and didn’t want, to do. No woman, no matter the circumstances, wanted a picture of her holding a huge neon-pink dildo in one hand to her buttocks, and an equally large red dildo to her lips for a sexy little kiss, sent to her mother or plastered on her door! She might be able to live down the social media, as she wasn’t on it much and wouldn’t really come across any close friends who would see it, but sending it to her mother and pinning it to her door wouldn’t be something she could avoid. She swallowed her “Screw you and the horse you road in on” comment and smiled, hopefully evilly, at her so loved friend.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” Natalie returned mutinously, waking up her phone and flicking over screens rapidly. After a few moments, she turned it around so that Samantha could see the accursed picture ready for Natalie to click “post.”
“Photo Center is my next stop.”
“You have to make it to the door first.”
“Hey, I took those Krav Maga classes with you, remember? Last time I checked, I could whip you. Are you in, or are you out?”
“This is not fair, Nat, and you know it.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
Chapter Two
Sam still wasn’t sure why God hated her, but she was determined she would spend the rest of her life trying to make up for whatever it was. Her face still was warm from the sting of tweezers, eyelash curlers, some wax for good measure, dozens of makeup products, and a good-luck pat on the cheek just to give her a glow. If that was what Natalie had to go through on a daily basis just to get dolled up, then Sam was more than happy to say that she was not a makeup girl. Her feet were starting to ache in the four-inch heels Natalie had gotten her into, and she had to force herself not to pull at the hem of the short red dress she’d been stuffed into.
Of course, in her own mind, she could admit that she looked good. Natalie had done an excellent job, and somehow Sam had been transformed into a passable version of her friend. The candlelight in the exclusive restaurant, and her hair curled to flare around her, helped. Nothing, though, helped the nerves. She could feel her foot twitching under the table as she waited, a single white rose laid across her plate to let her date know who she was when he arrived.
According to Natalie, the date had given strict instructions for her to arrive fifteen minutes before him, to sit at the seat reserved for them, and then wait for him to arrive. Pompous ass. Sam never liked men like Mr. Anderson—men who knew they had money, loved to spend it, and didn’t quite care how they did it. It was enough that anyone would want to be near them, be them, and would bow to their every whim. Thomas Lauderman had been just like that. Sam trembled delicately as a cold chill rolled over her. She’d been so young, so naive, so in love, or so she thought.
Thomas, four years her senior, had swept her off her feet her freshman year in college. Studying East Asian studies at the time, the world had been new, full of possibilities, and, when she’d met Thomas, love. He’d been charming, someone who was struggling, like her, to make it through school and achieve his dream. They’d shared meals together on a college student’s diet of noodles and mac ’n’ cheese while helping each other study. He’d been pursuing mechanical engineering and had a whipcord-sharp mind that Sam had been fascinated with. She’d thought she had met her soul mate.
So, when she’d been told that her scholarship was running out and she’d have to find another way to afford school, and Thomas had produced a credit card without a spending limit, she’d thought it was a fairy tale. He wove her a story of love forever, marriage in the future, and a poor rich boy who didn’t want to be loved for his money but who he was. He’d told her she’d answered his prayers. She’d wanted him and not his money. She’d been so happy then.
That was until Cheryl
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” Natalie returned mutinously, waking up her phone and flicking over screens rapidly. After a few moments, she turned it around so that Samantha could see the accursed picture ready for Natalie to click “post.”
“Photo Center is my next stop.”
“You have to make it to the door first.”
“Hey, I took those Krav Maga classes with you, remember? Last time I checked, I could whip you. Are you in, or are you out?”
“This is not fair, Nat, and you know it.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
Chapter Two
Sam still wasn’t sure why God hated her, but she was determined she would spend the rest of her life trying to make up for whatever it was. Her face still was warm from the sting of tweezers, eyelash curlers, some wax for good measure, dozens of makeup products, and a good-luck pat on the cheek just to give her a glow. If that was what Natalie had to go through on a daily basis just to get dolled up, then Sam was more than happy to say that she was not a makeup girl. Her feet were starting to ache in the four-inch heels Natalie had gotten her into, and she had to force herself not to pull at the hem of the short red dress she’d been stuffed into.
Of course, in her own mind, she could admit that she looked good. Natalie had done an excellent job, and somehow Sam had been transformed into a passable version of her friend. The candlelight in the exclusive restaurant, and her hair curled to flare around her, helped. Nothing, though, helped the nerves. She could feel her foot twitching under the table as she waited, a single white rose laid across her plate to let her date know who she was when he arrived.
According to Natalie, the date had given strict instructions for her to arrive fifteen minutes before him, to sit at the seat reserved for them, and then wait for him to arrive. Pompous ass. Sam never liked men like Mr. Anderson—men who knew they had money, loved to spend it, and didn’t quite care how they did it. It was enough that anyone would want to be near them, be them, and would bow to their every whim. Thomas Lauderman had been just like that. Sam trembled delicately as a cold chill rolled over her. She’d been so young, so naive, so in love, or so she thought.
Thomas, four years her senior, had swept her off her feet her freshman year in college. Studying East Asian studies at the time, the world had been new, full of possibilities, and, when she’d met Thomas, love. He’d been charming, someone who was struggling, like her, to make it through school and achieve his dream. They’d shared meals together on a college student’s diet of noodles and mac ’n’ cheese while helping each other study. He’d been pursuing mechanical engineering and had a whipcord-sharp mind that Sam had been fascinated with. She’d thought she had met her soul mate.
So, when she’d been told that her scholarship was running out and she’d have to find another way to afford school, and Thomas had produced a credit card without a spending limit, she’d thought it was a fairy tale. He wove her a story of love forever, marriage in the future, and a poor rich boy who didn’t want to be loved for his money but who he was. He’d told her she’d answered his prayers. She’d wanted him and not his money. She’d been so happy then.
That was until Cheryl
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