ContentsTitlePageCopyrightepubDedicationChapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8

Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter22

Chapter23Chapter24Chapter25Chapter26Chapter27Chapter28Chapter29EpilogueVICTORYComingSoon!!AcknowledgementsEpub

PainlessTheStoryofSamanthaSmith

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DevonHartford

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ThisbookisdedicatedtoJennHedge,forkickingassandremindingmehowimportantstoriescanbe.

And,likethelasttime,IalsohavetodedicatethisbooktoALLofmyenthusiasticreaders.EverysinglecommentyougalsmadeaboutRecklessfactoredintomythoughtswhileIwrotePainlessinonewayoranother.Yougalshelpedmakethisabetterbook!

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Chapter1

SAMANTHA

Dread.Thegloomofthedeserted

Manos Mansion pressed inaroundme, suffocatingme. Isat on Christos’ bed in hisemptybedroom,clutchinghissketchbooktomychestinmy

quiveringhands.Hishauntedwordsechoedinmymind.

“AloneImustbravethisdayAloneIhavesealedmyfateAloneIwilltouchtheskyAloneImustdie”No!Imusthavereadthem

wrong! Christos wouldnever…

Icouldn’teventhinkit.

My heart rabbited in mychest and threatened to seizeas I re-read his lonely poemunder the dim light of hisbedsidelamp.Christoswasindire torment. His heart wasbreaking.Icouldfeelhispainasifitweremyown.Hewasin trouble, and he neededhelp.

Panic and a sense ofhelplessness spun throughme. How could I helpChristos if I didn’t know

where he was? He hadn’tanswered any of my calls ortexts for over an hour. Idesperately wanted to dosomething otherwise I wasgoing to splinter into amillionpieces.

Butwhat?Theheavysilencepressing

in aroundmewas broken bythe clatter of the front dooropeningdownstairs.

“Christos!” I yelped as Ishot up from the bed. I

sprinted out of his bedroomand down the darkenedhallway. Relief washed overmeasIpoundeddownstairs.Iwas going to throwmy armsaroundmymanandholdontohim and tell him everythingwasgoingtobeokay.Iknewmy lovewould heal the painand self hatred that hadbeeneatinghimupfromtheinsideoutforwaytoolong.

Atthebottomofthestairs,I turnedand skidded into the

entryhall.“Christos!”“Samoula?” Spiridon

smiled, his keys jingling inhis hands. “What are youdoinghere?”

“Where’s Christos?” Iblurtedanxiously.

“Isn’thewithyou?”“No,” I muttered,

disappointmentdarkeningmyvoice.

“He’s not in the studioworking?”Spiridonasked.

“No, I checked. He’s not

inthehouseanywhere.”Foramoment I felt nervous,worried I would have toexplaintoSpiridonwhyIwaswandering through his houseuninvited.Which was weird,becauseSpiridonhadalreadyinvited me to move in withhim andChristos.He’d evengiven me a house key. SowhydidIfeellikeasnoopingcriminal? Oh yeah. Myparents. The Source of AllthatisEvil.

Them.Telling my parents over

the phone that Iwasmovingin with Christos had freakedthem out. Which led to mehanging up on them andChristosfreakingoutbecausemyparentswerefreakedout.

Andtheworstnewsofall:Christos’pendingValentine’sDay trial, only two daysaway.

Why hadn’t Christos toldme until now?Was the trust

we’d built together a lie?What else was he hiding? Ashudder shook me to mybones. My heart acceleratedintooverdriveasthestressfulevents of the last few hoursreignitedinmymind.Mylifewasunravelingbythesecond.Ifeltlightheadedasmychesttightened, making it nearlyimpossible to breathe.Was Ihaving a heart attack? Wasthat possible for a nineteenyear old? At thatmoment, it

definitely felt like it. EverycellinmybodyscreamedthatChristos was in immediatedanger,whereverhewas.Myeyes flashed panic. I neededto protect him any way Icould. “I need to go findChristos!”

“Calm down, koritsákimou,” Spiridon reassured.“Come into the kitchen,Samoula. Maybe you shouldsit down. You don’t lookwell.”

My hands shookuncontrollably as he led meinto the kitchen, pulled achair out from the table forme, and opened therefrigerator. He grabbed apitcherofwaterandpouredaglassformeasIdroppedintothechair.

“Tell me everything,” hesaidashesettheglassonthetable and sat down. He tookmy hands in his and rubbedthe backs of them

affectionately. “Whatever itis,”he smiled, “everything isgoingtobefine.”

My throat closed to apinholeasIrealizedthebittertruth. Even if I couldsomehow find Christos andrescue him from whateverfate awaited him tonight, hefaced the likelypossibilityofgoing to jail for who knewhow long after his upcomingtrial.

I rambled, “Christos,

he’s…I don’t know…I thinkhe’s…” I was torn betweenmyworryforChristosandthewarm, loving way Spiridonwas comforting me. Hiscompassionategazemademeoddly nervous. Iwasn’t usedto any kind of tendernessfromotherpeople,orthewayit lowered the walls aroundmyemotions.

Other than the intimacyI’dsharedwithChristosoverthelastfivemonths,I’dnever

openeduplikethisinfrontofanyone. Especially not anadult. And never in front ofmyparents.

I had never let my guarddownaroundthem.

The night DamianWolframhadrunoverTaylorLamberth,I’dfreakedoutbigtime. There was no way Iwould have shared myfeelings about it with myparents. I’d made sure toavoid them until I’d had a

chance to collect myself andstuffmy feelings back insidethe box I’d built around myheartwhenIwaslittle.

I don’t know when I’dstarted building that box. Itwas never a conscious thing.Itwas a defensemechanism.Probably one that everyonehad. The idea of sharing mynaked feelings with myparents had always felt likean invasion of my privacy.They didn’t understand

feelings. When I was littleand showed my feelings tomy mom, she frowned andscowledatmeandtoldmetogetaholdofmyselflikeabiggirl, or else. When my dadsaw my feelings, he pulledout a calculator and tried tosolve them like a mathproblem. If that didn’t work,hetriedtosterilizethemwithlogic. That was why I nevershared anything with myparents. Not anything that

mattered.But looking into

Spiridon’s deeplycompassionate eyes, I feltsafe. He wasn’t freaked out.He was calm, confident, andloving. I wish he could givemy parents lessons. In thatmoment,IfeltlikeIcouldtellhimeverything,andhewouldunderstand. He wouldn’tlecture or reprimand, and hewouldn’t measure, calculateor solve. He would simply

listen. And in that listening,healing occurred. Christoshad taught me that. Had helearned it from Spiridon? Itseemedlikely,lookingathimnow.

Sitting in the Manos’kitchen, I felt comforted,swaddled in the warmembrace of the tangible loveemanating from Spiridon, alove that circulatedthroughout his house, as if ithad gently flowed out of his

beingfordecadesandsoakedinto the wood. This home,this kitchen, was a sacredspace.

My tears welled. I wasabout to spill everything, tellSpiridon about the nastythings my parents had said,andthethreatstheyhadmadeon the phone. I knew in myheart that Spiridon wouldn’tjudge. He would listen withunderstanding and love. Ilonged for that sort of

comfort, the kind of comfortChristoshadshownmemanytimesalready.

Butmore than anything, IwanteditfromChristos.Christos…Coiled resolve unwound

insideme.My feelingsaboutmy parents could wait.Christoswasinmortaldangerright now. I needed to dosomethingtosavehim.CouldItellSpiridonthatdeepinmybones I felt certain his

grandson’s life dangled onthe precipice of disaster? Iwould sound like a lunatic.Tomyparents,anyway.

“What is it, Samoula?”Spiridon asked softly. “Youcantellmeanything.”

Ibelievedhimand trustedhim completely. I lifted myheavyhead andmet his eyeswith mine. “Christos is interribletrouble.”Itfrightenedmetosayit,asifvoicingmyfears might magically make

thingsworse.“I know, koritsáki mou. I

know,”hesaidheavilyashisheadbowedsolemnlyandhiseyesdarkened.

His words carried suchsadness, such poignancy, Ifelt my heart beginning toshrivel and sink intoblackness…Christos…Ohno…

===CHRISTOS

In darkness, I stoodbalanced on one bare foot,my toes curled around thefrigid steel of the balconyrailing of Nyyhmy Hall, tenstoriesabovecement.

Coldwinterwindbillowedaroundme.Farbelow,alonecar slid silently down NorthTorrey Pines Road. I was inanother world, separate fromthe invisible people in thattiny car. I wondered if they

werehappyorsad.Nowaytoknow.

But I knew I was on theverge of losing my shit. Mytrialwasintwodays.Mypre-trial was in less than twelvehours, after whichmy futurewouldbe in thehandsof thecourtandthetwelvestrangerswho would be my jury.Would they convict me andsendmetoprison,orwouldIbe found innocent and gofree?

I hated not knowing. Ihated not having any controlovertheoutcome.

Diditevenmatter?That was a million years

fromnow.Right now, in this eternal

moment of insane danger, Ihadtotalcontrol.Liveordie.Fight or fly. It was all up tome.IfIwanted,Icouldrelaxthe tension in my knee. Justrelax. Let it go. Everythingwould be over within a few

seconds, all my stress gone.All my worries wouldbecomeirrelevant.

