Sam's Night (II)

Sam showed up for her date night a full five minutes late, which was exactly how Andi knew she’d timed it. If it had been anyone else, she’d have worried, maybe even paced the wide lounge of the Master’s Suite looking for a sign of the Contestant, but with Sam, she just poured herself a drink, sat on the edge of the kitchen island, and counted the faint clicks of the clock as the ice melted.

The elevator dinged, then the door whooshed open and she walked in, swinging her duffel bag over one shoulder. Sam wore her usual favorite for a night with friends: an oversized flannel shirt, faded red plaid, with the sleeves rolled halfway to the elbow. Below that, a pair of ancient Adidas track pants, and, peeking out beneath the hem, the battered blue-and-white Nikes Andy had bought her as a joke five years ago. She’d worn them almost every day since, until the joke died and a tradition was born.

She grinned, took in the suite—Andi in pajama pants and a too-long hoodie, Katherine’s painting presiding over the fireplace, the wet bar stocked with things neither of them would ever admit to knowing how to mix—and said, “Holy shit, you look like you’re about to lead a TED Talk on the hikikomori.”

Andi snorted, then waved her in. “You could have at least pretended I had style for five seconds.”

“I was, I’m just… overwhelmed by the granola energy.” Sam set her bag down and plopped onto the velvet couch, bouncing twice for emphasis, noticing the glasses and wine bottle appreciatively. “I thought you’d go with something more—” she gestured vaguely at Andi’s chest, “—let’s say formfitting.”

“Turns out, I’m really into comfort,” Andi said, settling next to Sam. The sofa was deep and sinfully soft; it made her want to curl up with a book and vanish for a century. “Also, all the girl stuff in the wardrobe is about half a size too small, and I wasn’t about to ask Marissa for a tailoring consult.”

Sam made a show of examining her. “I hate to tell you, but it’s not too small. It’s just one of the ways girls suffer. But you could totally pull off leggings-as-pants. Like, there’s no way you ever skip leg day.”

Andi resisted the urge to flex. “Thanks, I think?”

Sam nodded, suddenly serious. “No, really. You look… good.” She caught herself, cleared her throat, and added, “Much more my speed than, you know, the regular version of you.”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” Andi said with a laugh, then stretched out, crossing her legs casually at the ankle.

They settled in, grabbing the fur throw from the back of the couch and draping it over their legs. Within seconds, the living room was awash in the soft glow of low-budget melodrama.

Neither of them paid the film more than a fraction of their attention. They’d seen it a dozen times in college, always as a kind of anti-study aid, always with the intention to roast it to **** before the first act finished. This time, the old rhythms came back so easily that Andi found herself relaxing for the first time since… well, since the last time Sam was here.

They traded barbs about the stilted dialogue, the atrocious lighting, the visible boom mic in two separate scenes. Andi poured a glass of wine for each of them, then another, and by the third, Sam’s laugh had gotten loud enough that she startled herself every time. Katherine’s painting watched the whole thing in silent, painted judgment; at one point, Sam caught Andi looking at it and said, “Creepy or comforting?”

Andi shrugged. “Depends. Sometimes I think she’s rooting for us.”

Sam eyed the painting. “She’s got better vibes than half the cast in this movie, I’ll give her that.”

For a while, they just watched, content in the shared space and the comfort of mutual understanding. The tension of the main hotel didn’t reach up here. There was just the movie, the wine, the flicker of the fireplace, and the knowledge that neither was about to try to impress the other.

Halfway through, Sam curled into a ball and tucked her feet beneath Andi’s thigh. “So, riddle me this, Batgirl,” she said. “Why’d you pick tonight to be Andi? Not that I’m complaining. I just figured you’d go with what feels more normal for you, for date night.”

Andi hesitated, then traced a finger along the rim of her glass. “There’s a time limit,” she said. “Remember? I have to be Andi for twenty-four hours each round. If I burn through enough of it now, I won’t be locked as Andi during the next challenge. If, I don’t know, something happens and one of the girls needs Andy, or needs a—” she stopped herself, searching for the right word, “—a guy for whatever reason, I didn’t want to screw them over by being stuck as a woman at the wrong time.”

Sam stared at her, all mock-suspicion gone. “That’s actually… really sweet.”

