Oh.” She turned. “When do I have to be back?”

Her mom waved away the question. “Don’t worry about it. I trust you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Have fun, baby.”

Ben’s music blasted from the sporty Mustang. He turned it down only slightly when she got in. As bulky as he was, he was a commanding presence inside.

“Hey.” He checked her out. “You look hot.”

Sam smiled faintly and reached for her seat belt. “Thanks.” Being alone in person like this felt strange.

He drove off, his right hand reaching for something on the floor. He brought a beer can to his mouth and guzzled it.

“You’re drinking and driving?” She glanced down and saw several empty cans.

“No big deal,” he said. “I do it all the time.”

She watched him drain it. “So . . . where are we going?”

“Back to my house.”

Her mood fell. When he’d called he said they were celebrating the football win. She figured someone from school was having a party. But since he’d been drinking, maybe the get-together had been beforehand. “What’re we doing at your house?”

He smiled, head bopping to the music. “Hanging.”

Moments later they were there. Ben got out, slammed his car door, and waited for Sam. They walked together to the house, and Sam suddenly wondered if Coach Willoughby was home. What would she think of Sam being at her house, with her brother?

Ben let them in and threw his keys on a side table. Heading straight upstairs, he turned midstride. “Can I get you something to drink or something?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ve got some more beer.”

“No thanks.”

“Cool, come on. We’re going up to my room.” He bounded up the stairs.

She followed slowly. “Your mom doesn’t mind?”

“She’s out with friends.”

“Is your sister home?” Sam asked.

“Nah, she’s out too.”

Ben obviously hadn’t bothered to prepare for company. Clothes were strewn across his bed, over an armchair, even on the floor. An entertainment center was the main focus, with a TV and video game machine—she wasn’t sure which one—plus other electronic gadgets. There were video games everywhere, along with DVDs, sports magazines, and books.

Sam lingered by the door, not sure where to sit.

He sprawled across the bed, kicking his shoes off and throwing the clothes to the floor. “You can sit on my bed. I don’t mind.”

She picked up a couple of DVD cases from the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, reading them. “You want to watch a movie?”

“Sure, we could.” He got more DVDs from a shelf for her to look at. “What do you want to watch?”

“Um . . .” She kept looking. “I haven’t seen
Red Tails
. I’m a history buff, so that seems interesting.” She looked at him. “What about that?”

His nod vacillated as he leafed through the pile beside her. “Have you seen
Friends with Benefits
?”

“No. What’s that about?”

He gave her a look, as if she should know.

She read the back and felt the heat rising on her neck. “I don’t know about this one.”

“Aw, come on, you’ll like it.”

He jumped up and started clicking buttons. The TV turned on and a DVD popped out. He put the new disc in and rejoined her, the bed sinking down as he lay on his side. “You should take your shoes off and get comfortable.”

She slipped off her flats.

He gave a slow grin. “But you’re still not comfortable. Come lie up here beside me.”

She shifted, moving parallel to him. On their elbows—his body behind hers—she felt the strangest conflicting sensations . . . heart pounding like she’d stumbled into a danger zone . . . and pounding in exhilaration. She was sure of it—Ben would be her first kiss.

The first few minutes into the movie, Sam felt Ben playing with her ponytail. He took the band off and let her hair fall free.

“Man, you’re sexy this way,” he said.

He ran his fingers underneath, massaging her scalp. Then he inched closer and draped a leg over hers.

The heart pounding increased.

“Ben, I don’t think—”

“Shh.”

He rubbed her leg, then her arm. She tried to focus on the movie, but he turned her body toward him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I don’t think you know how beautiful you are.”

He kissed her forehead and her nose, and just like that, he was kissing her lips.

My first kiss
.

Despite the alcohol on his breath, it was tender at first, then a little forceful. She moved her head to take a breath, and he brought it right back. Seconds later she tried again. “Ben, we should slow down. Let’s watch the movie.”

“We’re making our own movie.” He smiled. “We’re friends, right? With benefits.”

He kissed her neck, his hand moving under her shirt.

She sat up now, everything pounding danger. “Ben, seriously.” She moved her hair from her face. “I’d rather just watch the movie. Or maybe we should go downstairs.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You feel too good.”

With a strong hand he brought her back down, pushing her shirt all the way up, kissing her.

“Ben, please stop. Please.”

He unbuttoned her pants and started tugging on them, and her heart constricted.

“No! Ben, no! I’m a virgin!”

She rolled over, and he grabbed her, manipulating her like a rag doll with a fraction of his strength.

Tears streamed down her face as he shifted the weight of his body on hers. “Noooo . . . please, noooo . . . oh, God, help me . . .”

Sam sat on the bed fully dressed, legs pulled to her chest. The tears came and went, but not the shaking. She couldn’t stop the shaking.