Fall into the darkness andsoarintoeternity.Samantha.Fistsknottedmygutswith

agony.Myfacesqueezedandtwisted with frustration andrageandguilt.

WhathadIdonetoher?I’dmadeamessof things

bigtime.Samanthanowknewwhat

a fuck up I was beneath myflashy exterior. While I’dslapped her with the truth,punched her with all thecriminal shit I’d done in mypast, the conviction I’d seenin her eyes was worse thanwhatanyjurycouldhandmeatmytrial.SowhatiftwelvestrangersdecidedIwasafuckup and sent me to jail tosweatoutmyguilt?Myheartwas already imprisoned inselfhatred.ForwhatI’ddone

toSamantha.ForlyingtoherbynottellingheraboutwhoIreally was, for hiding myterrible past while sheinnocently fell in love withme.

How could I have donethattoher?HowcouldIhavejeopardized the trust shewillingly gave me by nottellingherupfrontthatIwasnogood?

The coldwind chilledmyskin,butmyheartwascolder,

shiveringinmychest.I glanced down at the

tempting cement a hundredfeetbelow.

Itwouldbe soeasy to flyand let all my troubles fallaway…

===SAMANTHA

IclampedmyhandaroundSpiridon’swrist andpleaded,“Wehavetodosomething!”

Spiridon raised his brows

thoughtfully. “What do youmean?”

“Christos ran out of myapartmentearlierandspedoffonhismotorcycle. I’mafraidhe’s going to…” I couldn’tsayit.

Worry and recognitionweighed on Spiridon’s face.“Haveyoutriedtocallhim?”

“Fifty times!” My voicecrackledwithfear.“Hewon’tanswer. That’s why I’m soworried. I hopedmaybehe’d

comehere.”Spiridon folded his arms

acrosshis chest andhuffed anervoussigh. I thinkmy fearwasseepingintohim.

“Didhe tellyouwherehewasgoing?”Spiridonasked.

“No! I have no idea! Hecouldbeanywhere.”

“Perhapsthebestthingwecan do is wait here. He’sboundtocomebacksoonerorlater.”

“But what if…” I was

readytorocketoutofmyseatthrough the ceiling withanxiety. I couldn’t sit hereand wait. I needed to takeaction.“Wait,maybeChristosisoutwithJake!”

“So call Jake,” Spiridonsaidcalmly.

I didn’t have Jake’snumber,soIdialedMadison.

She answered after tworings. She sounded sleepy.“Whatup,girlfriend?”

“Mads!” My voice was

way more panicked than Iwanted, considering I waswaking her up in the middleof the night. “Is Jake withyou?”

“LasttimeIchecked,”shesighed. “Unless the hot guysleeping next to me issomeone else. Hey buddy,”she giggled to whoever wasintheroomwithher,“isyournameJake?”

I heard Jake’s faint,grumbling voice over the

phone, “Don’t tellmeyou’reboredwithmealready,babe.”

“Men have such fragileegos,”Madisonwhispered tome. I heard her turn awayfromherphoneagainandsayto Jake, “Go to sleep, KingDong. Your man cannon isthe only one that bombardsmy baby box every night.Quick!Everyone to thedongshelters!”

Crap. There went mytheory about Christos and

Jake being out at a bar.“Mads, ask Jake if he knowswhereChristosis.”

“Why would he knowwhereChristos is?He’sbeenwithmeallevening.”

“Can you please just askhim?”Ipleaded.

“Jake,” Madison said,“Sam wants to know if youknowwhereChristosis.”

“I haven’t talked to himsince yesterday,” Jakemumbled.

Great.Madisonrelayedthenews,

“Jakesaidhehasn’tseen—”“Iheard,”Iinterrupted.“Is something wrong?”

Madison asked, obviousconcerninhervoice.

I didn’t have time toexplain everything to her. Ineeded to go look forChristos. “It’s, ah, it’snothing.”Itriedtosoundlikeit was no big deal so shewouldn’t start worrying. “I

just need to talk to Christos.If for some reason he callsJake, call me right away,okay?”

“Are you sure nothing’swrong,Sam?”

“Yeah.Everything is fine.Gobacktosleep.”

I heard the rustling ofcovers.

“Mmmm,” Madisonmurmured, “I don’t thinkJake is going to letme. Callme tomorrow, Sam. But if

you really, really need me,callmerightaway.”Madisonmade a purring noise.“Scratchthat.Don’tcallforatleasttwentyminutes.”

I heard Jake scoff,“Twentyminutes?”

“Okay,” Madison said toJake, “make it forty. Butthat’s all you get, cowboy. Ihaveclassinthemorning.”

“Don’t worry about it,Mads,” I said. “We’ll talktomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye, Sam.” Shegiggledbeforethephonelinewentdeadasecondlater.

I envied her in thatmoment. She was snuggledup with her man, the two ofthem safe from all the harmin theworld. I set the phonedownonthekitchentableandlookedatSpiridon.

Helaidacomfortinghandonmineonceagain.“Iknowyou’re worried, koritsákimou. Why don’t you try

callingChristosagain?”“Okay.”He winked at me, “Isn’t

thereanoldsaying, thefifty-firsttimeisthecharm?”

===CHRISTOS

Ashadowblurredpast thecorner of my vision.Something huge and darkwhipped past my head fromthesideandwasgonebeforeIcouldregisterwhatitwas.I

followed the motion as thethingcurvedoutover the tenstorydropbelow.

A lone barn owl had beatwings past my face, only afew feet in front of me. I’dnever heard him coming. Hewasdeadsilent.Totallyinhiselement.

I watched in awe as hesoared out past the distantmoon, floating above thecanyons betweenme and theocean. He sailed through the

air languorously, searchingfor prey. Iwas transfixed bythe hunter in his naturalenvironment. What a simplelifeheled.

Without warning, theowl’s wings folded and itdove into the darkness. Ifollowed it’s plummetingpath,watching intently as itswings exploded mere feetabove the ground, the owllanding in a pool of amberbeneath a streetlight. A

second later, the owl flappedfuriouslyandroseintotheair,a mouse dangling from itstalons. Then the owldisappeared into the blacknightwithitsprey.

I was in awe of theswiftness with which all ofthat had transpired. One lifeended so another couldflourish.

IrealizedIhadachoicetomake.

Mylife…orSamantha’s.

Iwantedhertoflourish.Myfaceknottedinagony.

Mychest tightenedas jaggedknives of regret stabbed mefrom the insideout.How thefuck had I fucked things upso badly? I inhaled deeply,ready to shout my lungs outinanattempttoreleasesomeof the tension ripping myheartapart.

Then I realized shoutingwould call attention tomyself.

NyyhmyHall was shapedlike a blocky letter H whenyoulookedatitfromthetop.The balcony was on the topside of the fat horizontal barof the H. The thick verticalcolumnsoftheHheldallthedorm rooms, thewindows ofwhich faced the balconywhereIstood.BecauseitwasSan Diego, and it was nocooler than sixty degreesoutside, many of thosewindows were open. Since

this was a college dormbuilding, several of thosewindows had lights on, andsomehadtheircurtainsopen.IfIstartedshouting,Ihadnodoubt heads would startpopping out of thosewindows like gopherscheckingforeaglesoverhead.The last thing I wanted wasan audience or someonecalling campus security andtelling them there wasanother jumper on the tenth

floor. I was enjoying mypeaceandquiet.

I took a deep breath. Mystabbing regret eased afraction. I took anotherbreath.

That was when I realizedI’d been looking at mysituation all wrong. Eagles,owls,gophersandmice.

First, the owl and themouse. For all I knew, thatwas a mama owl with babyowls back in her nest that

hadn’t eaten in weeks. Noone wanted baby owls to gohungry.IknowIdidn’t.

Second, the eagle and thegophers.

WeallknowwhichanimalIwasinthatscenario.

No matter how muchconfusionandpainwrithedinmy guts, I would never be agopher. Iwas thepredator inmy life, not the prey. I wasnot going to live my lifecringing away from danger,

always wondering when thedeath strike might comerainingdownfromabove.

Iwasgoingtostepboldlyinto life and dance withdanger.

Iwasn’tgoingtogiveup.Liketheeagleandtheowl,

Iwasgoingtobaremyclawsand teeth and do what I didbest.

Fight.For myself. For

Samantha.

Formylife.Noonewasgoingtobring

me down and tear me apart.Noteven the judicial system.Inevertooktheeasywayout.That’s how I’d ended up inthis predicament in the firstplace. Because I liked livingdangerously.

Iwasupherebecause theday I’dmetSamantha, ithadtaken me less than half asecond to decide that HorstGrossman, the fat fuck who

was up in her face,waswayoutofline,andneededtolayoff her shit. The easy thingwould’ve been to ride awayandforgetallabouther.

But that wasn’t how Irolled. Not that day, nottonight,andnotatmytrial.IfI was going down, I wasgoingdownfighting.