“I figured, it’s you. There’s zero risk of sexual drama or point-grubbing or anything weird, no offense.” She looked at Sam, honest. “You’re the only one I can just be with, and not have to second-guess what I’m doing.”

Sam chewed her lip, then shrugged. “Thanks for what you did at the last challenge. I mean, that was a lot you took on yourself. If Arabella had called you out… Thank you, dude. Really.” She punched Andi lightly in the arm. “You’re still the same Andy underneath.”

“I try,” Andi said, smiling.

Sam settled back, watching the movie with one eye, but mostly watching Andi with a new kind of scrutiny. “If you need me to run interference again, just say so. Sworn to Carry your Burdens, right?” She flexed an imaginary bicep. “It’s not like I’m going to be picking up any points the old-fashioned way.”

Andi choked on her wine. “Jesus, Sam. You shouldn't sell yourself short.”

Sam grinned, but there was a trace of seriousness behind it. “I mean, come on. You know as well as I do, the only way I’m getting VPs in this place is if the audience has a thing for platonic snuggling.” She pointed at herself. “I’m not about to fake it. If you ever want me to let you touch my boobs, just for the points, you know I’d do it, but it’d be the most I’d feel comfortable doing, and it’d be the least erotic thing in the world for both of us.”

Andi laughed so hard she almost dropped her glass. “That is the least enticing offer I’ve ever received.” She shook her head, still chuckling. “If you want, you can touch mine. See if it unlocks a new method for score generation.”

Sam’s face went full skeptical. “You’re not serious.”

Andi raised her eyebrows. “You sure? Could be a great experiment. Purely for science.”

Andi waved her hands as if shooing a housefly, but her grin was infectious. “No, I mean it. If you want to compare, go for it. Maybe it’ll activate a secret scoring multiplier. The rules are pretty unspecific about what counts as a ‘meaningful connection.’”

Sam gave her a side-eye so withering it could have wilted plastic. “You’re just trying to bait me into a scandal for bonus points. Arabella’s probably got the room bugged.”

“If she does, the least we can do is make her regret it,” Andi said brightly. She tugged at the front of her hoodie, which bunched in a way that made her chest look even bigger than it already was. “Honestly, I have no frame of reference for this. I feel like I’m just wearing an extra-soft, big fanny pack. It’s not even a thing I notice unless I’m getting dressed or running.”

Sam considered that, then waggled her eyebrows, putting on an exaggerated scientist’s voice: “‘For the advancement of human knowledge, we must press boldly into the unknown.’” She reached over with three fingers, the way you’d prod an avocado at the grocery store. “If this awakens something in you, I want a cut of your winnings.”

Andi’s eyes widened in mock horror. “If I’m suddenly a lesbian, you’ll be first to know. But I think you’re safe.”

Sam hesitated, then gently poked the side of Andi’s left breast through the thin fabric of her hoodie. She did it twice, quick and clinical. “Weird,” she said.

Andi snickered. “What, you expecting a booby trap?”

“Just never thought I’d be giving you a mammogram,” Sam admitted.

Andi pondered that. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Neither. It’s science.” Sam poked again, her brow furrowed. “Okay, so it’s soft, not fake-feeling, and the world did not end. Should I try the other one, for—what’s the word—statistical significance?”

“As long as you promise not to write a thesis about it afterward,” Andi said, now half-laughing, half-incredulous. On impulse, she pulled the neck of her hoodie slightly so her collarbone and a sliver of her left breast were exposed. “Brave new world.”

Sam put on her best Dead Serious face, glanced at the painting, then at Andi, and reached out again. This time, she cupped Andi’s breast with her whole hand, slowly squeezing as if the correct pressure would unlock a safe. Then, with a flourish, she gave it an old-fashioned honk, like a clown at a birthday party.

The sound Andi made was somewhere between a yelp and a **** goose. “Sam!” she shrieked, then dissolved into laughter, clutching her stomach. “That’s so—what is wrong with you?”

Sam withdrew her hand and shrugged, entirely unruffled. “Some things never change. Also, you’re right, there’s nothing sexual about it at all. But I do feel like I’ve breached some sacred boundary, and your ancestors are going to come after me in my sleep.”

Andi pretended to fold her hands in prayer. “Oh ancient spirits of the Cooper line, please forgive Sam Collins for her transgressions against the sacred marshmallows.”

Sam poked her again, even more gently this time. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You’re the one who just groped your best friend for science,” Andi pointed out, face still red from laughing. “I’d say that puts us at least even.”

