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The first thing she focuses on is his outstretched hand. If its size is anything to go by, Sam Winchester should be eight feet tall.
He’s tall all right – taller than her, which is nice, because Jess likes to look up into a guy’s eyes, and all too often their gaze is level with hers, or not quite, and a (stupid, retrograde, romantic) part of her is always a little disappointed.
And he’s handsome too, with a nice smile, long denim-clad legs and an ass she can’t help noticing.
But then, very little escapes Jess’s attention, and once Sam Winchester is on her radar, he hasn’t got much of a chance of dropping off it. Especially not with those hands, graceful despite their hugeness, with those long tapering fingers that her filthy mind immediately imagines fucking her, probing her inside until she breaks and comes in long waves of pleasure.
Oh God, she must really learn to control her rampant imagination. Now her heartbeat is elevated and her breathing erratic and Sam might realize it’s all because of him; the mere thought makes her cringe.
Anyhow – for once, Jess has to admit that Kelly’s picked a blind date for her who doesn’t suck. At all.
“I’m Sam. You must be Jessica,” he says, as they shake hands, and she stops staring at his fingers and looks at him properly.
“Call me Jess.”
He really is something – square jaw and hazel eyes, messy brown hair that could do with a haircut, and a body that even under the layers of baggy shirts looks like it’s spent some serious time at the gym.
Apparently he’s got a good brain, too, or that’s what Kelly told her earlier, and after that debacle with the pretty but oh-so-dull Tommy from the basketball team (who was tall, but nothing much else, and whom she didn’t kiss goodnight after a soul-crushing evening of boredom and sport-related small talk), she’s definitely ready for someone she can engage with intellectually.
“Shall we?” he asks, looking at a nearby empty booth, and she likes the way he steers her through the crowd with a gentle touch before pulling out a chair for her. Guy’s a gentleman, and that’s rare enough for Jess to double-underline in her mental inventory.
They order beers and cheeseburgers – a double for Sam, who looks like he needs to keep feeding that giant body of his – and a side of deviled eggs because it’s the Dutch Goose and Jess hasn’t had any for ages. Sam ends up eating half hers anyhow.
“So how do you know Kelly?” she asks, curious.
Sam shrugs.
“You know that guy she’s seeing, Brady? He’s a friend. I think they cooked up this whole blind date thing together…”
Brady. Of course. Kelly’s new boyfriend, preppy and cute and who was so stunned Jess was single when they went drinking the other day. That makes sense.
“What are you majoring in?” she asks while he drains his second beer, her eye following the path of the liquid down his throat, past his bobbing Adam’s apple and towards the V of his shirt. For some reason, she’s finding it very hard to keep her eyes off him.
“Political science and math.”
She whistles under her breath.
“Whoa. Not going for the easy option, are you?”
“I want to go to law school,” he says, offhandedly, but she can see he’s pleased by her reaction. “You?”
“Economics and French. I’m thinking business school,” she says, and they both laugh. “Overachieve much?”
“Kelly totally undersold you,” he says and his grin widens, making him look a little goofy.
“She did?” That doesn’t sound like Kelly.
“Well, she told me you were tall and blonde and cute, and obviously brainy; but she completely failed to add you were hotter than any of the other girls on campus. And she didn’t mention your eyes.”
Jess doesn’t blush, hasn’t since she was fourteen, but the guy has a way of delivering his cheesy lines that is so artless and – dare she say – adorable, that she can’t stop herself.
“Yeah? Well she didn’t warn me you’d be such a charmer, either.”
Fuck, did she just say that? She guzzles a third of her beer straight up while she tries to regain her composure, and she can tell without looking that he’s just as embarrassed as she is.
Later, when he mentions he’d lost his mom as a baby, and that his dad and big brother work in some nebulous family business that takes them cross-country, she wonders if his brother ever showed him the ropes. Sam’s a strange amalgam of savvy and shy, dorky with flashes of suave. By rights he ought to have girls flocking to him; but apparently he works a lot and is a bit of a nerd who has no idea that he’s super hot. And sometimes he has those flashes of smooth player that take her completely by surprise. At this rate he’ll have her in bed by the end of the evening.
Except that, of course, he’s a consummate gentleman and just gives her a chaste kiss on the lips when he leaves her at her dorm, having already secured her phone number and the promise of a second date. She expected more, at least some tongue after the not inconsiderable amount of mutual eyefucking through the evening (and some accidental on purpose brushing of the knees together under the table) but apparently Sam Winchester isn’t that kind of boy.
