Page 38 of Surviving You, Scotch and Sammy 1

Marc’s smile doesn’t falter, he simply throws his arm over her shoulder with a wicked smile, hip bumps her and swings his bag over his shoulder again before leaving her alone. My attention is drawn back to Sam as his chest rumbles softly with laughter, then his lips come down to nibble on my earlobe. “You look beautiful today, Ricci. I missed you all weekend.”

I stretch my neck longer to give him space, and I groan as his teeth bite down gently. “I missed you too. But I thought up your new name.”

His face comes back quickly and his eyes search mine. “You did?”

I bite my lip and nod shyly. “Scotch… I think.”

“Scotch?” He barks out a laugh. “That’s a weird name.”

I shrug and press my face into his chest. “That’s what I pick.”

More pleasure filled rumbles vibrate through his chest, even as his hands come up into my hair. “Okay. Scotch. I’ll take it.”

“You will?”

“Yeah. You can call me anything you want, but as far as anyone else is concerned, I won’t answer to anything else for the rest of my life.”

I snicker. “You’re always so agreeable.”

He leans down and pecks the corner of my lips. “Only for you.”

“Hey, so if he’s Scotch, that must make you Soda, right?”

Sam and I both turn at Luc’s words, and my brows pinch in confusion. “Soda?”

He winks obnoxiously, then steps forward and hits me in the shoulder like I’m ‘one of the guys.’ “Don’t think we didn’t see the Coke bubbling out of your nose the other night, Sammy Soda.”

My hand comes up to my face. “It burned so bad,” I giggle. “But he was so funny.”

Sam squeezes me roughly. “What was funny?”

“You were!” I laugh. “You were fine, you piggybacked me for an hour, then you were throwing up everywhere.”

He squeezes me so hard, I squeal out a laugh. “You think my dying was funny?” He tickles my ribs until I squirm and almost fall over. “You should have been sad for me, not laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” I squeal out as he tickles me. “I’m sorry.”

“Was it funny?”

“No!”

“But you’re still laughing.” He continues to tickle me. “Was it funny, Ricci?”

“No! I’m sorry. Please stop tickling me.”

“But I love tickling you,” he whispers near my ear, even as his hands continue their torture. “I love touching you.”

“Sam--”

“I love you.”

I continue to giggle, but I swallow hard as my heart swells. I turn into him fully, turning my back on the rest of our friends, and I look up into Sam’s suddenly serious eyes.

“You love me too, don’t you Ricci? I know you do.”

I bite my lip, then I nod softly. “It’s just the stupid teenage hormonal emotions, so it probably doesn’t--”

“Sammy.” His fingers come back to my ribs in threat. “Tell me.”

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