Touched Master’s boobs! Who knew? +2 VP
First! x2

“You initiated, and in my defense, you’re the one who went and turned into a girl,” Sam countered, but her eyes glimmered. She leaned back, shaking her head. “But for real, if anyone found out, I’d have to flee the country.”

Andi’s smile softened into something more serious. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Arabella, if she asked.”

Sam’s mouth twisted in consideration, then she shot Andi a rare, genuine look. “I know.”

The warmth between them was not erotic, nor awkward, nor even particularly new—but it had a density to it now, like air before a thunderstorm. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The movie played on, forgotten, the flicker of the television painting their faces in blue and gold.

After a while, Sam broke the silence. “Okay, so you said it feels different? Like, actually good?”

Andi fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve. “It’s hard to explain. I thought I’d just feel… detached, like I was in a costume. But it’s not numb, it’s… present. Like being hugged, but from the inside out. Also oddly… electric. I guess I get why people have complicated feelings about this stuff.”

Sam nodded, a muscle in her cheek twitching. “Weird, right? Like you’re sitting in a body that’s not yours, but it’s also you now, so you have to be nice to it.”

“Yeah,” Andi said, and for the first time in her life, she let herself mean it. “It’s more comfortable than I thought it’d be. Not forever, but… right now, it’s good.”

Sam looked at her for a long time, then made a decisive little nod, as if some private calculation had clicked into place. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re pulling it off. You look… happy. Or at least happier than you did the last time you tried to be the World’s Saddest Bachelor.”

Andi groaned. “Please don’t remind me about Season One. I’m still getting hate mail from the showrunners.”

“Hey, we all have a flop era. The important part is, you’re still trying.” Sam poked her again, this time on the shoulder. “And I’ll bet you a million VP you do better in this timeline.”

“You think there’s a universe where I don’t screw it up?” Andi asked, grinning skeptically.

Sam matched her grin, then leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a universe where you and I run off to Tahiti and open a tiki bar, and you never have to choose between being Andy or Andi again. But until then, you’re stuck with me.”

Andi raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked, the crystal ringing out sharp and clear, and both took a long sip. For a while there was nothing but the sound of the movie, the occasional rustle of blanket, and the low hum of the suite’s heating system.

Then, out of nowhere, Sam snort-laughed. “God, can you imagine if one of the other girls walked in right now? I’d literally jump out the window.”

Andi tilted her head. “I mean, Erin would probably just ask if she could join in. Chloe would die on the spot.”

“Marissa would take notes,” Sam added, shaking her head. “And Claire would write a poem about it. Probably in Latin.” She was about to say something else, but stopped, a side glance at Andi.

“I’d read that poem,” Andi said, and suddenly found herself imagining exactly that scenario, the two of them caught mid-experiment by a parade of exes, rivals, and new friends. It didn’t even feel shameful. If anything, it was just absurd. She let herself laugh, a real, unguarded sound, and Sam joined in.

When the laughter faded, the warmth remained. They stretched out on the couch, blanket pooled around their legs, bodies angled towards each other but not touching. It was the closest Andi had come in months to feeling like herself—whatever herself meant, these days.

Sam put both hands up. “Alright. I’ll put it out there. We are never doing that again.”

“Agreed,” Andi said, fervently. “But if anyone asks, you earned five VPs just for going through with it.”

They clinked glasses, and the last of the tension melted.

For a while, they just watched the movie, limbs tangled in the heap of blanket and faux fur, content to be exactly what they were: two old friends, alone at the end of the world, making the most of the weirdest summer vacation either would ever have.

When the movie wound down, Sam yawned and stretched with the total lack of self-consciousness you only saw in little kids or people who had known each other too long to ever be embarrassed again. She flicked off the TV, leaving only the glow of the fireplace and the soft, salt-spiked wind that threaded in through the window. Andi rose and padded to the bedroom with Sam trailing, both still in their pajamas, both too tired and wine-softened to bother with anything like ceremony.

There was something weirdly liberating about sharing a bed as two women: no expectations, no pressure, not even the ghost of the old college “Would it be weird if we ever hooked up?” conversation. Just a heap of flannel and hoodie and tired limbs, climbing under the sheets like they’d done a hundred times in hostels and hotels and the occasional hospital cot.