He texts her later, though, as she’s going to bed, and she feels as ridiculously excited as she did when Brendan Pryce asked her to the junior prom.
She owes Kelly a major favor.
*************************************
He takes her to the movies for their second date, and it’s like a high school ritual – he buys the tickets despite her protestations, gets them a bucket of popcorn and sodas, they sit in at the back, and he slips his arm around her shoulders roughly twenty minutes into the movie. Their thighs are pressed together and Jess spends the next half-hour wondering whether Sam is going to kiss her, to the extent that she completely loses track of the action on screen.
He does kiss her, eventually, by which time she is positively vibrating with frustration and expectation, and she almost sighs in relief when he leans over and brushes his lips against hers. This time the kiss is less perfunctory, and she slips him a little tongue, just enough to tease and make him come back for more.
It works.
Jess would be hard pushed to explain what happens in the movie after that because the last fifteen minutes (maybe thirty) are spent necking leisurely in the back row, Sam’s hands cupping her face, tangling in her curls and occasionally dropping to her shoulders and her upper arms, no lower. Jess can’t decide whether he was brought up by the Amish or playing hard to get.
Either way, that too works and she’s the first one to run a hand down his chest, nails grazing a nipple as she goes, which makes him twitch. So she does it again, and again, until he rises to the bait and lets one of his hands slide down to cup her breast, the pad of his thumb barely brushing her nipple, and oh Christ it’s as if a line ran directly to her clit and she gasps into his mouth.
The bastard smiles, she can feel it, and does it again, but he doesn’t press his advantage.
By the time they leave the cinema, her legs feel like jelly and she’s sure her panties are ruined. She wants Sam to take her home, now, and fuck her stupid, but she doesn’t insist when he leaves her at her door, again – although this time the goodbye kiss is several minutes long and involves a lot of vertical dry humping. Sam’s tight-laced instincts have apparently given way enough to allow him to grind his hard cock against her as she braces against the doorjamb, their mouths fused together.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, his voice ridiculously deep, before leaving her panting on her doorstep. She watches him walk away into the darkness, the ache between her legs threatening to overwhelm her, and it takes every ounce of her self-control not to call him back.
She has to bring herself off twice – once in the shower, another time in her bed, muffling her moans in her pillow in case Kelly overhears – before she can fall asleep, and she still dreams of him.
****************************
The next morning, he’s waiting for her outside her feminist studies class when she comes out, and the grin on his face when he sees her makes her heart swell.
“Coffee?” he asks, and she’s impressed that he appears to know her schedule by heart, even if a part of her wonders whether she ought to be worried.
Over a Starbucks latte at Russo, they chat about courses, undergraduate life at Stanford and whether Kelly and Brady are made for each other. Sam thinks Brady lucked out, and Jess tends to agree, but is an honest enough friend to admit that Kelly has her tough side.
They talk books, too, and she discovers that beyond math and law, Sam has a real passion for contemporary fiction, and is more than willing to share.
“There’s this guy David Mitchell,” he says, “you have to read him. No, really, you have to.”
“Never heard of him,” she ventures.
“He’s a British writer, not so well-known over here – a friend brought a couple of his novels back from a trip to London. But his latest, Cloud Atlas? It’s fantastic. Really.”
“So can I get it here?”
“I could lend you mine,” he says, “I’m only around the corner.”
If it was anyone else she would have suspected him of making it all up to coax her into his dorm room, but it’s Sam, and since so far he’s been taking it slow she sees no reason to suspect him. Besides, she wouldn’t mind if he did.
“Okay,” she says. “I have a half-hour or so before my next class.”
Sam turns out to be a ten minute walk away in Roble Hall, which in the morning sun looks like it’s fresh from the front page of a university brochure, down to the students lounging on the grass outside with books.
His room is small, sparsely furnished and almost freakishly neat. It’s also a single, which surprises her.
“Haven’t you got a roommate?” she asks, looking around for personal touches, which are hard to spot.
Sam shrugs.
“Nope. I wanted my own space.”
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” she teases. There’s a couple of posters on the wall – one a self-portrait of Van Gogh, looking morose in a suit; the other a desert landscape from the air, nothing but sand dunes and a tiny string of camels with elongated shadows at the bottom – and not a single photo on the cork board thoughtfully provided by the university to spare its walls. Plenty of books on the shelves and barely an item of clothing out of place. The bed – extra long – is made, which is a first in her experience of boys’ dorm rooms.
