Reckless (6 page)

“Sam’s right,” Romeo said in a normal tone of voice, perhaps for the first time that night. “Kamiko really is hyper-talented.”

“Aww, thank you, Romeo,” Kamiko said.

“Perhaps you should stop by the gallery, Kamiko,” Brandon suggested. “Bring your portfolio. I’d love to see your work.”

“Really?” Kamiko beamed. “But all I have is watercolors.”

“We have an annual contemporary artists’ show that features all types of artistic media.”

Kamiko glowed hopefully. “Really?”
 

“Certainly. Call and make an appointment, anytime.”

“Wow! I’ll do that!” Kamiko smiled.

I was excited for her. Her art was amazing, and I still thought it would be a shame if she never did anything with it. I suspected that she didn’t love the idea of becoming a doctor with the same passion as her parents.

I was in a similar predicament with mine. They wanted me to be Sam Smith, CPA. But the last thing I’d dreamed of as a girl was becoming an accountant. At least Kamiko would help people and save lives. I would just end up pushing numbers around.
 

“Why don’t you submit a piece to the show, Samantha?” Christos encouraged.

“What?” I blushed. “I couldn’t! I don’t have any paintings!”

“Any type of media is acceptable,” Brandon said. “Whenever you’re ready, bring something down to the gallery for me to look at. The show is still a few months out.”

I looked at Christos, uncertain. I felt like I was getting in over my head.

“Don’t worry, Samantha. You can totally whip something up in time.” Christos flashed a first-place smile at me like we were both total winners.

He was so confident in me, it was almost impossible for me to doubt myself. My love for him grew every single day. Sometimes, it seemed to get bigger by the hour.

“Okay. I’ll do it!” I smiled.

“That’s my girl,” he said while rubbing my shoulder. “I totally know you’ll nail it.”

Maybe my New Year’s resolution needed to be finally going down to the Registrar’s Office in a couple of days to change my major to Art, no matter what my parents said, World War Smith be damned.

Everyone finished eating their dinners over chatty conversation. The food really was amazing.

“Anyone want to look around the rest of the boat?” I suggested.

“Totally,” Madison agreed.

“I can’t wait to snoop through Tiffany’s medicine cabinets,” Romeo said impishly. “She’s probably got lots of drugs.”

“I’ve got to hit the head,” Jake said, standing up.

“Make sure you don’t break it,” Madison quipped. “Tiffany’s toilet probably costs more than you’ve earned all year.”

Jake smiled at her. “If I win Mavericks this March, then I’ll have plenty of extra cash.”

“Dude,” Christos gawked, “did you finally get invited to surf Mavericks? Why didn’t you tell me?!” He flung his arms around Jake, clapping him on the back.

“Cool your jets, bro,” Jake laughed. “I’m number seven on the alternates list. Wanna go break some kneecaps, make sure I get on the invite list?” he joked. “We only gotta put seven guys out of commission, and I’m totally in.”

“Give me the list of names,” Christos smiled, “and I’ll make it happen.”

Everyone laughed while gravitating toward the staircase leading down to the main deck, except Brandon.

“Christos?” Brandon asked. “Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” he said to Brandon. To me he said, “I’ll catch up with you in a second.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s go, you guys.”

I followed Madison, Jake, Romeo, and Kamiko down the ladder to the main deck, leaving Christos alone with Brandon.

CHRISTOS

Samantha waved at me as she and everyone else left the upper deck.
 

It was just me and Brandon.
 

We walked casually to the railing on the back of the upper deck and looked out at the open water.

As long as I’d known the guy, he was never what I’d call a true friend. My family knew his family and we did business together. I didn’t
dis
like the guy. But did I genuinely like him? It changed by the minute, depending on his agenda. He could be a decent ally one second, or that thorny thistle in your sock when you’re trying to run a marathon the next.

“Christos,” Brandon smiled warmly, holding up his wine glass, “I have to congratulate you, the sales at your first solo show were nothing short of astounding.” He clinked wine glasses with me.

“Thanks, man,” I said, sipping my wine, wondering where he was going with this. Brandon always had an angle.

