Page 8 of Official

But this works too.

Once I’m in my truck, I pull my phone out and dial my best friend, Teddy. The second he answers, I say, “Dude, shit hit the fan with Zoey, and I’ve been fired. I need to get hammered, stat.”

He tells me to meet him and his sister at Tito’s, a lowkey bar in Santa Monica.

I check the time. “I’ll be there before you take your third shot.”

“Better hurry. Sam is prepared to set a drinking record, so it could get wild.”

“Even better, man. Even better.”

Forty-five minutes of traffic and seaside driving later, I throw my truck into park in front of Tito’s and rush inside, but not before I get a good, strong whiff of the salt in the air.

I already feel free.

Teddy and Sam turn toward me at the same time as if they choreographed it like two people might in a horror film—my specialty. Before I sit, I wave to the bartender and order a double shot of Patrón on the rocks.

“Zoey burned you, huh?” Teddy asks, fist-bumping me in greeting.

I nod to Sam over his head and take my seat on the barstool. “Shetorchedme. If Ronald rats me out and smears my reputation across this city like a disease, I’m screwed.”

Teddy snorts into his drink. “Yeah, right. Even if Ronald McDonald posted your crazy sexual appetite on a billboard, you wouldn’t lose your writing position. Your mother would intervene. I don’t know the woman well, but I do know you don’t mess with Delia Reynolds.”

I smirk and thank the bartender when she sets a tall, dark, and strong drink in front of me. “You’re right.”

“She’d beat Ronald over the head with her five Golden Globes.”

We laugh, but when I catch Sam’s frown as she looks at her phone, I halt. “What’s with her?” I whisper.

“Have you not been on the internet today?” He eyes me doubtfully in the same way Sam often does when I use too many analogies.

She hates when I do that.

“No. I was with Zoey at lunch, and then you know the rest.” Once I pull out my phone and click on Safari, I search Sam’s name, ready to see a bunch of her fitness posts per usual, but what comes up makes my jaw drop.

On display are her ass cheeks as she squats, and her leopard thong practically waves to the viewers. When she’s done, she turns toward the camera and smiles. It’s innocent.

It’s obvious she has no idea people will be reposting this as they laugh at her expense.

They’re calling her Sweet Cheeks Sam.

“Damn. This is brutal.” I click my phone off, suddenly acutely aware that the ass I’m staring at in the videos belongs to my best friend’s sister. But that doesn’t stop the videos from playing in my head. So I take a big drink in hopes that it’ll help. “What happened?” I manage.

Sam sets her empty drink down with a thud, annoyance emanating from her like steam out of the espresso machine at my apartment. “I just didn’t get enough attention and needed to put my ass out there for more. That’s how I get famous. It was the plan all along.” Her sarcastic tone is dejected, and she slumps in her chair.

“She and Jason broke up,” Teddy chimes in.

“Fucking asshole.” Sam throws back a shot, then waves for another.

Her brother turns to me. “Mr. Douche doesn’t want to be tainted with her humiliation, so he bounced.”

“Not the whole story.” Sam swivels around on her stool to face us. “He’s embarrassed to have simply been in the video. At the very end. For two seconds.” She scoffs and angrily swipes at the loose hair on her cheek.

Teddy shrugs. “I tried to tell her he’s bad news.”

“Seriously?” Sam slams her palms on the bar, drawing the attention of a few patrons, but she doesn’t take her eyes off her brother. “This isn’t like the time you told me not to eat the food truck taco during our trip to Mexico. This is my life. You don’t get to sayI told you solike a jerk.”

“Don’t take this out on me.” He waves his hands in surrender.

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