Page 10 of Lies and Other Drugs

I let out a laugh, mostly because I didn't know how else to react. "Yeah," I began, "I know her. She's a real bitch."

* * *

Ididn't dress up to see Samuel, but I did put on some red lipstick. I ended up pouring Mrs. Mulberry’s bottle of vodka down the drain before I left. She was passed out on our floral couch again, snoring loudly as I left. I didn't have work today, and I wanted to make the most of my time off.

According to Instagram, Samuel was at a popular brunch spot downtown on a date. I took the bus. Of course, it was in the nicer part of the city, where people didn't leave their house without makeup on or their suits pressed. I looked out of place, but I didn't care. When I arrived at the cafe where they were enjoying their morning, the hostess gave me a curious stare but didn't ask me to leave. I knew how to fake a confident pose and trick people into thinking I belonged, despite my appearance.

Samuel was sitting at the bar, mimosas and half-eaten French toast lay out in front of him while a girl with bright blond hair and a short dress sat in his lap, feeding him strawberries. They were lost in each other's eyes. She'd giggle at something he'd say, then he'd trail his fingers down her cleavage, not caring who could see. She squirmed, pressing her thighs together, probably trying to get some friction and relief.

I pulled up a bar stool beside him, already feeling giddy at the prospect of ruining his brunch. "This seat taken?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse from my late night. I grabbed a piece of French toast from his plate and dipped it in the syrup, almost laughing when I saw his date's horrified face.

"Octavia, we've got to stop running into one another like this, people will start to talk," Samuel said with a smile, matching my enthusiasm without pause. Was he always...on? Was his entire life a performance? Obviously, he didn’t really care about his date’s feelings because his hungry eyes were now roamingme.

"Get rid of her, we need to talk," I said while nodding at the girl with syrup on her lip. She gave me one of those looks that would make normal people feel insecure, but of course I couldn’t feel anything. It took all of an hour to get her out the door. It took some whining, consoling, kissing, and averylong trip to the bathroom. I waited patiently, even ordered myself some food—on his tab, of course.

When they came back from the bathroom, smelling like sex and looking ruffled, she gave him a lingering kiss before leaving. Once she was finally out the door, Samuel stood behind me with an exasperated sigh. "Come on, Octavia. Let's go," he said before dropping a couple hundred on the bar top and spinning around. I wasn't too thrilled that he wanted to take charge of this moment, but that damn curiosity was calling to me. It was tempting. Like chocolate when you’re on a diet.

We walked onto the street, and Samuel called a cab. Getting in, I made sure to press myself up against the passenger door, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of us. Samuel didn't seem phased. If he noticed that I was distancing myself, he didn't act like it bothered him. He merely rested his arm on the headrest, intentionally moving closer and invading my space with a cocky smile, our thighs brushing. He was fluent in the game I was playing.

He gave the driver an address, and I noticed that it wasn't the Pike house. It wasn't until we pulled up to a high-rise apartment building that I realized Samuel didn't live at the frat house. "Is this where you live?"

Samuel got out, and I followed after him before he answered me with a shudder, "Yeah, I couldn't stay at the Pike house after…" He turned to look back at me, wincing when he realized what he was saying.

"You don't want to stay where Youngblood killed my brother?" I asked sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I followed him to the doorman. Samuel let out a sigh as if expecting my anger. He didn't seem shocked by my statement, which meant he was either an accomplice or Youngblood told him my theories. Either way, he was on my shit list.

Of course Samuel didn't live on the first or second floor like any regular struggling college student would. No, the man with a beautiful smile, perfect hair, and bright green eyes that almost deceived like it was their job, lived in the motherfucking penthouse.

When we walked through his front door, he made his way to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and bending down to grab a water bottle. I'm only human, so of course I took the opportunity to stare at his perfect ass. They say the devil was pretty, and after looking at the men of Pike, I know that rumor was true.

"All right, I'm ready. Hash it out," Samuel said while leaning against the marble countertop.

I didn't like that he was trying to call the shots, so instead, I took a moment to look around his place. I lingered at the entertainment center, where signed baseballs filled each cabinet. It was an open concept, modern design. It was also surprisingly clean for the bachelor pad of a college student. But I assumed he had a maid to make sure everything looked nice.

"What do you know about Youngblood and my brother?" I asked.

Samuel smiled, that teasing grin that said he had me right where he wanted me. "Why are you asking questions to things you already know the answer to?" At that moment, I started recalling everything I knew about Samuel, sighing when I remembered that he was in school for pre-law.

"Okay. Fine. They were fucking. I knew my brother was sexually adventurous, but that's not the surprising part of this entire revelation. I want to know what led to William’s death and what part Youngblood played in all of that. He told me last night that he killed him."

All the color drained from Samuel's face. He thrust a hand through his blond hair before bracing it back against the countertop where he was leaning. You could hear a pin drop, the apartment was eerily silent aside from the electric hum of his kitchen appliances.

It was the first sign that Samuel really didn't have his shit together. It was also the first time I realized just how close he and Youngblood were. "He really said that?" he asked. Samuel propelled himself off the countertop and made his way to the grey sofa in the living room near where I was standing. Sitting down, he braced his forearms against his thighs, leaning forward with a grunt.

"I knew he felt guilt over what happened, but…" Samuel said before sitting up.

"Can you please just tell me? Tell me what happened," I pleaded.

"Look, there's a lot of shit going on behind the scenes that you don't even know about. It's not my story to tell, plus there are consequences when the truth gets out. Iwilltell you that Youngblood and William had a major fight the night before William died. It was bad. Real bad. The next day, William overdosed. It's natural for Nathaniel to blame himself. I mean, God, William committedsuicide."

I wanted to tell Samuel that he was wrong. William would've never done that. We spent a lifetime watching our mother battle substance abuse, and I knew in my gut that he would never give in to that sort of death—no matter the circumstances. We’d been yanking up our mother from the grave for years. He would've sooner blown his brains out than die from her struggles.

But I didn't get the chance to answer him. Because then, the front door opened and in walked the culprit himself. I should've known that Nathaniel and Samuel lived together. There were black circles under his eyes, and he entered the door while staring at the ground, moving like a zombie. I recognized the hollowness in his stance and the weight on his shoulders, but I didn't care.

Samuel broke the silence. "Where were you?" he asked.

Nathaniel looked up, eyes widening when he spotted me.

"Out." Nathaniel stormed off, marching down the hallway until his steps disappeared after the sound of a slamming door. He didn't even bother asking me to leave. Maybe he was used to the Wilson brand of determination. William and I were different but still cut from the same cloth.

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