Puck Buddies (5 page)

“Right.” I turn. “Shit.” She completely
remembers me from London.

I don’t know why I’m the one with the
crappy feeling in my stomach when she’s the one who had the boyfriend. She’s
pissed at me for not hitting on her when she was dating a friend? That doesn't
even make sense. And she could have acted like she remembered when we met
tonight, officially, but she didn’t. I took my cue from her.

I’m about to just leave when I catch
Minky staring at me. She’s still at my table and giving me the look, the one
suggesting we could be fucking right this second if I’m into it. But I’m not.

I contemplate what I’m going to say to let
her down as I saunter back over. But I don’t even get my lips apart to say I’m
not into it before Minky has my hand in hers. She spins and struts off, pulling
me with her but not saying anything.

Laramie laughs, lifting his drink into
the air.

When we get to a dark corner she twirls,
grinning and licking her lush lips. She hauls me in, but I put my hand on the
wall, stopping her. “Can I ask you a question, as a girl?”

“You can do anything you want to me.” She
lifts her eyebrows. “Anything.”

“Awesome.” I want to wince at the awkward
permission to play the back nine but avoid even acknowledging it. “If you were
dating a guy and one of his friends kissed you on a random drunk night a long
time ago, would you be pissed if the friend didn’t show interest in you after
that? Like this happened a long time ago, eight months.”

“What?” Her shoulders slump and her sexy
expression is replaced by disappointment.

“Like if I kissed—”

“No, I get the question. I’m not as dumb
as I look. I mean, what does it have to do with this moment?” Her South African
accent is gone. She sounds like she’s from Detroit.

“Nothing.” I pause. “I’m just confused.
Besides, she isn’t single; she’s dating one of my friends. Last time I saw her,
she was dating a friend. I couldn’t show any interest without being a bad
friend. And I have a rule. I don't date girls who have dated my friends. It’s a
thing for me. But she’s pissed because I didn’t say something. At least I think
that’s why she’s pissed. I mean
,
we don’t even know
each other. We just kissed and then I left before I made a mistake—”

“So we aren’t going to—”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Want me to suck you off then?” The way
she says it with her Detroit accent is undeniably hotter than if she were still
faking the South African one.

“I don't.” I laugh and step back. “I have
a thing about love in the club too. Not really my scene.” I nod my head once.
“Have a nice evening.”

“You have a lot of things. Maybe you need
to pull that tampon out and stop being a little bitch.” She steps into me,
glaring. “If you kissed me and you meant it and you didn’t show interest
afterward, I’d be pissed. Boyfriend or not.” She cocks a dark eyebrow, pausing
for a moment and saunters off.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

On the walk back over to tell Laramie I
am spent and emasculated, I pass Sami swaying and tripping on the dance floor.
I nearly pinch between my eyebrows as my years of Sami Ford fantasies are
crushed. Seeing her like this makes me suspect the girl I saw in London was
short-lived, or just a lie, and she is actually a ditzy heiress. She laughs and
stumbles from the dance floor, gripping the little blonde friend. They lean
against the table and slam another drink.

I scan the club, noting she’s alone with
the drunken blonde and no security, which is weird for a girl like her. But it
was the same in London.
So crazy.
And now that Carson
and Will are gone, they don’t have any other friends here. This club isn’t a
place any of us have hung out at before. I wouldn’t have come here if it
weren’t for the fact Laramie wanted to.

She trips and laughs, spilling drink on
herself.

“Shit,” I mumble and walk to the table.
“Can I call your car for you?”

“No.” Sami sounds like a child and shakes
her head, pausing for a shudder. The third shudder always means vomit, in my
research.

“Come with me. I’ll get you a cab at
least.”

“I’m gonna puke. I don’t need dat filmed
by peeeze of shit cabbie.” She is barely coherent.

Everything in me screams not to help her
but for whatever reason, obvious insanity being a top possibility, I sigh.
“Fine. I’ll walk you home.” There’s no way I can call Charles and risk them
puking in our car. He’ll never forgive me.

