Page 21 of Official

“You can’t seriously tell me you wanted to be SamanthaDouche, did you? Come on.” I attempt to give her a soothing, crooked grin, but it might appear as more of a cringe. Because, who would want a fucking name like that? “If you ask me, it’s the best thing to happen to you.”

“It’s Douché, and no. I didn’t want to marry the guy, but did he have to be such a jerk? I thought we really liked each other. We had a lot in common. Similar goals and senses of humor. We made sense.”

“Barf. Barf. And double barf.”

She tilts her head back and laughs, and it’s far better than the sad smile she gave me moments ago.

It feels damn good to get Sam in better spirits.

“I know you’re a romantic optimist, but I’m going to let you in on another little secret.” I lean forward, and her sweet scent invades my senses, catching me by surprise.

“Please do,” she whispers, her half-smile animated.

“Love and relationships are for boring dumbasses. Not for people like us.” I point between us, my voice gravely sober. I swipe the stem of my wineglass and take a sip—I need it if I’m going to keep getting so sentimental with her.

“Right. We just go out with exciting dumbasses for fun.”

“Anything’s better than boring.” I wink over the thin rim of my glass.

When the server comes back, we place our entrée orders, and I’m surprised—confused, really—that Sam orders a salad. Did she not hear what I said about being boring?

She at least has the decency to add fresh shrimp on top, so I’ll let it slide… for now.

As soon as we’re alone again, I slide my glass aside and lean forward. “Any changes with the video?”

Even though we haven’t talked about the video since our plane landed, the damn replay of it slammed into me like a thousand bricks when she sat in the hammock.

The image of her thong in my head just… appeared. But that doesn’t count as far as promises to her brother are concerned, so I’m in the clear.

In any case, the buzz of awareness along my hot skin that the thought alone incited is for me to know, and me alone.

“I haven’t checked my phone other than to make sure my pictures are clear and that my ass cheeks are not showing.” She giggles, but there’s a nervous air about it.

I slide my hand away, desperately trying to keep images of said ass cheeks out of my head. “Have you thought about what you might say once you’re ready? Do you have a publicist or something?”

An exhale leaves her with a whoosh like the waves crashing on the beach, but this is much less calming. “No. But it would make this a lot easier if I did.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Social media is my job. I’m the influencer, and I want people to know me as a person, not what some faceless marketing guru thinks is best for me to act like. I want to be real, and shit happens to real people. I just have to face my mistake.” She sips her wine, and after a brief pause, she says, “Eventually.”

“Cheers to eventually.” I clink my own glass to hers.

The soft music filters between us, and in my periphery, I see a woman dressed in black approach the table beside ours, then make her way to Sam and me. “How is the lovely couple this evening? Celebrating anything special?”

“Oh, no, we’re not…” Sam starts, but her laugh interrupts the rest of the sentence.

“We’re not together,” I finish for her.

“Just friends. That’s all.” Sam holds her hands up as if to prove there’s no funny business happening underneath the table or something.

The woman, whom I assume is the manager around here, clutches her chest with both hands. “Of course, of course. My apologies. Please let me know if you need anything at all. I’ll be back in a few to check in.”

Once we thank her, I glance around at the elegant restaurant and the dim view of the beach. The water glistens underneath the moonlight like this is a Nicholas Sparks novel, and Sam and I are sitting close to each other in the curved booth. During our conversation, we gravitated toward each other.

We’re having a romantic candlelit dinner.

Two friends.

My best friend’s little sister, to top it all off.

“That was funny,” Sam says and sips more of her sweet wine.

I force a laugh and scoot toward the edge of the booth, putting distance between us.

Because I have a promise to keep, and it’s not something I can half-ass, no matter how sweet and intriguing Sam’s floral scent is.

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