I still hadn’t told myattorney, RussellMerriweather,whetherornotto accept the plea bargain

from the District Attorney.Theofferwasoneyearinjailinexchangeforaguiltyplea.Probably only nine monthswith time off for goodbehavior. That was the surething. If I went to trial, Irisked up to four years instate prison if the jury foundme guilty. Fuck it. I likedrisksandIlikedfighting.

Iwasgoingtorollthediceandgototrial.

I grinned and shook my

head. I don’t know why I’dbeen so stressed about allthis.Likemostwomen,LadyLuckhadthehotsformyshit.No reasonwhy shewouldn’tbackmeupatmytrial.

Still balanced on one footwith my knee in the air, Iloweredmyfootdownto therailingandstabilizedmyself.

As I was about to hopback onto the balcony, myphonerang,startlingme.

Thesoundcutthroughthe

nighttimesilence.I hissed and pitched

forward, I was so surprised.My arms whirledautomatically and my hipsthrustbackviolently,counter-balancing my weight. If Iovercompensated,Iwasoverthe edge of this railing andthreesecondslater,overwithpermanently. I strained toregainmybalance.Agonizingsecondslater,Irecoveredmycenter of gravity and hopped

ontothecoldcementbalcony.WasLadyLuckcalling to

tellmesomething?Before Your Love by

Kelly Clarkson continuedplaying through the tinyspeakersonmyphone.

NotLadyLuck.Samantha.Irolledmyheadbackand

chuckled.“Fuck,”Imumbledtomyself.She’dalmostkilledme.Tragicironywasafunnything, as long as it didn’t

happentoyou.I answered her call.

“Hey,”Imumbled.“Where are you?”

Samanthabegged.“Out getting some fresh

air.” I sat down on the coldcement balcony and slid mysocksandbootson.

“Are you all right?” sheasked,worried.

“I’m fine, agáp—” Istoppedmyselfshort.Callingherthatrightnowfeltlikean

empty promise I couldn’tkeepforlong.Shitwasgoingto get real when I went totrial. I didn’twant Samanthagettingherhopesupifthingswent bad. If Iwas acquitted,great. But if the jury foundmeguilty?Nobodywasgoingtothrowaparty.

“Please tellmewhereyouare, agápi mou,” Samanthasaid, her voice resonatingwith a penetrating feartemperedbyherbold,fearless

love.Her confidence peeled

back some of my recklessresistance. If I said nothingand kept her completely inthe dark, I’d feel like astubborndick.“I’matSDU,”I sighed. “Everything isokay.”

“I need to see you,Christos.”

“Nowisn’tagoodtime.”IshookmyheadathowlameIsounded.

“Whatdoyoumean?”shepleaded. “We were talkingabout some really importantstuffandyouranout.Why?”

Did I tell her I’d runbecause I felt like an idiot?That I was embarrassed bymypast?Shit, I couldbarelyadmit it to myself. Or did Italk about how my life stillbalanced on a knife edgethinner than the balconyrailing I’d just been standingon?

If I ended up in jail, I’dendupgoingback tomyoldways. I’dhaveno choicebutto harden up and fight myway through each and everyday Iwas stuck in lockup. Iknew from experience thatprison would get under myskin and dirtymy fingernailsnomatterhowhardI tried tohold onto the life I’d beenbuilding for the last twoyears. What kind ofinstitutionalizedprickwouldI

beafter fouryears inprison?Would Samantha want toknowmethen?WouldIwantto subject her to whateverdamage I was sure to sufferfromlivinglikeabarbarian?

WhowasIkidding?She needed better options

thanthat.Istifledaninsanelaughas

I considered howher parentsmight feel about the wholething. I was pretty sure Iwouldagreewiththem.

I shookmyhead. “Look,”I said gruffly, “I really don’twant to talk about this rightnow.Ineedtimetothink.”

“Come home, Christos.Nomatterhowbadyouthinkthings are right now, I loveyou. Your grandfather lovesyou.We’rehereforyou.”

Why did her words tearmygutsapart?

Fuck, I couldn’tdealwiththis.

“Samantha,Ineedtogo.”

“Christos! Please don’thang up! Tell me exactlywhere you are and I’ll comerightnow.”

Hervoicesoundedjumpy,likeshewasrunningwiththephoneinherhand.Iheardthebeep beep beep of herVW’swarning bell and a doorchunkingshut.

“Are you in your car?” Iasked.

“Yes. I’m driving out ofyour driveway right now.

Don’t move a muscle. I’mcomingforyou.”

Shewasn’tgoingtoletmeget away. It’s not like I wasgoingtorundowntomybikeand bolt before she got here.I’dalreadydonethatearlier.

I shook my head andgrinned. I hated to bepredictable.Besides,Ineededto talk toher sooneror later.Andwhat thehell elsewas Igoing to do tonight anyway?Getsomequalitysleepbefore

mypre-trialhearing?Yeah,right.“Fine,” I said. “I’ll meet

you at the Adams Collegeparking lot, where themotorcyclesare.”

“Okay, I’llbe there in tenminutes.”

“Don’t speed,” I saidironically, “I wouldn’t wantyougettinginanaccident.”Imeant it.Althoughmysafetywas low on my list ofpriorities,herswasstillatthe

topofmylist.“Whydon’twehangup soyoucan focusonyourdriving?”

“No!” she shrieked.“Don’t you hang up yourphoneuntilI’mstandingrightinfrontofyou!”

I had to admit, herinsistence was endearing.“Okay,I’llstayonthephone.But at least put yours onspeakerandputitinyourlap,or in a cup holder orwhatever.”

“Okay.Myphoneisinmylap.Keeptalking.”

“Ahh, do I recite poetrynow?”

“If you’ve got anythingmemorized.”

“Twas brillig, and theslithy toves did gyre andgimbleinthewabe…”

“What language is that?”Shegiggled.

“English?”“Are you sure?” She

soundedlikeshewassmiling.

“Yeah. It’s theJabberwocky by LewisCarroll. I had to memorizethatshitintheseventhgrade.Wannaheartherest?”

“Do you know thetranslatedversion?”

“No,”Ichuckled.“Butit’sabout some kid who slays acrazy dragon. It’s prettyridiculous.”

“What,slayingadragon?”sheasked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not ridiculous.Isn’t thatwhatyoudoall thetime?Slaydragons?”

Ishookmyhead.“NotthelasttimeIchecked.”

“What do you mean?Remember Big Foot? Thathairybikerguyat thatcoffeeshop in Pacific Beach?Xanadu? The guy who triedto kidnap me so he couldmate with me and makemissinglinkbabies?”

“Oh yeah. That guy was

like the cyclops from legendor some shit. If I remembercorrectly, he only had oneeye. Didn’t that guy have apirateeyepatch?”Ichuckled.

“No!Heonlyhadoneeye,inthecenterofhisforehead!”Samantha squealed withlaughter.“Canyouimagineacyclops with a pirate eyepatch? He’d be blind andrunningaroundincircles!”

“Ihearpiratecyclopsonlyever wear ear patches,” I

quipped.“Ear patches?” Samantha

laughed.“Christos?” a voice asked

frombehindme.Iturnedtofacewhoeverit

was. What a surprise. “Hey,Kamiko.Whatup?”

“What?”Samaskedonthephone.

Kamiko wore an SDUsweatshirt, sweatpants, andherhair inasexyknotat thebackofherhead.Abookbag

was slung over her shoulder.She looked at me curiously,“What are you doing uphere?”

“Enjoying the view,” Isaid casually, flashing adimpledgrinather.

“Are you talking toKamiko?”Samanthaasked.

“Yeah,” I said to thephone.

Kamikoasked,“I’msorry,areyouonthephone?Ididn’tmeantointerrupt.”

“No worries,” I said toKamiko.ToSamantha,Isaid,“Hey, can you hold on asecond?”

I suddenly rememberedSamantha telling me aboutwhat happened with her andKamiko when they went tovisit Brandon at CharboneauGallery to show himKamiko’s work. PoorKamiko. From the sound ofthestory,Brandonhadbeenamany-quilled prickupine. I

sensed an opportunity towork some of my magic.Helping other people alwaysputmeinagoodmood.

“How come you’re up solate?”IaskedKamiko.

“I was studying O Chemwith my friend. We justfinished.”

“Are you going back toyourroom?”

“Yeah,”shesaid.“You want me to walk

you?”

“Sure,”shesmiled.“Cool. Let me tell my

buddyI’llcallhimback.”ToSamantha I said, “Hey, I’mgonnawalkmy friend to herdorm room. Can I call youbacklater,bro?”

“Christos,” Samantha saidin my ear, “tell Kamiko I’msorry about what happenedwithBrandon.”

“Yeah, totally,” I said toSamantha,“assoonasIgetanew wet suit, we’ll totally

carve some waves. Later,bro.”

“Christos!” Samanthachirped in my ear. “Wait!Don’thangup!”

I hung up my phone andsmiled at Kamiko. Wewalked toward the elevatorsacross the hall from thebalcony.

When the elevator dooropened, I motioned with myarm,“Afteryou.”