“I don’t have much stuff. Used to move around a lot when I was a kid – I travel light.”
“But you’re not actually traveling, are you? You’re supposed to be putting down roots, for a few years at least,” she says, and she’s half mocking but she means it.
Sam smiles noncommittally and pulls out a book from his shelves.
“Here,” he says, handing it to her.
Jess sits down on the bed to leaf through it – the only other alternative is the desk chair, and it’s set for Sam’s height, she doesn’t want to fiddle with the settings. She kicks off her sandals and one of them scoots straight under the bed. She reaches for it despite Sam’s denials “No, let me…” and stops abruptly when her fingers touch something cold and metallic and unmistakably weapon-shaped.
It is in fact a handgun, she realizes as she pulls it out, and she wishes she hadn’t when she sees Sam’s face, three shades paler than usual and with a hint of panic in his eyes.
“You have a gun? What the fuck?”
“Come on, Jess, it’s not that big a deal…”
“In a dorm?”
“Listen, I… I grew up with this stuff, okay? We’re a hunting family, I could shoot before I could drive.”
“Yeah, okay, but we’re not in the woods now, Sam!”
The gun is heavy in her hands and looks absurdly out of place in this neat student bedroom. Gingerly she puts it down on the bed, keeping away from the trigger. For all she knows it’s loaded, and the thought of accidentally shooting it makes her nauseous.
Sam’s looking so uncomfortable it would be funny if it wasn’t so serious.
“It’s weird, I never had you pegged as one of the NRA crowd.”
“I’m not… Jesus! This isn’t about some Charlton Heston crusade thing, Jess.”
“Do you even realize what kind of trouble you’d be in if this was found in your room? We’re not in Texas here. Guns are totally outlawed on campus! You could get expelled!”
“Listen, I’m sorry you found it, and I know it’s not supposed to be here,” he says, slowly. “The thing is – it was kind of rough when I was a kid. We had a weird life. My… my dad was a bounty hunter and sometimes, you know, guys would come looking for him.”
He pauses, to let it sink in, and Jess shudders. She can’t begin to imagine what kind of childhood that must have been.
“So I got used to having guns around. And you never know, because my dad is still in the business. Can you please just accept it and pretend you never saw this?”
He reaches over her as he says that and plucks the gun from the bed, flicking the safety off and back on with practiced ease before placing it deliberately in the drawer of the bedside table.
“So that’s it? It goes with the lube and the condoms and I’m supposed to forget about it?”
She’s getting a perverse kick out of this, because he blushes like a kid caught in the act, but he steels himself and nods.
“Please.”
Seriously, if he wasn’t such a cute dork, she’d be worried.
“Okay. But it better not be around next time.”
He smiles, tentative.
“Good to know there might still be a next time.”
She’d love to have a snappy repartee on hand, a “If you play your cards right,” except less cheesy, but she doesn’t, so Jess settles for a smile and a flash of her dimples, which seems to work because he does that thing where his fringe falls over his eyes so she can’t see him looking embarrassed.
Of course there is a next time.
********************
It’s date number, what, five now? Not counting the coffee morning, but Sam did take her to a bar two days later, and out for tacos the night after that, and there was more delicious kissing on her doorstep, this time with slightly more wandering hands, and Jess is about ready to molest the boy next time if he tries to leave without really touching her.
She’s all for the waiting and the not sleeping together on a first date (well, unless she really wants to, or she’s had too much tequila), but this is on the verge of going too far – or rather, not far enough.
Besides, it’s Halloween, and she’s wearing a very short, very sexy policewoman’s dress, spike heeled thigh-high boots, a peaked cap and – as a final touch – a pair of handcuffs dangling from her belt. She’s spent the early evening decorating the living room and drinking shots with Kelly and Brady – who’s been encouraging her to dress up for Sam (like she doesn’t know he’s doing it for his own enjoyment, but Jess gets a kick out of it so she plays along).
If Sam fails to grope her while she’s dressed like this, there is no hope.
The party’s just starting when Sam rings the doorbell – he was working late – and he has the good grace to let his jaw drop as he drags a very long, very slow, very appreciative look up and down her body. When their eyes meet, he’s flushed and his pupils are noticeably dilated. Finally, she thinks.
“Hello Sam. Why aren’t you dressed up? I thought you knew it was a costume party?”