“Now I’m getting calls from new buyers almost daily. Celebrity clients, famous collectors, many of them international. You’re hot right now, Christos. The influential buyers who dictate the art market want your paintings, and they want them now. How soon do you think you can have a new solo show ready? I’m confident we can double your prices from the last show, and sell everything.” Brandon’s eyes flickered dollar signs.

There was the angle. Me busting my ass to churn out new work. I had no doubt Brandon was in love with the idea.

I smeared my hand across my stubbled cheeks and sighed heavily.
 

Reality check.

This was exactly the same shit that had turned my dad from an artist into an alcoholic. He got caught up in catering to a bunch of rich shitheads who didn’t give a fuck about him. They just wanted to say they had an original Nikolos Manos hanging in their mansions. Almost like they wanted a piece of him, like his hand or his foot, spiked to the wall over their fireplaces like a human sacrifice.
 

Look, everybody,
they’d all wanted to be able to say to their snooty friends,
here hangs the body of Nikolos Manos, and I own it.
 

Shit. I could cut my own head off, have it mounted on a wood plaque, and have Brandon sell it for a hundred million bucks. I’d be the most famous artist in history for a stunt like that. All Van Gogh had to do was lose an ear. Imagine what my whole head would bring.

I sighed heavily.

“Let me know what you need, Christos,” Brandon said warmly, like he would do anything for me, like it wasn’t about the money, like all he cared about was little old me.

“Supplies?” he continued, “I’ll make sure you have whatever you need delivered directly to Spiridon’s house. Art models? I can call some modeling agencies up in L.A. and get you some fresh faces. Fresh faces always sell paintings.”

What I needed was a break from his sales pitch. It was making my head spin.

“But there’s one face I think you need to paint more than any other,” he said deviously.

I knew where this was going. “Yeah, who’s that?” I smirked.

“Samantha.”

I arched an eyebrow. I hated it when he called her Samantha. He knew I was the only one who called her that.
 

“I’ve said it before,” he continued, “you need your Mona Lisa, your Girl with a Pearl Earring. Samantha is that girl.”

Why did I get a bad feeling all of a sudden?

“I don’t think she’s going to want to sit for a painting,” I said.

Brandon scrutinized me shrewdly. I saw the dollar signs cash-registering behind his eyes.

“No matter,” he said calmly. “I’ll call L.A. We’ll find faces for you to paint. The main thing is that we keep your momentum going.”

I chuckled. “Gotta keep the animals fed.” Before they chewed my fingers off.
 

Why did I feel like the golden handcuffs of my art career had become a golden noose around my neck? Oh yeah, because my dad was a famous artist, and it tore my family apart and nearly killed him with drink.

Question was, would I be next?

Amend that. At this rate, with Brandon breathing down my back, the only question was:

When?

Man, I thought I’d had problems when my ass had been hauled to jail three months ago.

Turned out, the shit was just getting started.

I threw back my wine glass and emptied it in one swallow.

I needed another fucking drink.

Chapter 4

SAMANTHA

For the next few hours, everyone had a good time on the boat. The buffet on the dining room table was replaced with an elaborate collection of scrumptious desserts. Me, Madison, and Kamiko had eyes bigger than our stomachs and wanted to munch on each one. Fortunately, Christos and Jake were happy to gulp down what we didn’t finish. Romeo avoided the desserts despite his desire, citing the maintenance of his girlish figure.

We circulated amongst the people on board, and it turned out that not all of Tiffany’s friends were snooty bitches like she was. I had way more fun than I’d expected.

When the hour approached midnight, everyone gathered in the living room on the main deck.

Gold and silver balloons now decorated the room. Foil-covered letters reading “HAPPY NEW YEAR” hung from the ceiling in several places. People passed around bags of noisemakers containing classic paper blowout whistles, glitter-covered party horns, plastic knockers, and those plastic champagne-bottle confetti poppers.

I snagged one of the confetti poppers. They were always my favorite. Romeo grabbed two golden party horns and put them up to his nostrils.

“You don’t sneeze in them!” I joked.

He winked at me. “What do you mean, I thought that’s how you worked them!” He gave them a quick snoot-blast and they wheezed weakly. “That was lame. I think I need to blow harder.” He sucked in a big breath, ready to blow.

“No don’t!” Kamiko pleaded.