“Thank you,” Kamiko

grinnedandsteppedinside.After the elevator ride, I

walked Kamiko along thedark pathway betweenNyyhmyandPaiuteHall.

“How’s the paintingcoming along?” I asked.“You still working onsubmissions for Brandon’sContemporary ArtistsShow?”

She stuck her tongue outand groaned. “Ugh. I don’tevenwant tohear that name.

Brandumbissomeh.”I arched an eyebrow.

“Brandumb?”“Yeah,” she shivered.

“Just saying it makes mewanttogag.”

Westoppedinfrontofthedouble doors to Paiute whileKamiko dug her keys out ofherbag.

I raised an eyebrow.“Whathappenedtoyoubeingthegunghopaintingninja?”

She brightened. “Oh, I’m

still totally the paintingninja.” She suddenly spunaround and snapped a backkickatme, stoppingher foottwoinchesfrommychest.

“Look out! Ninja alert,” Ichuckled. “Did you studymartialartsatsomepoint?”

“Yeah, I studied shotokanwhenIwasingradeschool.ItwastheonlywayIcouldstopmybrothers frombeatingmeup,” She grinned. “TheycalledmetheKamikoKid.”

“What, like the KarateKid? Your brothers calledyouthat?”

“Yup. But I didn’t studywith Mr. Miyagi. The guywho trained me wasMexican.” She lowered herleg and pivoted forward,punchingmeinthestomach.

I tightened my absautomatically. Her tiny handmetsolidmuscle.

“Ow!”Sheyelped.“Don’t be messing with

the man of steel,” I joked. Icouldtellshewasn’ttryingtohitmeveryhard,butshehadput some power behind it.“Nicerighthand.Muchbetterthan your Karate Kidreference,”Iquipped.

She wrinkled her nose.“DoIhavetocranekickyouinthechin,mister?BecauseIwill.”

I towered over her.“You’re going to need anairlift.”

“Fine! I’ll go for yourshins.”Shesnappedakickatmy shins but I hopped back,out of range. “Let that be alesson,”shewarned.

“Easy, Bruce Lee. Iapologize.”Ismiledather.

“Don’ttrytobecute,”shegrinned.

“Hey, I’m using the onlydefenseIhaveleftbeforeyoubeatmyass.”Iwinkedather.“But seriously, are you stillworkingonanypaintings?”

“Hells yeah! Even ifBrandumbisa total jerk,I’mgoing to get one of mypaintings into his stupidContemporary Artists Show,justtoshowhimIcan.”

I nodded approvingly ather. “I take it you’re overhim?”

“Screw him,” Kamikosnarled. “I’m too good forthat stupid snake charmer! Irefuse to live my life as amopey dick-whipped chick

any longer. I am woman!Hearmepaint!”Shestompedherfootforeffect.

I grinned and chuckled,“I’ll tell Brandon to run theother way when he sees youcoming or you’ll go HungerGamesonhisass.”

“That’s a great idea! Itotally need to carry a bowandarrow!”

“Next time I see him, I’llpin a bull’s eye to his ass soyou’llhavesomethingtoaim

at.”“Whoareyougoingtopin

a bull’s eye on?” Samanthaasked, walking around thecorner toward me andKamiko.

I flashed a conspiratorialgrinatSamantha.

Kamiko frowned, lookingbetweenthetwoofus.“Hey!You guys tricked me!” Sheleered at me, both her eyesturned up to full stink. “ThatwasSamonthephoneearlier,

wasn’t it, Christos?” sheaskedinanaccusatorytone.

“Maybe,”Ismiledcoyly.

Chapter2

SAMANTHA

“We trapped you,Kamiko,” I said, a big smileonmy face. “Now you haveto listen to my apology. Forthemillionthtime.”

Kamiko folded her armsacross her chest. “No, I

refuse.” She scowled atChristos. “Traitor. Now Ican’t trust either of youguys.”

Christoschuckled.Oddly, all of my fears

aboutChristosevaporatedthemomentI’dseenhimchattingwith Kamiko. Whatever I’dbeen worried about seemedcrazy now. Christos lookedlike hewas in a goodmood.Regular old Christos. WhyhadIbeensoworried?

“Do you guys need amoment alone?” Christosasked.“Forsomenaughtygirltime?”

“Doyouwanttowatch?”Iblurted. “We chargeadmission.Ahundredbucksaheadforfrontrowseats.”

Christos pulled his walletout and held up a bunch oftwenties. “I’ve got cash tospare, ladies. Where’s thenearest mud-filled kiddiepool?”

I giggled, “I’m game ifyouare,Kamiko.”

“Mudwrestling?”Kamikoshook her head at me,“You’reasbadasheis.”Sheglanced between me andChristos. “Okay, no fair youguys, ambushing me likethis.”

“I’m sorry, Kamiko,” Isaid. “That day atCharboneau was all a bigmisunderstanding.Brandsome—”

“Dumb,” Christosinterjected.

“What?” I asked,confused.

“Brandumb,” Kamikosaid, examining herfingernails.

I smiled, “That soundsaboutright.He’stoodumbtosee a good thing when it’sstaringrightathim.”

“He’satotalfuckbucket,”Kamikogrumbled.

Christos and I both

chuckled.“I can corroborate that,”

Christos grinned. “I havepersonally caught Brandonfuckingbucketsonmorethanone occasion, when hethoughtnoonewasaround.”

“Did you take photos?” Iasked. “Because if you did,maybe we can blackmailBrandumb into acceptingKamiko’s work into theContemporaryArtistsShow.”

“Idon’tneedtoblackmail

that art fart!” Kamiko saidconfidently. “I’m going topaintsomethingsoawesome,he’s going to offer me oralfavorsjusttogetmypaintingintohisstupidshow.”

Confused,Iaskeddumbly,“Doyoumeanhe’llgiveyoua Lifesaver or a Mentos orwhatever?”

Kamikofrowned,“Huh?”“Didn’t you just say you

wanted Brandumb to giveyouoralflavors?”Iasked.

Kamiko arched aneyebrow,“Flavors?”

Christos erupted withlaughter.

Kamiko chuckled andshook her head, “You havefinally lived up to yourblondness,Sam.Allthattimeyou spent at the beach withMads has broiled your brain.You might want to thinktwice before you quit yourjobatGrab-n-Dash.”

I think that was the first

time Kamiko had smiled atme in weeks. “Does thatmean you accept myapology?”Iaskedhopefully.

“If you insist…” shesighed.

“I insist.” I reachedout togiveherabighug.

“…and give me fivedollars,” she finished, herpalm held out expectantly.Her brows knit into amenacing frown and one ofher eyes narrowed

suspiciously.“What?”Iscoffed.“I’mso

not paying for yourforgiveness!”

“Whynot? It goes for tentimes that on the openmarket. I declare a guiltglare!” She lunged her facetowardmethreateningly.

I took a step away fromher. “Get your guilt glareaway fromme! It’s heinous!Where’d you learn how tomake that face anyway?” I

circledbehindChristos.Kamiko followed. “From

mymom.She’samasteratit.It always worked for her. Ithink she did it so I had togive back all of myallowance.”

Confused, I paused mycircumnavigation aroundChristos. “Wait, are yousaying whenever you didsomethingbadathome,yourmommadeyoupayher?”

“Yeah,” Kamiko said

uncertainly, looking betweenme and Christos, “isn’t thatwhatyourparentsdid?”

“Uhh…”Istammered.Christosshrugged.“Fine,” Kamiko said

dismissively, “my mom isweirdandmyallowancewasnothing more than a cruelruse designed to humiliate.Butyoustillhavetopayup.”She jammed her expectantpalm at me again andtightened the screws on her

super powered guilt glare. Itwas disturbingly effective.She followed me aroundChristos.

I circled cautiouslybackward.

Kamiko was in hotpursuit.“Nowit’stendollars.You feel bad because mymother robbed me of myrightful childhood income.Think of all the dishes andvacuumingIdid.Forfree.”

“Guilt, guilt, guilt,”

Christoschanted.“Not helping,” I

singsonged.“IsKamikoguiltingyou?”

Romeo asked, suddenlystandingbehindme.

We all turned to look athim.Helookedlikehe’djustcomebackfrombeingoutallnight. He wore his fanciestblacksteampunkgreatcoat. Ithadatleasttwohundredstudsand buttons. Buckled blackboots poked out from the

bottom of the coat. Histrademarked monocle wassquinchedintoplace.

“She won’t quit until shegets paid,” Romeo said,nodding toward Kamiko.“You’ll have nightmaresabout that face of hers untilyou pay up. She’s taken mefor at least two grand sincethestartofhighschool.”

Kamiko smiled smugly.“He’s right.” She was stillcreepingtowardme.

Icouldn’tlookatherguiltglare any longer. I dug a tenspot out of my purse andslapped it on her palm.“Makeitgoaway!”

Kamiko’s horridexpression relaxed into apleasant grin. “Thank you,Sam.You’resokind.”

“You can’t bemad atmeanymore,”Iinsisted.