He looks embarrassed.
“I don’t really do Halloween, sorry. It’s not my thing.”
“Not your thing?”
“No – and besides, how could I possibly compete with you?”
She rolls her eyes and lets him in, but not before a welcome kiss that makes her toes curl. The evening looks promising.
“Ah, come on, Winchester, not even a measly skull mask? A pitchfork? Come on, man, when are you going to admit that Halloween is fun? I mean, look at the ladies…”
Brady is positively leering in his Dracula costume, “blood” trickling from the side of his mouth, as he sweeps an arm towards Jess and Kelly, who’s wearing the skimpiest witch’s dress she could find and flashing more cleavage than even Jess dares to.
“You know me, man,” Sam says, quiet, and Jess realizes that Brady probably did know, and that Sam is a little pissed off about this.
She’ll have to work double hard to charm him out of his mood, but she bets she’ll succeed, even if it takes all her skills and several of the bloody martinis, expertly poured by Kelly. Jess grabs a couple of cocktail glasses in the kitchen and walks back to Sam, exaggerating slightly the sway of her hips, watching his eyes linger on her legs.
“Like what you see?” she whispers in his ear as she hands him the glass, emboldened by the drink.
Gratifyingly, his ears turn red.
“Maybe I do,” he says, low, and there’s something in the tone of his voice that makes her tingle.
Jess doesn’t usually do slutty, but for some reason – perhaps Sam’s exceedingly respectful attitude, his diffidence, her mounting sexual frustration – she feels spurred on to push it, to push him, further. As more people turn up to the party, she makes sure she focuses on him between attending to her guests; refilling his drink, making silly asides, brushing past him as often as she can. And the result is noticeable: as he gets a bit drunker and more relaxed, Sam touches her more – grabbing her waist as she walks past, pulling her in for a quick kiss, or a nuzzle, watching her with clear predatory intent across a roomful of people.
In the den, Brady set up a projector showing a medley of horror movie classics – scenes from The Exorcist, Poltergeist, Amytiville Horror and the like – that play on a loop to a varied audience of thrill-seekers and couples in search of a secluded corner.
“Come watch some movies with me,” she tells Sam after they’ve been slow-dancing a while, close enough that she can feel his mounting arousal. He’s not much for PDA, and nor is she, so the kissing is kept to a minimum, but she’s itching for more.
Sam groans when he sees the screen – it’s the possession scene in The Exorcist, still something that makes Jess shudder – and lets her pull him down next to her on the beat-up old couch, as far as possible from the other couple lying on throw pillows in the far corner.
“Come on, Jess, this is such bullshit...” he starts to say, but she silences him effectively with her tongue and he stops complaining and kisses her instead. And, God, Sam Winchester is a good kisser. He starts slow, almost tentative and graduates to gentle yet firm kisses, his tongue chasing hers, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, until she’s breathless and light-headed, her heart pounding about to burst, and Sam pulls away, panting.
On screen, Jack Nicholson is hacking his way through a door, laughing maniacally, and Jess is squirming in her seat with Sam’s hand edging its way up her knee. Two more people have walked into the den, compromising what little privacy they had, except that she’s too aroused to care. Besides, she can be discreet when she has to.
Maybe it’s the bloody martinis, or the uniform, or Sam’s refusal to pay any attention to what’s on the screen, but for once it doesn’t look like he’s going to stop. Jess sneaks a glance to the side and he’s looking straight back at her, with a smile on his face that’s nothing short of dirty.
“If you’re going to make me watch this crap, I’m gonna make you pay,” he whispers, sly, and he pulls her half onto his lap, one hand creeping further up Jess’s thigh.
She bites her lip and stares straight at the screen, pretending to watch whatever is going on – Dawn of the Dead, it looks like – while Sam’s fingers stroke the softest part of her inner thigh, just brushing against the lacy fabric of her panties, almost but not quite touching her, and driving her slowly insane. She’s been waiting for this for ages – well, maybe two weeks, since that first chaste kiss after their initial date – and Sam fucking Winchester is taking his own sweet time, the pads of his fingers barely making contact with her skin, the knuckles ghosting over her sex.
Her legs are spread as far as the tight miniskirt will allow – just wide enough for one of Sam’s giant hands to fit – and after what feels like an eternity, long enough for a couple of Friday the 13th moments to flash by, he pushes up and touches her, for real, fingers making contact with by panties that are now very damp.