“We can get dat pizzzza,” she slurs.
She’s been slamming drinks nonstop for an hour.

“No. That ship has sailed. If you eat
now, you’re
gonna
barf. You are way drunker than I
thought.”

“Maybe I wanna barf. Let’s go out da
back.” Sami nods her head that way, doing an odd half circle. “We needa hide
from da paparazzzzi or my dadsss gonnabe pizzzzed.” She blends her words into a
jumbled mess.

“Don’t go out the back. They’ll be
expecting that. We’ll go out with my group of friends. They’re a crowd of a
dozen people. I’ll hold you up and cover you.”

“Okay.” She shrugs.

“I donnnn feel so good.” The blonde
straightens her back, taking a breath.

“Here.” I offer my arm. She hesitates for
a second before linking her tiny hands around my bicep.

“Sssorry.” I don't know what she's
apologizing for.

“It’s okay.” I turn and offer my other
arm to Sami. She doesn't appear sorry but she still comes in close. I wrap my
arm around her back and try not to notice the fragrance, maybe jasmine or rose
that wafts in the air around her. She smells almost exactly the way I remember,
even a little boozy. While she’s missing the ale all over her, it’s gin now if
I’m not mistaken.

“Ready?” I ask in a low tone as the
hockey players all pass by the front door. Laramie glances my way, laughing
when he sees Sami Ford on my arm with a cute blonde.

“Nice!” He gives me a grin as he strolls
over. “You guys headed home?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah.” Sami wraps her arm around my
waist. “He’s in sssome trouble.” She winks and bites down on her shiny lip. She’s
a hot mess of confusion bordering on scary and incoherent. And it’s not just
because of the sweat stains on her silky tee shirt or the fact her mascara is
starting to run. She also has that half-eyed stare going on, where anyone she
looks at feels like she’s looking through
them
.

“Lucky bastard.” He nods at me like she
might actually be something of a prize in the state she’s in.

“It’s not like that. I’m just making sure
she gets home. I need some cover though,” I speak low as I drag the two
staggering girls to the door, holding them both
upright
.
“Can you guys go as a herd and take the cameras with you?”

“We got you, dude.” He gives me
a thumbs
up as the hockey players and girls head out into
the warm night air. The reporters come to life and rush toward the crowd.
Laramie is at the back of the group. He glances back at me. “Go right, we’ll go
left.”

“Thanks, man.”

I wait for a small group of laughing
girls to leave the bar and swerve right in behind them, hugging the bricks of
the side of the club.

“Oh shittttt.” The little blonde trips,
but she weighs about what my jeans might when they’re soaking wet, so I scoop
her up and carry her, while supporting Sami.

In the streetlights neither of them looks
too hot. They’re having problems keeping both eyes open at the same time. If
the photographers got a picture of Sami like this, it might earn her another
rehab stint. She’s known for them. She got one after the last time we saw each
other.

We make it around the next block with me
essentially carrying them both, before I stop to check our status. “No one
followed.”

“I donn feel so good.” Sami twitches like
she might throw up and the blonde nods, signaling she’s going to. I help her to
an alcove where she leans on the wall and loses her dinner in a doorway.

“They’re gonna be—hic—excited
when dey show—hic—up for work tomorrow.” Sami laughs, hiccups, and
quivers.

We both step back from the barfing
blonde, me with my hands in my pockets and Sami hugging herself. The wind isn’t
cold, but she’s still sweaty and barely keeping her eyes open.

“Where’s your hotel?” she asks after a
moment of awkward silence. “We could go dere.” She can barely keep her eyes
open.

“My place is next to the Four Seasons on
Fifty-Seventh.” I pull my hands out and stifle a yawn. “And no, we can’t. You
need to go home. You’re too drunk even for pizza.”

“Did your friends putchu up?”

“To what?”

“In a hotel.” I can’t tell if she’s
joking or not. “Do you work in a fffactory? Your hands are rough.” She reaches
over and takes one of my hands in hers. “See?” She rubs my palm.