Romeosnickered.“What?”Isaid.“Kamiko’s been playing

youforoveraweek,”Romeosaid.“Italkedherdownfromher Sam hating ledge overfish tacos last Tuesday. Iconvinced her that boyBrandumb was bing bong inthe ding dong if he couldn’tseehowhotsheis.”

I leveled an accusatorylook at smiling, innocentKamiko. She was no saint.Shewasthedevil.Itwastimeto flip the guilt trip. I turnedupmyownguiltglare to full

power.“What?” she said

defensively. “I’ve been busyworkingonnewpaintingsforBrandumb’s show. I didn’thavetimetotellyou.”

It was my turn to frown.“Notgoodenough.”

“My mom robbed me ofmy childhood earnings?” shesaiduncertainly.“Makingmenothing more than anindenturedservant?”

I shook my head and

intensifiedmyfrown.Kamiko screwed her face

backintoaglareandwiggledher wrinkled nose at me.“You can’t guilt glare me! Istudiedwiththemaster!”

Igrabbedforthetendollarbill inherhandandgrowled,“Gimmemymoneyback,conartist!”Shedancedawayandjammed the money into herbookbag.

“Fine. Keep it.” I rolledmy eyes. “So, Romeo, what

areyoudoingoutsolate?”“Me?!” Romeo blurted.

“What the hell are you guysdoing out so late? Wait! Iknow! You missed me! Youcouldn’t get enough Romeointo your day, so youwaiteduntil youcouldbask inmoreofmyawesomesauce!”

I grimaced at Romeo.“Why does you saying thatmake me want to take ableachbath?”

Romeo wrapped his arms

around me and jumped upand down aggressively.“Come on, Sam, you knowyouwantmyawesomesaucealloveryou!”Hetriedtolickmyface.

Still caught inhisgrasp, Idodgedmyheadfromsidetoside.“Stop!Help!”

“If I keep jumping,”Romeo said suggestively,“maybesomeawesomesaucewill pop out the top of yourhead!”

Kamiko grimaced.“Seriously Romeo? I think Ican taste vomit sauce in mymouth.”

“Okay,” Romeo said,ceasing his jumping.“Nobody likes to swallowvomit sauce.” He pausedthoughtfully, hands on hiships. “On second thought, Ijustmetthisguytonightwhosaidhe—”

“Hush!” I snapped, “Wedon’twanttoknow!”

“Yeah, Romeo,” Kamikopleaded. “We’ve heardenough.”

“Actually,” Christos said,“I’mkindacuriouswhereyoumetthevomitsauceguy.”

“Hillcrest,”Romeosaid.“That explains it,”

Christosnoddedthoughtfully.“What’s in Hillcrest?” I

asked.Romeo rolled his eyes.

“Thegays,dearest.”Christos chuckled. “True

that.”“What were you doing in

Hillcrest?”Iasked.Romeo and Christos

exchanged a look of utterdisbelief.

“Duh,”Romeoscoffed.“What?” I said

defensively. “Am I supposedto believe you can drive towherever Hillcrest is andrandomgaymenarewalkingaround thestreets trollingforvomitsex?”

“Yes!” Romeo andChristosblurtedinunison.

Okay,Iadmitit.Istillhada few things left to learn inlife.

===The four of us stood

outside Paiute Hall forawhile,continuingtochatandjokewitheachother.Christoshad his arm draped casuallyaroundmywaistmost of thetime. I don’t think I’d everhung out with friends in the

middle of the night like thisbefore, and definitely notwithasuperhotboyfriendforme to leanagainst. I felt likethe star of my very owncollegeromcom.

It must have been afterone in the morning, yet itseemedsonormal,whichwasawesome. If I had been outthis late in high school, myparents probably would’vetried to sendme to juvie forcriminal loitering and felony

curfewbreaking.Screwthem.I was nineteen. I could stayoutaslateasIwanted.Iwashaving somuch funwithmyfriends, I’d almost forgottenthat my parents were doingeverything in their powers tointerfere with this awesomelifeIwasbuildingformyself.

“What’s upwith the coat,Romeo?” Kamiko joked.“Were you on set for thefilming of The MatrixRebloated?”

Romeo smiled at her.“Hilarious,darling.Iloveyoutoo.ButIpromiseyouit’sthebulky coat. Underneath, I’massvelteandsexyasever.”

“You should totally get amirrored monocle tocompletethelook,”Isaid.

Romeo ran his splayedfingers sensually down hischest and flicked his tongueatKamiko.

“Ew! Frog tongue!” shesqueaked.

Five brawny guys turnedthecornerofPaiuteHallandemerged from the shadowswhile Romeo continued toflickhistonguescandalously.Three of the guys wore T-shirts that said ‘SDURugby’.

One guy said, “Dude, didyou see the way that guyturnedbitchwhenIthrewmybeer inhis faceand toldhimtoshutthefuckup?”

“Totally!” his buddy

replied.“Hewasreadytopisshispants!”

“Fucking pussy!” anotherchimedin.

The five of them laugheduproariously.

Great. Here came TeamTestosterone.

As the group passed us,one of the guys, who had acrew cut, took one look atRomeo and coughed out theword, “Faggot!” whilecoveringhismouth.

Romeo batted hiseyelashes at Crew Cut andsaid, “Mmm, aren’t youmantastic.”

Another guy in the groupsaidtoCrewCut,“Ithinkthatguyhasthehotsforyou.”

Crew Cut scowled at hisfriend then flipped Romeooff.

Romeo responded byflicking his tonguesuggestivelyatCrewCut.

“Don’t, Romeo,” Kamiko

hissed.Crew Cut came to a stop

in front of Romeo and said,“You want a piece of me,fag?”

“Depends on whichpiece,”Romeo smiled, handsonhips.“DoIgettochoose?”

The four other guys cameto a stop beside Crew Cut.The five of them surroundedRomeo.

“Mmm. Gang bang. Ilike,” Romeo smiled

confidently.“Whogoesfirst?Ordoyouguyswant to takeme all at once? I’ve gotenough orifices and hands togoaround.”

“Stop, Romeo!” Kamikopleaded while pulling onRomeo’scoat.

“Whoareyou?”CrewCutasked,“Hisfaghag?”

“Are you blind?” Romeoasked, offended. “She’s nohag.”

Theguywithalumberjack

beard standing on the rightsaid, “Fag’s right. This asianchick isprettyhot.Youguyscanhave thefagwhile Ichatuphisfriend.”

“Easy boys,” Christossaid,steppingforward.

Crew Cut glared atChristos. “Who the fuck areyou? This guy’s fagboyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Christos said.“You gotta problemwithmyboyfriend,yougottaproblem

withme.”Romeo clearly liked the

soundofthat.HesmiledupatChristos.

The rugby guys startedsizingupChristos.

Ohno.WhatwasChristosdoing? Imean, I didn’twantRomeo to get hurt, andChristos was awesome forstanding up for Romeo andKamiko like this, but ifChristoswasalreadygoingtocourt for fighting, surely

morefightingwasnotagoodidea? I had to put a stop tothis.

I stepped toward themassof men, putting myselfbetween Christos and therugby guys. Theunmistakable aroma ofalcohol and assholeimmediately assaulted mynostrils. I held up my phoneand snapped a photo. “Nowthat I’vegotapictureofyouguys, I’m calling campus

security. I’ve got them onspeed dial. You guys shouldleave before they get here.”My phone was alreadydialing.

Crew Cut snatched myphone out of my hand andhurled it into the darknesslike a champion discusthrower. I was trulyastonishedathowfar it flew.I mean, it sailed over thedininghallnext to thedormslikeithadwingsandliterally

disappeared into the nightsky.Ididn’tevenhearitland,itwentsofar.

“Fuck your phone,” CrewCutsaid.

I backed up a step andglanced at Christos from thecornerofmyeye.

“Bad idea, buddy,”Christos said to Crew Cut.“Nowyouoweheraphone.”

“It’s okay,” I saidnervously. “I don’t mind. Ineeded a new one anyway.

We should go.” I tugged onChristos’arm.

Romeo and Kamiko werecringing together, slowlysteppingbackward.

“Whereyougoing,babe?”Lumberjack asked Kamiko.“I was just getting to knowyou.”

“No, this is bullshit,”Christossaid,hiseyeslockedonCrewCut.“Thisguyowesyouanewphone.”

“It’s okay,” I insisted.

“My contract is up and I’msure I can get a new one forfree.” I didn’t mention Ineeded the old phone if Iwanted to exchange it for anew one. Oh well, it didn’tmatter.Gettingusoutofhereunharmed was moreimportant. I’d buy a prepaidphone if I had to. “Let’s go,Christos.”

Another rugbyguy took asteptowardChristosandsaid,“Betterdowhatthissillylittle

bitch tells you, if you knowwhat’sgoodforyou.”

===CHRISTOS

Five on one was nevergood odds, even for me.Especially not whenSamantha, Kamiko, andRomeo were likely to getsuckedintothings.Mostmennever hit women, but thatdidn’thelpRomeoany.Iwaspretty sure he’d need

protecting. And if Samanthaor Kamiko tried to help outand protect me, they’dprobably get punched up intheprocess.