“Kidding,” Romeo grinned.

Madison and Jake had an arm around each other and were busy dueling with plastic clackers, laughing hysterically. They were so into each other.

Christos slid his arms around me. “Did you grab me a noisemaker? I totally want one of those air-horn cans.”

“You’re such a guy,” I smiled. “You always have to have the biggest, loudest thing in the room, don’t you?”

“That’s why I picked you,” he joked.

“Are you saying I’m big and loud?” I smiled.

“Loud maybe, but the only thing big about you is your heart,
agápi mou
.”

I gazed into his eyes. So blue, so precious. His exquisite smile widened over his even teeth. My body flushed with heat when he bit his full lower lip. I totally wanted to nibble on that lip myself. He leaned down for a quick kiss.

The two guys dressed in black and white circulated the main deck with trays loaded with champagne flutes.

Tiffany clinked a glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention. She was so party appropriate.
 

“Grab some champagne, everybody!” Tiffany cheered, “it’s almost midnight!” I’m pretty sure she’d been captain of the cheerleading squad in high school, based on her tone of voice and delivery. She probably carried pompons in her pockets at all times, in case of a cheer emergency.

Christos had his arm around my waist as the waiters came by and both of us grabbed a glass.

“Do we wait until midnight to drink it?” I asked him.

“Do whatever you want,
agápi mou
. There’s no right way to celebrate.”

I glanced around the room and saw some people sipping their champagne while others waited patiently. I decided to wait, like Christos was. Somehow, it seemed more special if we drank together at the stroke of midnight.

“Have you figured out what your New Year’s resolution is going to be, Sam?” Romeo asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I know what mine is,” Christos purred.

“Do tell!” Romeo said. “I’m all ears!”

Christos nodded down at me. “She’s right here.”

I frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“I totally do,” Romeo said confidently. “He’s going to do
you
for the New Year’s, riiiiight, Christos?”
 

“Romeo!” I blurted.
 

When Christos chuckled, I swatted his arm. “Stop!”

Christos only laughed. “He said it!”

Christos and I still hadn’t had sex yet, but geez, did Romeo have to make a national headline out of it? SAMANTHA SMITH, LAST COLLEGE VIRGIN IN AMERICA. I pictured those grainy grocery store gossip magazine photos of me and Christos running shamefully from the paparazzi cameras.

“Don’t be bashful, Sam,” Madison said. “It’s no big deal.”

I rolled my eyes. “Easy for you to say, Mads. You and Jake probably—” I stopped myself short.

“What?” Madison giggled.

“You know,” I wiggled my head and arched my eyebrows. “Do…it,” I said bashfully.

Why did I feel so shy about sex all of a sudden? Maybe because I sensed that in the not too distant future, I would be having it for the first time myself, with the man I loved. I shivered pleasurably at the thought.
 

“Isn’t she cuuute?” Romeo said in a gooshy baby-talk voice. “Widdle Samanfa is going to turn in her V-card for the New Year!”

A group snicker from Madison, Jake, Romeo, and Kamiko ensued at my expense.

Why did the phrase “turning in your V-card” always make me picture an NFL referee in striped black and white, blowing a whistle?
TWEEEEET!!!
Both the ref’s arms go up over his head.
“The kick is good! Samantha Smith is no longer a virgin!”
And why was it a kick? Like I laid on the football field, on my back, waiting for the kicker to wind up before ramming his cleated foot home between my legs?

I shuddered to myself.

Wasn’t there a better term for it? Like, “Hosting a V-Pageant Celebration?” I mean, “Turning in your V-card” was about as romantic as “Winning the Megafucks V-stakes Sweepstakes Giveaway.”

I shook my head, trying to clear that nasty thought. The next thing I knew, I was imagining Christos and I naked in bed together in a more traditionally romantic fashion. My heart accelerated and my entire body flushed with electric heat. I wanted to fan myself, but opted instead for blinking away my steamy fantasy. No need to call more attention to myself.

So why was the gang grinning and staring at me? Were they reading my mind, or what?

Normally, I indulged in my bedroom fantasies about Christos privately. Not with my best friends scrutinizing me with expectant smiles. They may as well have been surrounding my bed while Christos and I finally did the deed.