“No. Are you being serious right now?”

“Whaa?” She’s already forgotten her
question.

“My friends didn't put me up—and
no, I don’t work in a factory. Maybe you should call Colin to come and get
you.”

“Where?”

“Here. Do you want me to call your dad?”

“No, fffuckim!” she slurs and I have a
terrible suspicion she is exactly who I always thought she was. That regretful
and emotional state she was in before was probably just due to some heartburn.
She’s an idiotic heiress, the only flavor they come in. The main reason I hate
the world we belong to.

“Whatever.” Annoyed, I turn and check on
the blonde. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” She stands up straight, wiping
her mouth. “Ssssorry.”

“It’s fine.” Exhaling heavily, I lift her
into my arms and give Sami a look. “Where to?”

“Just off Fifffth.” Sami points in the
wrong direction. “Do you even know where Fifth Ave is, peasant?”

“Come on.” I take her hand and drag her
the opposite way she’s pointing.

The illusions I had about the infamous
Sami Ford die for real that night.

In fact, I
kinda
hate who she is.

I realize it later when I catch a glimpse
of my reflection in the elevator on the way down from her place.

There’s
lip gloss
coating my collar and cheeks.

My shirt is sweat stained from carrying
her friend for blocks.

The same friend’s throw up is caked to my
back.

And the number to Nordstrom's is slightly
hanging out of my pocket.

Fuck Sami Ford!

And not in the literal sense.

Chapter
Four

Boy toy

Sami

“What happened?” Nat moans, covering her
eyes.

“I don't know. I think God hates us.” I
tremble from the overwhelming urge to vomit. The daylight creeping in the edges
of the shades blinds me and my whole body has a heartbeat pulsating through it.

“I hate us.” She sits up slowly, leaning
against the bed frame.

“Me too.” I don't dare try to get up.
Instead, I reach for my phone and send a single text.

“Did we have fun at least?” She glances
my way, shivering like she might get sick and smelling like she already has.

“We must have.” I swear I’m whispering
but the words are echoing off the walls.

The doors burst open, filling me with
hope that we’ll feel better any second.

“Nadia?” I turn, cringing when I see a
scowling face instead. “Daddy.”

“You girls have some nerve showing up at
three in the morning. Do you have any idea what that looked like? That young
man holding you up?” He glares at me. “And carrying your unconscious body?” His
stare softens for Nat. “This is not why you came to the city. I thought we were
done with these shenanigans, Sami. You promised no more crazy nights. I asked
you for one little favor and this is where it goes? Every single time, huh,
kid? And here I thought you’d grown up since London. I don't care if you have
fun, but you’re bloody well going to be ladies while you do it!” He turns and
storms from the room, slamming the doors.

We both flinch, lifting our trembling
hands to our ears.

“Oh my God, he’s so mad.”

“No. That was all show.” I shake my head
slowly, trying not to spin the room worse. “He’s just doing his due diligence.
He has to get angry or he isn't parenting.”

The doors open again but this time I’m
excited to see the person coming in. “Nadia, thank God. You have to revive us.”
I offer her one of my arms for the IV.

“Uh, you know how I feel about needles.”
Nat looks like she might forgo the rehydration, anti-nausea, and Advil cocktail
Nadia is famous for.

“It’s that or suffer.”

“Fine.” She lies back and holds her arm
out after a moment. Her dislike of needles is nothing compared to the misery
we’re both suffering.

The cold IV fluids feel remarkable within
minutes. It’s a magical serum.

“Who’s the young man your dad was talking
about?” Nat asks after a while. “I don’t remember anyone. Was it William?
Jesus, did he get us home?”

“I don't know—oh wait.” Memories
slip into my hazy brain and a guy is there. “Someone walked us home. You threw
up in a doorway and then all over him.”

“Oh my God,” Nat groans. “Was it
William?”

