Page 91 of The Girl with No Name

At the airport, I text Sam.

Reed: What are you up to tonight?

Sam: I’ll be up late. I have a test to study for. Why?

Reed: Might have a surprise for you later. Will you be around about 10 or 11 your time?

Sam: Maybe! Text me later?

Reed: Okay

I have a couple of drinks on the plane. I’m not sure if they’re for courage, for fun, or because my hangover is really kicking in now after three straight days of belligerent drinking. But of course the answer to any of that would be…more drinking.

As I stare out at the afterglow of the sunset, I reflect on the weekend… LSD, meeting Henry Cooney and Violet Benson, the kiss.

That goddamnkiss.

If it weren’t for the circumstances, that would have been the hottest kiss of my life. In the rain. Pressing her up against that willow tree, our clothes soaked through…

I drift off to sleep with my head pressed against the window, and when I wake up, I wipe drool off my lip as we drop onto the tarmac.

I grab my carry-on and nab a Lyft to Piedmont, where Sam’s apartment is, outside of Oakland.

I type out a text to her:

Reed: Hey surprise! I’m thirty minutes away! Wanted to pop in for a visit. See you soon.

My thumb hovers over thesendbutton. But with the amount of surprise I’ll be giving her anyway, it makes sense just to show up. I delete the message.

The Lyft driver drops me off, and all I’ve got is a backpack as I walk up the stairs to her apartment and ring the bell.

Strangely, a man answers, not Sam. “Hey,” he says. “It’s late, man. What are you doing?”

My heart starts to pound. “I’m here to see Samantha,” I say. “Who are you?”

“I’m Brandon.”

“Okay. Well, I’m Samantha’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, shit. Come on in.”

He opens the door wider, and I step inside.

I find Samantha on the couch, textbooks splayed across her coffee table and the TV on pause.

“Oh, hey!” she blurts out, standing up. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Clearly.”

Brandon walks in behind me.

I look at him, then back at her.

“We just finished studying,” she says.

I look at the TV. They’re watchingBridgerton. “Can we talk?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

---