Sam threw her duffel onto the chair, pulled off her socks with her toes, and rolled onto the bed with a thump. “The world’s most comfortable mattress, and I am going to die on it,” she announced, grabbing a pillow and punching it flat. “You coming?”

Andi was already halfway through brushing her teeth—her mouth still didn’t feel right in this body, but the process of getting ready for bed was almost muscle memory. She spat, rinsed, and caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror: the unfamiliar cascade of brown hair, the slant of the nose she remembered from her mother, the collarbones sharp and new under the borrowed hoodie. She didn’t hate it. That was the weirdest part. She actually kind of liked how she looked.

She crawled onto the bed and sank in next to Sam, who immediately flopped an arm over Andi’s waist and snuggled in, her chin tucking into the crook of Andi’s neck. It was perfectly normal; they’d spooned through blizzards, power outages, and at least one bout of food poisoning in grad school.

“You smell nice,” Sam said, muffled by the pillow.

“I actually use shampoo, despite popular myths,” Andi laughed.

Sam grunted, and then they lay there, bodies heavy with the kind of exhaustion that came only after true, emotional relief. The suite was silent except for the faint hum of air moving through the vents and the sea-whisper from outside.

After a long, lazy minute, Sam said, “Can I ask you something kind of weird?”

“Sure,” Andi said, not moving.

“If I wanted to… I don’t know, pursue someone else here, would that make things weird between us?” Sam kept her voice low, and for once it wasn’t a joke, just a real question.

Andi shook her head, hair tickling Sam’s face. “Sam, I didn’t choose this. If anything, you’re probably the only one who wouldn’t make it weird.”

Sam was quiet, just breathing. “What if she also liked you?”

That gave Andi pause. “I think the entire premise here is that most of them do, at least a little. I can’t exactly throw a fit about people being into the same woman. Or man, or whatever I am that day.” She twisted her head just enough to look at Sam. “Are you asking if I’d be jealous?”

Sam nodded against Andi’s shoulder.

“No,” Andi said. “Or, if I was, I’d get over it. I’m not about to tell you not to go after what you want.”

Sam was silent, then said, “If anything ever happens, you’ll be the first to know.” Then she squeezed Andi, as if to prove she was serious, and added, “You’re a better friend than I deserve sometimes.”

Andi rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “Sam, you’re the one who keeps cleaning up my emotional messes. And now, you’re my official emotional anchor. My thane, as it were.”

Sam punched her in the shoulder. “Nerd.”

They might have drifted off like that, but Sam had a restless energy even when she was winding down. She propped herself up on one elbow and said, “Can I ask something else? Even weirder?”

Andi braced herself. “Yeah?”

Sam hesitated, picking at the edge of the blanket. “Why are you so cold to Chloe? Like, I know you try to hide it, but… you don’t even look her in the eye, sometimes. Did something happen, or is it just… I don’t know, the whole game show thing?”

Andi stiffened, not out of anger but because she’d never said this out loud to anyone, not even Erin or Claire, not even to herself in the mirror. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

“She doesn’t remember, probably,” Andi said, “and I don’t blame her for not remembering, but she…” She exhaled. “She was the reason Laura died. Not on purpose. But her crush, and a stupid rumor, and a fight… it all came together and Laura was gone, just like that.”

Sam didn’t move, but her whole body went tense, every muscle strung tight as a guitar. “Who’s Laura?”

The name hung there, heavy and dense. Andi wondered if she should lie, or say nothing, or make a joke. But telling the story to Erin, even the bare-bones version, had loosened something in her chest. Instead, she said, “Laura was my best friend. Maybe the love of my life, if I ever had one. We were together from the time we could walk.” Her voice shook. “She drowned, saving my life. And Chloe was at the center of everything that led up to it.”

It was quiet for a long, long time. Sam’s hand came up, slow and careful, and stroked Andi’s hair once, twice, before settling again.

“I didn’t know,” Sam whispered. “You never told me.”

Andi swallowed. “I didn’t want to admit how much it still hurts.”

Sam hugged her tighter, all the jokes gone. “I’m with you,” she said. “No matter what.”

They didn’t say anything else for a long while. The darkness closed in around them, soft and safe, and for the first time since she’d come to the Harem Hotel, Andi felt like maybe she could sleep through the night.

The last thing she felt before drifting off was Sam’s arms, wrapped around her like a promise.