If I was by myself, Iwould’ve bolted. I didn’tneedmore court trouble thanI alreadyhad.And Idoubtedany of these pricks couldcatchmeinafootrace,rugbyor no rugby. I didn’t give ashitiftheycalledmeapussyforrunningaway.ButifIran,

there was no way Samantha,Kamiko, and Romeo wouldbeabletokeepup.

Whattodo?Samantha was right. Her

phone didn’t matter. Best tojustwalkaway.

I tookastepbackandputmy arm around Samantha.“All right, let’s go, youguys.”

I felt Samantha breathe asighofrelief.

The four of us turned

around and started walkingtoward the front doors ofPaiuteHall.

I quietly said, “Kamiko,getyourcardkeyreadysowecan walk right into thebuilding.”

“Okay,”shesaid.Thecardkeywas already in her hand,attachedtoherkeyring.

Something slammed intomybackandIwentcareeningforward. Samantha stumbled,almost tripping, but caught

herself.“Get the fuck back here,

bitch!” Crew Cut shouted.“We’renotfinished!”

The four of us turned toface him. Crew Cut stoodproudly, cracking theknucklesofhis fists,his fourbuddiesrightbehindhim.

“Open those doors,Kamiko,” I hissed. “Getinsiderightnow.”

“Stop it!” SamanthashoutedatCrewCut.

“Toolateforthat,bitch.”Kamiko had one of the

doors open. “Come on,Romeo!”

Romeo was overwhelmedby what was happening.Kamiko reached out andpulled Romeo into thebuilding.

“Get inside,” I said toSamantha.

“Not without you!” shepleaded.

“Now!” I backed toward

thedoor.Samantha stepped inside.

“Comeon,Christos!”Crew Cut was advancing

towardme.Samantha reached out for

myarm.IpushedthedoortoPaiute

Hall shut, forcing her inside.“Don’t open that door,” Igrowled.

CrewCut rushed atme. Iduckedandpivotedunderhisright arm and launched a

loopingleft intohis liver.Hefoldedlikeasackofpotatoesand banged his shoulderagainst the doors of PaiuteHallwitharattle.

Fourguyscameatmelikecharging rhinos. I danced tothesideandslammedmyfistinto one guy’s left temple.Lights out. He was on theground.

ButCrewCutwasgettingup, and the three other guyspoundedmewithahailstorm

offists.Onecaughtmeinthechest, another in the jaw,another in my left eye. Myown fists were flying and Iwhipped an elbow into thebearded guy’s nose. Bloodgushed from his face. Theother two guys tried towrestlemedownbutIsnakedoutoftheirhandsandranlikehell for my bike in theparkinglot.

I heard heavy footstepspounding behind me, but

there was no way they werekeeping up. I had my bikekeyoutwhenImadeittomyDucati and hopped on. Istarted the bike and heeledthe kickstand up whilerevvingthethrottle.Ihadthebike turned around as theguysroundedintotheparkinglot and I was off like arocket.

In my rearview, I sawthem sprinting after me, buttheygaveupaftertenyards.I

flewoutofthefarendoftheparking lot, turned ontoAdamsCollegeDrive,whichledouttoNorthTorreyPines,andcrankedthethrottle.

Whatthefuckwasthat?My mind raced over the

situation.Iwasn’ttooworriedabout those guys followingme now that I was on mybike.One,theycouldn’tcatchme unless they had sportbikes, and two,with three ofthembangedupprettygood,I

doubted they’d be in hotpursuit.

Iwanted tocallSamanthaand tell her I was okay, buther phonewas gone. I didn’thave Kamiko or Romeo’snumbers, so I couldn’t callthem. And I didn’t want tohead back to campus toosoon, because I wanted towait until those guys werelong gone, and becausesomeone would probablyhave called campus security

bynow.The one thing that

couldn’twaitwasputtingmyhelmet on. A quarter milefrom campus, I rolled to astop on the side of the roadandgrabbedmyhelmet fromwhere it was strapped to theside of my bike. No needgettingpulledover for ridingwithout a helmet on top ofeverythingelse.

Aftermyhelmetwason,Icruised toward La Jolla

Village. Iendedupat theLaJollaVillageSquaremallandparked outside the Ralph’sgrocerystore.Iswungmylegover the seat and took myhelmet off. I was sweatinggoodfromtheexertionofthefighting and the running.Myhelmet liner was damp withperspiration. I strolled insideRalph’s.Pausingattheliquoraisle,Iconsideredgrabbingabottleofbourbon,butIhadtoride my bike home. So I

snagged a huge bottle ofwater off the shelf in thebeverage aisle and went upfronttopayforit.

I set the water on theconveyorat thecashregister.The clerk, a young womanwith a sleepy expression andtoomucheyemakeup,lookedupatmeandgrimaced.

Thatwasn’t the reaction Iwasusedtowiththeladies.

“What happened to yourface?”sheasked.

I reached a hand up andtouchedmy cheek.Now thatthe adrenaline from the fightwas wearing off, I felt thethrob on my cheek bonewhere one of the rugbyguyshadclockedme.He’dhitmeharder than I’d realized. Adozen lame excuses racedthroughmybrain.Ran intoadoor. Tripped on thesidewalk. Fell down thestairs. Stepped in front of aforklift. Wrestled a bear.

Went twelve rounds with anelephant.Etc.,etc.,etc.

Iwinkedather,“Got inafight with a drunken rugbyteam.” Sometimes the truthsounded too ridiculous tobelieve.Thatwasmyplan.

She arched an eyebrow,“Allbyyourself?”

“Yeah.”She frowned skeptically,

“Really?”I chuckled. What was it

aboutmyphysicalappearance

(muscles, tats, banged upface) that said, “this guydoesn’t get in fights”? Italways amused me whenpeople didn’t believe thetruth.

“Really,”Isaid.She flashed a big smile,

and her sleepy expressiongave way to a pretty set ofteeth.Shehadarockinglittlebody and was actually cutewhen she wasn’t halfway toslumberland. “Do you need

someonetoputiceonit?Myshiftisoverinhalfanhour.”

I hid my grin. Muchbetter. This was the sort oftreatment I’d come to expectfromtheladies.

I saw her eyeing thetattoos on my arms, and thescript of my Fearless tattoowhichpeakedoutofthenotchin my V-neck T-shirt. Igrinnedback.“I’mgood.Justthe water.” I flashed her adimpledgrin.

“You sure?” Her eyesnarrowed into bedroomterritory, but not the sleepykind.

Yeah, too much eyemakeup. Not that I cared. Ihad a girlfriend who wasgoing to move in with meunless her parents put herunder house arrest. “Totallysure.”

Thecashierharrumphedina cute way, kind of like asleepy kitten, then rang up

mywaterbottle.Ipaidcashandwalkedout

to my bike, guzzling downthe entire bottle beforeclimbing on my Ducati andridingbacktoSDU.

===SAMANTHA

Romeo called campussecurity on his phone whilewewatchedinhorrorthroughthe glass doors as ChristosfoughtwiththejerksofTeam

TestosteroneoutsideofPaiuteHall.

“There’s five guys withSDU rugby shirts beating upmy friend!” Romeo shoutedinto his phone. “What? Oneguy!Yes, he’s fighting themall by himself! Please sendsomeone right now! They’reinfrontofPaiuteHall!”

“Ohmygod!” Kamikoscreamed. “They’re hittinghim!”

Iwasfreakingoutbecause

Christos was in danger fromtheguysoutside,butpossiblyworse danger if campussecurityshowedup.SDUhadactual police on campus.They were the same oneswho’d arrested Christos thedaywe’dmet.

I had to do something tostopthis.

I was about to push thedoors open when Crew Cutfell into them,blocking themshut.

ThenextthingIknew,twomore guys were out ofcommissionandChristoswassprintingoutofsightwiththelast two guys chasing after.Everything had happened sofast, therewas no time to doanything.

Crew Cut and his buddywithblood runningdownhisface were trying to lift uptheir friend who had beenknockedout.

“Pick him up,” Crew Cut

grunted.BloodyFacedrapedoneof

the unconscious guys armsaroundhisneck.

The two of them hoistedtheir friend and startedwalking across the lawn infrontofPaiute.

“They’re going to getaway before security getshere!” Kamiko growled.“They’ll get away with it!That’s not right!” Kamikopushed the panic bar on the

door with a loud thunk andstruttedoutside.

“Kamiko!” I called afterher.“Don’t!Stayinside!”

Sheignoredme.“Getbackhere, you guys! I’m pressingcharges as soon as securityshows up! You guys aregoingtogetexpelled!”

Crew Cut turnedawkwardly while trying tosupporthisbuddy.“Backoff,bitch.”

“Stop!” Kamiko shouted,

stridingtowardthem.I couldn’t leave her alone

with those guys, so I joggedouttojoinher.

“Don’t make me tell youtwice,” Crew Cut said toKamiko.

“Come on!” Bloody FacesaidtoCrewCut,“weneedtogo,man!”

Crew Cut snarled atKamiko.“Fuckingcunt.”

“Fuck you, you stinkyassbag!”Kamikoshouted.

I grabbed her by theshoulders.“Stop!Don’tmakethisworse.”