Jess clamps her mouth shut on the moan rising in her throat and cants her hips towards Sam’s hand, eager for more, and he obliges, teasing her, one finger slipping past the lacy border and against her slick swollen flesh.
The intimacy of his touch – especially after several dates where she wanted more, and got less – is as much of a turn-on as the actual, pretty skilled, physical contact, and Sam’s unprecedented boldness has turned the tables on her. The fact that he’s not kissing her, the presence of others in the room, it all reveals a slightly perverse side to him that Jess hadn’t expected. It feels kinkier – and hotter – than anything she’s done before.
Fortunately, Sam seems to think the same, because he turns to her and whispers urgently in her ear.
“Is your bedroom free or has it been hijacked for the party? ‘Cause otherwise you’re coming back to my dorm, now. ”
“It’s free,” she says, dry-mouthed, and takes a deep breath as Sam removes his hand and stands up, and she attempts to do the same. Her legs are wobbly, and she wonders briefly how she’s going to manage the stairs.
They make it to the upstairs landing without interference – Jess is hoping not to have to explain herself to her housemates – but as she casts a last glance over the banister, she catches Brady looking up at them, a strange and not altogether pleasant smile on his face. Just as he turns away, his eyes flash weirdly, as though they were all pupil. It’s probably just the makeup and the creepy lighting, but Jess can’t shake a feeling of unease.
It all becomes irrelevant when they cross the threshold of her bedroom and Sam slams the door shut between them, turning the key firmly. God, if this is any indication, the lost time is about to be made up double quick, and heat pools in her belly at the thought.
They trip over each other – suddenly Sam is all endless legs and huge feet – and land on her bed, tangled with each other as she wraps her arms around him and kisses him passionately. Whatever reserve he had has gone to the four winds, and Sam kisses her back just as hungrily, sloppy open-mouthed kisses that rob her of breath and thought all at once.
She’s busy pulling up his shirt, desperate to touch his skin, and he’s returning the favor, struggling with the chest-to-thigh zipper that bisects her tight black dress, and the thick belt that needs unsnapping. When he succeeds in peeling her clothes off, and she’s lying on the bed in nothing but push-up bra, tiny lace thong and thigh-highs, Sam pauses and just stares unashamedly at her.
“Fuck, Jess, you’re something else,” he breathes out, almost reverent.
The look in his eyes makes her squirm, but in a good way. Boys have looked at her naked before but she doesn’t think anyone did it with such awe. Not that Sam suffers in comparison – as he peels his shirt off, he reveals some pretty buff arms and shoulders and a perfectly chiseled chest that ends in narrow hips and long cowboy legs. He’s absurdly hot, the outline of his cock through his jeans adding a frisson of eroticism, and she too lets out a slow breath.
“You’re not bad either,” she whispers, and he grins at her through his bangs, looking boyish and so damn cute she has to pull him down for another kiss.
After that things heat up faster than she can keep track of, and her panties and bra go south in a matter of minutes (although not her boots, she notes), Sam’s mouth latching onto her left nipple while his hand, now unimpeded by constricting clothes, resumes its exploration of her sex, blunt fingers teasing and probing until he pushes one into her and she remembers what she thought when she first saw his hands.
Dear God, it’s every bit as filthy hot as she imagined, as he adds another and is slowly fingerfucking her while he alternates between her mouth and her aching tender breasts, his thumb relentless on her clit. It doesn’t take long before she starts falling apart, and he curls his fingers deeper and lets her ride his hand until she comes with a long moan.
When Jess opens her eyes, still shaking from the comedown, Sam is poised above her, watching like a hawk, his look both hungry and tender.
“Jess,” he says, his voice hoarse, “you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”
“Oh, I do,” she pants. “You’ve been driving me crazy with your gentlemanly reserve…”
He smiles sheepishly.
“I just didn’t want to fuck this up, you know? I think… I want this to be more than just…”
She cuts him off with a kiss, and he goes with it, letting her take the lead, melting under her onslaught, until she straddles him and he stiffens suddenly, his cock hard between her legs, reminding her that in all this she might have got satisfaction but Sam is very much still left wanting, aching for her.
Whatever control Sam was displaying earlier has frayed, because as she leans over him he reaches up and grabs her waist with one hand, while the other is busy divesting himself of his jeans. Now she’s the one watching like a hawk as the rest of him appears, and damn, he’s a fine specimen of manhood all the way down, and built in proportion.