“No, someone else. It was bad. He got us
to the house. Were you there?” I ask Nadia because I can’t recall it clearly.

“I was. I thought someone was breaking in
so I came down to the door to find you—in a compromising situation. Your
father came down after me. He was less than pleased.” She’s clearly
uncomfortable talking about it.

“What happened?”

“It was terribly embarrassing, Miss
Sami.” Her eyes widen with worry.

“Nadia, this isn't the moment for you to
be a pillar of discretion. I need details, specifics. What happened? Don't
spare my feelings. Just say the facts as they happened. Think police report.”

Taking a deep breath, she pauses and then
rehashes it for us, “You came in with the tall young man. He looked familiar. I
believe he’s been here before, but not with you. I think your dad and his are
friends. Anyway, he was very large and strong. He carried you both home. When
he laid Miss Natalie on the lounge chair in the foyer”—her cheeks
redden—“you attacked him, kissing him. He tried to escape, but you told
him you wanted to be—” She bites her lip.

“Spill it!” My head starts to hurt again.

“You wanted to be screwed by him since
you met him in London because he was your blue-collar bitch, and you wanted his
filthy rough hands on your pristine body.”

“No!” I groan, shaking my head. “No! Oh
shit! Oh my God.” I close my eyes and let that digest before I wave my hand at
her. “Okay. Fuck. What did he say to that? Did my dad see?”

“No. Your father wasn’t downstairs yet.
You stopped attacking the young man when Miss Natalie threw up in the planter.”
Nadia gives Nat a look before turning back to me. “Then he tried to leave. He
said thank you for curing him of his feelings for you.”

“His feelings? Oh my God!” I groan and
recall small bits. “How the hell did any of this happen? What the
shit were
we drinking?”

“Oh, Sami, damn. He carried us all that
way and then you gave him your weird peasant speech about the pristine body. You
sounded like a Nazi freak.” Nat speaks like she’s clenching her teeth. I’m
clenching mine.

“What happened next, Nadia?”

“You started laughing and told him what a
disappointment he’d turned out to be. That he wasn’t magical at all. You gave
him your number and told him maybe it would be easier for him to find you this
time.”

“Oh my God.” It just keeps getting worse.

“And then he called the number you gave
him right in front of you, proving it wasn’t your number. It was for Nordstrom.
He was angry and told you he was disappointed in seeing you again and for
thinking you were something you weren't.” Her eyes softened. “I’m so sorry,
Miss Samantha. You were so drunk, you couldn't have meant—”

“Oh my God! At what point did my dad come
in?”

“From about the phone call. I think the
Nordstrom after-hours message on speaker phone woke your dad up.”

“What the hell?” Nat falls back on the
bed. “I’m never going to be allowed to visit again.”

I want to tell her to shut up and stop
being a baby about her mom, but I can’t. It might actually be my father who
never lets us hang out again, and not because of Natalie, but because I’m
corrupting her.

“At least it wasn’t on
TMZ
or any of the news sites. Somehow
they didn’t see you last night.” Nadia tries to make it better but this is a
train wreck. “I searched the Internet for a new post about you but there was
nothing.”

“Close the blinds and let us sleep. Call
the Banks and tell them we’ve got food poisoning. Nat will be coming home
tomorrow,” I bark as I pull my sleeping mask back down and lie back on my
pillow, ready to pass out and never think of this again.

“That was mean. You shouldn’t talk to her
like that.”

“I know,” I groan. I feel bad and will
make it up to her. Nadia is the best.

“Honestly, I have to go home.”

I lift one side of the mask and glare.
“You stink of vodka.”

“Fine, one more night. But we’re doing
nothing but pizza and movies tonight,” she snits.

“Don't mention food.” I fight a gag.

I want to sleep but instead end up
thinking, remembering things like me laughing when the sound of the Nordstrom
after-hours machine filled the foyer from his cell phone.

Matt.

His name was Matt.

And he asked me to go for a walk, just
like I wanted him to.

My heart burns and not from the bile
sitting in my throat.