“But they started this,Sam!”shepleaded.

“I know.” But all I couldthink about was the copsshowing up and askingquestions and Kamiko orRomeoblurtingoutChristos’name. Before I had time toexplain myself, twouniformed cops walkedacrossthebiglawninfrontof

NyyhmyandPaiute.“That’s them!” Kamiko

shouted.Twoflashlights flickedon

and danced across the threeremaining rugby guys. “Stopwhereyourare,sirs,”avoicecommanded.

Fuck.“Oh, thank god! They’re

here!” Romeo said to hisphone, now standing besideme and Kamiko. “Yes. Twocops just walked up. Thank

you.” He lowered his phonetohisside.

I wasn’t sure if Romeohadhunguphisphoneornot.Igrabbeditfromhishand.

“Hey! What are youdoing?”heasked.

I ended the call on hisphone. Had I not, I worriedtheoperatormighthaveheardwhatIwasgoingtosay.

“Allthreeofyou,putyourhands up!” one of the copsshouted.

“We can’t!” Crew Cutsaid. “Our friend isunconscious.”

Shit. I was pretty surewhoevergotknockedoutinafightlookedliketheinnocentone.

“Some guys jumped us,”BloodyFacesaidtothecops.“Beattheshitoutofus.”

WTF?Were theyblamingus for starting this? At leasttheywouldn’tbeabletopiniton Christos if they didn’t

knowwhohewas.The cops were getting

closer toallofus. Ihadonlya few seconds to strategizewith Romeo and Kamikobefore the cops couldoverheareverythingIsaid.

“Don’t mention Christos’name,”Ihissed.

“What?” Kamiko asked,confused.

“Sam,” Romeo said,“why’dyoutakemyphone?”

I thrust Romeo’s phone

back into his hand. “Listen!Tell the cops that Christoswas a stranger walking byandhetriedtohelpout.Don’tsayhisname.Youdon’tevenknow his name. And don’tmention his tattoos. Just sayhewassomerandomguy.”

Kamiko and Romeo stilllooked confused, their eyesgetting big. I couldn’t blamethem.Theyhadnoideawhatwas going on with Christos’trial.

“Trust me,” I said. “Andplease do what I asked.Please.I’llexplaineverythinglater.Okay?”

“Yeah,”Kamikonodded.“Okay,”Romeosaid.“But

what if those jerks saysomething different? Wetalkedtothemforawhile.”

Romeowasright.“Uh,” I said, “I don’t

know.We’ll play it off. Justdon’tmentionanynames!”

Inoticedthenthatthetwo

cops were cuffing Crew Cutand Bloody Face while theirfriend sat on the grass crosslegged, hunched over. Whenthe cops finished cuffing thetwoguys,theymadethemsiton the grass about ten feetapart from each other, nearone of the lamps thatilluminated the walkwaybetweenNyyhmyandPaiute.

“Are you the people whocalledinthisfight?”thetallercopasked.

“I did,” Romeo said. Heglancedatmenervously.

Theother copwas callingin something on the radioattached to his shoulder. Hewasstockyandhadastumpyneck and broad shoulders.“Backup and EMTs are onthe way,” he said to the tallcop.

The taller cop walked upto uswhile stocky cop stoodsentryovertherugbyplayers.I hoped their asses were

gettingsoakedandcoldfromsitting on the damp lawn.Jerks.

“I need to see everyone’sStudent IDs,” the tall copsaid.

We all pulled them outand handed them to him.Heshone his flashlight on eachoneandlookeduseachintheface in turn. He handed theIDsbacktous.“Canyoutellme what happened?” heaskedRomeo.

Romeo looked at me forapproval. I didn’t want tolook like Iwas somekindofcriminal mastermind, so Ishruggedmyshoulders.

“Um,” Romeo said, “meandmyfriendswerechattingover there,” he pointed, “andthese guys came walking upandstartedharassingus.”

“Were any of youinvolved in the fight?” thecopasked.

“No,”weallsaid.

“So, who was fightingthem?”heaskedRomeopointblank.

“This…guy?”Romeosaidsheepishly.

“Which guy?” the copasked.

“The…stranger?” Romeosaiduncertainly.

Irepressedaneyeroll.“Meandmytwofriends,”

I said, motioning to KamikoandRomeo,“weretalkingforawhile, then this cute guy

walked up to us and startedchattingwithus.”

“Which cute guy?” Tallcopasked.ThenhepointedatRomeoandsaid,“Him?”

“No,”Isaid.“Hey!” Romeo frowned,

“I’mcute!”“Shut up, Romeo,”

Kamikosaid.The cop hooked a thumb

behindhim toward the rugbygoons. “Doyoumeanoneofthoseguysbackthere?”

“No,” I said. “He’s gone.Thecuteguy,Imean.”

“Why did he leave?” thecopasked.

“I guess because it wasfiveonone?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“Me and my two friends

here ran inside Paiute Hallwhen the guys all startedfighting. The cute guypunched a bunch of thembeforeheranoff.That’swhythat guy over there has a

bloody nose or whatever.Thenthetwootherguyswhoare gone chased after cuteguy.”

“Let me get this straight.Cute guy was fighting thosethreeguysplustwomore?”

“Yes,”Isaid.“Andyoudon’tknowwho

thiscuteguyis?”“No.”Thecopnodded.“Sohow

didthefightstart?”Did I have to answer? I

was afraid anything I saidwas going to sound soridiculous Iwas going to getcaught in a lie and getChristosintrouble.

“Oneof thoseguys calledme a faggot,” Romeo said,“and I happen to be gay,which makes this a hatecrime.”

“Did you do anything toprovoke them?” the copasked, eying Romeo’ssteampunkattire.

I was starting to dislikethiscop.

“No!” Romeo said. “Meand my friends were talkingtoeachotherandoneofthoseguys went—“ Romeomimicked the coughing andhand covering thing CrewCuthaddone,“—Faggot!”

The cop nodded, “Soundslike a potential hate crime tome.”

Maybe this copwasn’t sobad.

“But none of them hityou?”heaskedRomeo.

“No,”Romeosaid.The cop glanced over at

the rugby guys in the grass,then asked Romeo, “Do youknow any of thempersonally?Aretheyawareofyoursexualorientation?”

Romeo shook his head.“No,notthatIknow.Imean,I thought I looked prettyfabulous when I got dressedup to go out tonight. Does

that count? Some people dotell me I’m too fashionableformyowngood. Is a crimeof fashion considered a hatecrime? I think it should be,”Romeosaidearnestly.

Kamikoglaredathim.“What?” Romeo frowned

ather.“YousaidIlookedlikeTheMatrix.”

“Rebloated,” Kamikojabbed.

The cop was obviouslydoinghisbestnot tosmileat

their tomfoolery. He clearedhis throat and said, “In anycase, their use of such aderogatory term isunacceptable. Were either ofyoutwoladiesinvolvedintheverbal altercation?” the copaskedmeandKamiko.

“ThesameguywhocalledRomeo a faggot called me afag hag,” Kamiko blurted.“Thenhisfriend,theguywiththebeard,calledRomeoafagtoo.”

“Romeo?” the cop said,confused.“Who’sRomeo?”

“I am.”Romeo squinchedhis monocle into place anddid a courtly bow whiletwirling his hand. “RomeoFabiano,atyourservice.”

“That’s not what yourStudent ID said,” the copcinchedhisbrows.

“Romeo is my middlename,”hesaidnervously.

My jaw dropped. I turnedtostareatRomeo.

ApainedlookweighedonRomeo’s features as he said,“My first name is Elmo.ElmoR.Fabiano.”

Iwas shocked. “Elmo?” Iglanced at Kamiko and shenodded. I turned back toRomeo. “Areyou serious? IsElmoevenItalian?”

“It is,” Romeo saidproudly.“Lookitup.”

I felt betrayed. It showedonmyface.

“Hey,” Romeo said

defensively, “Can you blameme? Elmo has so manynegative connotationsnowadays.And that voice ofhis?” Romeo shuddered.“Anyway, Elmo was mygreat-grandfather’s name. Hewas a member of theResistenza Italiana duringWorldWar II and he foughtagainst Mussolini and theNazis.Hewasatotalbadass,and he was an Elmo longbefore that stupid puppet

ruined it for the rest of us.Besides, Romeo is moreromantic,don’tyouthink?”

Ididn’tknowwhattosay.“Elmo’s not stupid,”

Kamiko crooned. “He’scute.”

Romeo rolled his eyes.“You’re only defending himbecause Elmo was yourboyfriend until the sixthgrade.”

“No he wasn’t!” sheprotested.

“Wastoo!”“No, if you remember,”

Kamiko frowned, “once Idiscovered Ash fromPokémoninthesecondgrade,IforgotallaboutElmo.”

"That’s right!” Romeosmiled. “Ash was your veryfirst cartoon crushationship!You were always telling mehow jealous you were ofPikachu for spending somuchtimewithAsh!”

“I hated that bitch!”

Kamikogrinned.“IsPikachuevenagirl?”I

mumbled, mostly to myself.“Ithoughthewassupposedtobeaboy.”

