Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I’m as excited as I am nervous for my best friend. She deserves happiness more than anyone I know, but the thought of Sterling—her tormentor and psych TA—being the one to give it to her worries me.
The two have a rich history, steeped in lies and pain and hurt. Their issues make mine and Samson’s look like nothing more than a drop in the ocean.
But if he’s really turning over a new leaf, and treats her right—then I’ll support her in any way I can. And if he hurts her, I’ll string him up by his balls.
That’s what friends do.
Emmy chews her lip. “I think he’s into me, or whatever.”
“Of course he is! You’re a total catch. Now, why are you wearing his shirt?”
“Nothing like you’re thinking,” she rushes to say, her cheeks the color of a tomato. “He just let me borrow a shirt since mine smelled like a day-old frat party.” She sinks back into the couch. “Now, your turn.”
“Well...” I take a deep breath and decide to just go for it. “I ditched my V-card last night!”
“What?” Emmy’s brown eyes practically bug out of her head. “With who?”
“You remember my friend Samson?”
“You mean Mr. Mysterious who you’d never spill the details on? That Samson?”
“The one and only.”
“Are y’all like an item now?”
My excitement wanes. I’m not sure how to answer her question, because we are together, but Samson isn’t ready for anyone to know. I feel bad lying to her, but still, I shake my head and say, “No.”
“Oh. Um.”
“It’s fine, Emmy. I got what I wanted, and he made sure it was good. What more can a girl ask for, right?” Even I can hear the bitterness in my tone.
I get why Samson wants to keep us a secret, but it stings too. He kept me a secret for years, and now that we can finally be together out in the open, him wanting us to hide felt kind of like a knife to my chest.
Emmy clasps my hand in hers. “A lot of things, Stell, a lot of things. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”
I offer her a tremulous smile, even as my eyes burn with tears. “I’m over the moon.”
It sounds like a copout, but I mean it. I really am happy—last night was nothing short of perfect. Samson was so attentive and considerate, but at the same time, he didn’t baby me either.
He made me feel wanted and sensual and cherished.
If it weren’t for our talk this morning, I’d probably still be on cloud nine.
A small part of me wonders if I’m making a mistake in agreeing to keep our relationship a secret, but mostly, I’m so happy to have him—in any capacity—that I’m willing to try things his way.
For now, at least.
Because I meant it when I told him I wouldn’t be his dirty little secret. If he doesn’t man up and talk to my brother soon, I… I don’t know what I’ll do.
But that’s a tomorrow problem. Today, I’m going to snuggle up on this couch with my best friend, watch trash TV, and just… be.
Orion glares at me over the rim of his water glass as I bounce my leg to an erratic beat that only I can hear.
I’ve been an anxious and excited ball of energy since pulling into my parents’ driveway this afternoon.
Even digging in the dirt didn’t calm me.
Because tonight will be the first family dinner with Samson and me officially—even if secretly—together.
Mom is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the food; I know I should offer to help, but I’m shaking like a sugar addict in need of a cupcake, so I stick to the living room with my brother.
But the way he’s watching me only serves to make me more nervous. It’s honestly a miracle no one ever suspected anything was going on between Samson and me, since I’m apparently as smooth as a bull in a china shop.
“You’re acting weird.”
“What?” My eyes fly to Orion. “No, I’m not.”
“You are,” he insists. “You’re like… a fidgety mess.”
“Just ready to eat. Pot roast—mmm.”
He eyes me like he knows I’m full of it. If older brothers have superpowers, seeing through my shit has always been Orion’s. He’s always just known when something was bothering me.
“Cut the crap, Smalls.”
“What crap?”
“There’s something on your mind. Just tell me, maybe I can help you sort it out.”
Not likely. And even if I thought he could, thanks to Samson’s demand to keep our relationship quiet, my hands are tied. “It’s just…”
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom hollers, saving me from Orion’s inquisition.
I spring up from the couch and bolt into the dining room, narrowly avoiding a collision with my dad.
“Whoa, Stelli Bear—slow down!”
“Sorry, Dad, it just smells so good!”
“There’s plenty, no need to rush.”
“I know.” I pull back my chair and surreptitiously check the clock. It’s after six. Where is he? “Sorry, Dad.”