She stared at the bed, nauseated by Ben’s snores—nauseated, period. She needed to vomit. Would be better than these dry heaves. And she needed to go to the bathroom. And she needed to get away from Ben. She never wanted to see him again. How would she face
him Monday morning? Whenever she saw him, whenever she heard a mention of football, she’d want to throw up.

She rocked gently back and forth as the tears started again.
Why did this happen to me?
And why this sick twist, that she now felt imprisoned, unable to get home?

“I just want to go home . . .”

She rolled her eyes over to Ben. She’d prodded, pushed, even screamed at him to wake up, but he was passed out. Now that he’d ruined her life, the least he could do was get her home.

I’m not a virgin anymore.
She was sick from that too. She’d read about the woman at the well, the one Stephanie and Janelle had showed her. One night in bed she’d looked at the chapter again, where Jesus told the woman she’d had several husbands and was with a man who wasn’t her husband. Sam knew right then and there she didn’t want that. She and that woman might’ve been alike in some respects, but she wanted that aspect to be different. She wanted to keep her virginity for one man, a special man, her husband.

Not a selfish drunk like Ben Willoughby.

Why didn’t I listen to Miss Stephanie?

Stephanie. Sam could call her for a ride home. Her eyes found the clock. 1:20 a.m. How would she explain needing a ride in the middle of the night from Coach Willoughby’s house? She sighed. No one here had come home yet, at least not that she’d heard. She could call her mom, but that would definitely be a last resort. She couldn’t face her right now.

No option was good, but one thing was clear—she wasn’t staying in this room another minute.

Slowly she climbed off the bed. She hurt, and she felt dirty, and every step reminded her of it. She got her purse and opened the door, listening for sounds. Hearing nothing, she found a bathroom and went, using only the light from the hallway. She didn’t
want to see herself in the bathroom mirror. She couldn’t. But in the darkness she splashed water on her face and pulled her hair back in place. She couldn’t bear anyone else knowing what she’d gone through.

She walked downstairs and sat on the bottom step. Someone had to come home soon. She’d never met Ben’s mom, and she’d be embarrassed to meet her in the middle of the night like this. But she didn’t care. She had to get home.

Several minutes passed, and Sam heard a car outside. She tiptoed to the front window and looked out.
Coach Willoughby!

Sam opened the door immediately and walked out, just as two other cars pulled up . . . and a
police car
?

Coach Willoughby caught sight of her and came toward her. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

Sam forced a lightness into her voice. “I . . . Ben . . . brought me here just to hang out. But now he’s asleep, and I can’t get home.”

“What?” The coach frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why were you hanging out with my brother?”

“Charley, we need you over here,” a woman called. “The policeman’s got some questions.”

Coach Willoughby looked the other direction, where a policeman had gotten out of his car and approached the others. “Be right there, Mom.”

The coach took out her phone and dialed a number. “Steph, Sam’s at my house, and the police just pulled up so I can’t leave. Can you come and take her home? . . . I don’t know . . . Yeah, you need to come now.” She looked at Sam. “Stephanie will be here in five minutes.”

“She was already up?”

Coach Willoughby nodded wearily. “It’s been a long night for a lot of us.”

Now everyone was out of the cars, angry voices rising.

“Sam, will you be okay right here waiting for Stephanie?” Coach asked. “I need to see what’s going on over there.”

“Sure.”

Sam took a big breath and sat on the front step, holding herself as she waited.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

S
tephanie couldn’t jump in her car fast enough, heart racing the entire way to Charley’s house. What in the world was Sam doing there?
Why was she with Ben at one in the morning?
And why couldn’t
Ben
take her home?

She felt her hand squeezing the steering wheel. Better be because he’d left town. Because if he tried anything with that girl, Stephanie would kill him.

As she approached the house, she saw drama unfolding with a policeman, Charley, her mom, and Skip Willoughby. There’d been a flurry of phone calls that precipitated that. After Marcus called the police, Charley got a call from her grandfather, who’d apparently gotten a call from the sheriff, a personal friend. The sheriff had wanted Skip to come down to the police station; Skip arranged for a meeting at his house.

As much as Stephanie wanted to know what was happening over there, she spotted the main object of her concern on the front step. And when Sam spotted her car, she came quickly down the steps and into the street. Stephanie threw the car in park as Sam
opened the passenger side door and got in. She reached for her seat belt and clicked it, barely looking at her.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Stephanie.”

Her voice was so thin that Stephanie stared at her a moment. “No problem at all.” She drove off, noticing the pretty shirt Sam was wearing, one she’d never seen. “So . . . I’m surprised you’re here, visiting Ben so late.” She glanced at her. “How did that happen?”