“Got any condoms?” she asks because there’s no point pretending they’re going anywhere else, and he nods, holding up a square of foil he obviously harvested from his pants before ditching them.
Jess takes it from him and tears it open. Very carefully, she places one hand on his cock – which makes Sam gasp – and unrolls the latex over him, smoothing it as it goes down, before rising above him and taking him inside slowly, her breath catching as he stretches her. It feels perfect and God, so worth the wait.
The actual fucking turns out a little messy and rushed and yet hotter than hot – halfway through, Sam rolls her over and really goes for it, his erratic thrusts hitting something deep in her that makes her post-orgasmic cunt clench again and again, pleasure shooting up her nerve endings until she cries out and he stills and comes with a long groan before slumping over her.
Two minutes later, she’s on the verge of suffocating and has just about recovered enough energy to shove his dead weight off her. There’s post coital cuddling, and there’s being squashed.
“No offense, Winchester, but you weigh a ton.”
“Hey, it’s all muscle,” he drawls.
“I know. Not that it makes you any lighter.”
“What, you’ve been checking me out?”
“Maybe,” Jess says, and it’s an understatement, because frankly, she’s been trying not to stare, and not succeeding all that well. “That was… a lot of fun.”
“It was great,” he says, and there’s an undertone of sincerity in her voice which makes her melt a little inside. “You were great.”
“You weren’t bad yourself,” she shoots back, and squeezes him for good measure, which leads to a spontaneous tickling contest. It turns out Sam’s more ticklish than she is, but his longer reach evens things out.
“You know there’s still a party going on outside this door,” Sam points out when he gets his breath back, and Jess suddenly remembers that she is supposed to be entertaining a posse of her friends, and also, Jesus, everyone probably heard them fucking just now.
She blushes and evidently the thought also reaches Sam, because his ears turn red.
“No way,” he says. “Music was too loud.”
“I think I may have been louder,” Jess says in a stage whisper, and Sam reaches out and strokes her cheek with the back of his hand.
“You couldn’t help it,” he says with a sly grin, and she just has to launch a new tickling assault on him, which he repels, and ends with him reducing her to a fit of helpless giggles.
Eventually, despite Sam’s best efforts at sabotage, they manage to get dressed and rejoin the party. As Jess slinks into the kitchen to get refills, she catches Brady’s eye across the room, and he shoots her a sly smile. Maybe it’s because she’s now so relaxed but there’s no hint of the disquiet she felt earlier.
The music’s loud and there’s more dancing than there was earlier, which impedes her progress across the living room, towards Sam. Jess has to negotiate her way past a group of zombies when someone bumps into her.
“So, you’ve been having fun,” Kelly whispers in her ear, and Jess nearly jumps out of her skin.
“Jesus, woman!”
“Jess, Jess, Jess, you owe me big time…” Kelly says, her tone bordering on the lascivious, which makes Jess more than a little nervous.
“What do you mean…”
“Oh please, girlfriend. First you vanish for, like, an hour and a half in the middle of your own party… Then you come back downstairs looking like the cat who got the cream. And more to the point, I’m pretty sure I heard you…”
“Kelly!” Jess cuts in, mortified.
“Hey, don’t worry, it was just me. I was upstairs fixing my makeup. And maybe a couple of girls waiting for the bathroom, but I don’t think you know them. I bet it didn’t reach all the way down the stairs… But I’ve got to tell you – Sam? Sounds impressive.”
They may be roommates, but there are some things Jess has never wanted to share with Kelly, and that? Is most definitely one of them. To say she feels embarrassed is underplaying how she feels by a factor of about a hundred. Scratch that. A thousand.
But somewhere underneath, there is also a hint of smugness, because, damn, Sam Winchester is a good lay. And maybe something more.
She scans the crowd again, hoping he’s still where she saw him earlier, and he’s staring straight at her, eyebrow raised in question. He looks happier than he has since she’s met him, his usual edge of broodiness banished, and that makes her proud, and thankful.
She turns back to her friend.
“Yeah, I definitely owe you one, Kelly. He’s a keeper.”
It’s not just the awesome, if belated, sex. Somehow, the past couple of weeks have convinced her of one thing, and it’s that Sam Winchester is a good guy, even if he keeps a gun under the bed. Smart, witty and geeky; with some weird and slightly ominous family history that haunts him, like a shameful secret, but definitely not a bad guy.
Jess would bet her life on it.