“Ahem,” the copinterrupted. “Anyway, miss,Youmentioned a guywith abeard?Whoranoff?”

“Yes,” Kamiko said,tryingtocalmherself.

“And none of you hitanyone, orwere hit by thosethreemen?”heasked.

“No,” I said, “we all raninside Paiute and made surethedoorwaslocked.”

“And who was this cuteguyagain?”

“Wedon’tknow,”Isaidabit too forcefully. “I’ve seenhim around campus and inclass,butIdon’treallyknowhim.Ijustsayhitohim.”

“Yeah, Sam’s too shy toask him his name,” Kamikoinsisted. “I don’t know hisnameeither,”shegiggled.

“Which one of you isSam?”thecopasked.

Wavingmy handmeekly,I said, “I am. Sam…I am.Greeneggsandham…ImeanSamantha. My name isSamantha. Green eggs andhamantha.”Itrailedoffintoafeeble giggle, then grimaced,rolled my eyes, arched bothbrows and kicked myselfmentally for sounding like aschizophrenic Dr. Seussette.Atthisrate,Iwasprettysure

the copswere going to orderup straight jackets for thethreeofus.Aslongasittookthe heat off Christos, I wasokaywiththat.

“And none of you knowthe cute guy’s name?” Tallcopaskedskeptically.

RomeoandKamikoshooktheirheads.

“No,”Iansweredmeekly.The cop drilled his eyes

into mine for what seemedlike an hour. Finally, he

adjusted his gun belt andsighed audibly. “Okay. Youguys stay put. I’m going toconfer with my partner.” Hewalked over to Stocky Copand the two of them startedchatting.

Two more cops camewalkingaround thecornerofPaiute from the oppositedirection, followed by twoEMTs who were carryingplastic medical boxes. Tallcop nodded at them and

wavedthemover.“Did I do okay?” Romeo

askednervously.“Make sure you never

break any laws, Romeo,”Kamiko said. “You’re aterrible liar. You’d end upgoing straight to jail if youcommitted a crime.And youknow what happens to menwhogotojail.”

“I know!” Romeo saidenthusiastically. “Thepossibilities are endless! All

those desperate men withnothingtodobut liftweightsandbroodallday long.Theyget all pent up and even thestraight guys are forced toseek ‘alternative’ sexualgratification. It sounds like adreamcometrue!”

Kamikogawked.“Areyoucray-cray,Romeo?”

“Nope. Just gay-gay,” hewinked.

“No jail for anybody!” Ihissedinsistently.

Romeo’s playfulexpression mellowed intoseriousness. “What aboutthosejerksoverthere?Ithinktheydeservejail.Andarustyshivupthebutt.”

“Maybe them,” I said.“But let’s not talk about it,okay?” I noticed that TallCop was questioning CrewCut. “Now be quiet so I canhear what those cops aresaying!”

Their voices were faint,

but I heard most of theirconversation.

“Howmany guys did yousay jumped you?” Tall CopaskedCrewCut.

Jumped? Great. Thosedouche nuggets started this,and now they’re trying toblameus?

“Four,”CrewCutsaid.“Andyousay they started

it?”“Yeah. They were

mouthingoffabouthowSDU

Rugbysucksandhowwe’reabunchofpussies.Wetriedtoblow them off, but theywouldn’tletup.”

Maybe I was being toohasty. Perhaps Douche CutCrewCutwasgoingtodomywork for me and lead thecopsonawilddouchechase,takingtheheatoffChristos.

“Can you describe any ofthem?”

“Not really. Everythinghappenedsofast—”

Evenbetter.“—ButIdorememberone

guy. Big dude. Had lots oftattoos on his arms. Darkhair.”

Fuck.Tall cop was jotting this

down in a small note pad.“Had you ever seen the guybefore?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen himaroundcampus.”

Oh,no.“Do you recall anything

abouttheotherthree?”“Notreally.”I shookmy head.Douche

CrewCutwasputting all theblameonChristos.

“Sit tight,” Tall Cop said,“whileItalktoyourfriend.”

I saw Crew Cut shoot aglance at his bloody buddy,who was being tended to bythe EMTs. Stocky cop wastalking to the two new cops.Tall cop chatted with thethree officers before hewent

over to Bloody Face and theEMTs.

Bloody Face was holdingoneof thosequick freeze icepackstohisnose.Ihadahardtime hearing what he wassaying.ButIdistinctlyheard,“He started it,” and, “tattoosonhisarms,”and,“Ithinkhegoestoschoolhere.”

Mystomachknotted.ThenBloodyFacestabbed

meintheheart.Hesaid,“Shecalled him Chris. Chris

something. I can’t rememberexactly.”

Tall cop turned and firedbullets fromhiseyesdirectlyintomine.

My stomach twisted myremaininginternalorgansintoa wad that dropped down tomytoeslikelead.Iwasreadyto vomit up my insides,including the bones in mytoes.ButIresistedtheurgetounravel. I kept my innocentface in place and tried to

appearascasualaspossible.Tall Cop must’ve run out

of eye bullets because heturnedbacktoBloodyFace.

“Those guys are lying,”Kamikowhispered.

“Iknow,”Isaidmorosely.With painful clarity I

realized that Christos’confession to me only hoursbefore, the one about himbeing a criminal and havinggotten into tonsof fightsandtrouble with the law was

ominouslyaccurate.Badluckfoundhim,nomatterwhathedid to avoid it. Was hecursed? Was I a fool forlovinghim?Would it alwaysbe like this? Would heconstantlybeon thevergeofgetting arrested, or worse,locked away for longstretches? What kind of lifewas that? I shivered andhugged my elbows to mychest. I needed to think ofsomethingfast.

“Officer!”IholleredwhilewavingatTallCop.

He was still questioningBloody Face. I noticed thetwo EMTs were nowkneelingnext totheguywhoChristoshadknockedoutandshining a pen light in theguy’s eyes. Stocky cop sawmewavingandhenodded tothe two other cops beforewalkingovertome.

He had a broad, sullenfaceandseemedrathergruff.

Ineededtowinhimover.Justbecause these guys weresupposed to uphold the lawdidn’tmean theywere goingto believe our story over therugby goon’s version ofevents.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Can Ihelp you with something,miss?”

“I forgot to tell that otherofficersomething,”Isaid.I’dbeensofocusedonnotsayinganything to betray Christos,

I’dmissedtheobvious.“What?” he grunted

expectantly, as if expectingsomething astonishing, likefilm footage of the second,third and perhaps fourthPresidentKennedyshooters.

My plan to win him overwas not going well. “Whenthose guys started harassingus,”Isaidtentatively,“Itooka picture of them on myphone and told them I wasgoingtocallcampussecurity.

Before Icould, thatguywiththe crew cut grabbed myphoneandthrewit.”

“Where?”“Wherewhat?”“Where’d he throw your

phone,” stocky cop saidimpatiently.

“Oh. Over the dininghall.”

Stockycopturnedtolook.Hefrowned.“Fromhere?”

“No. We were standingovertherewhenhethrewit.”

Ipointed.“You sure he threw your

phone?”thecopasked,asifIwassuggestingCrewCuthadthrownmycarorperhaps anelephantoverthedininghall.

“Yes, I’m sure! Do youwanttosearchme?Myphoneisgone.”

“HowdoIknowyouhadaphonetobeginwith?”

A better question was,how did this get turnedaroundonme?

“She did,” Romeo said.“And I saw that guy throwit.”

“Metoo,”Kamikosaid.Stocky cop looked

betweenthethreeofus,doubtcurling his lips. Yes, he hadthe teeth of an ogre, orperhapsa rottengoblin.Takeyourpick.“Okay,”hesighedheavily,likeIwasaskinghimtocleanhisroomforthetenthtime.“I’llgotellmypartner.”He walked over to the other

three cops and startedchattingwith them.TallCoplooked at me again andnodded while Stocky Copexplained things. A minutelater, Tall Cop walked backovertous.

“You say that guy overtheregrabbedyourphoneandthrewitoverthedininghall?”TallCopaskedme.

“Yes,”Isaid.“Was that when the fight

started?”

“Yes.”“Between thoseguysover

there, and your friend, thecuteguy?”

“Yes.”“Andwhatwascuteguy’s

nameagain?”Brakes! I clamped my

mouth shut before it couldopen.I’dalmostfallenforthecop’s trick line ofquestioning. “I told youbefore, I don’t know hisname.Like I said, he’smore

ofanacquaintance.”He narrowed his eyes at

me. “Doyou remember if hehad any tattoos?” he askedsuspiciously. “Youracquaintance?”

“I don’t think so,” I said,making my best Little MissHonestyface.

“No,” Romeo added, “hedidn’t have any tattoos. Iwould’ve remembered. Guyswithtattoosarehot!”

TallCopraisedanamused

eyebrow.“Andyousaidtherewere five guys fighting youronefriend?”

“Yes!AndIhaveapictureofallfiveonmyphone!”

“Butyourphoneisgone?”“Yes!Icantotallygolook

forit,ifyouwant.”“No.Hold tight here until

wesortthisout.”TallCoprejoinedtheother

threeofficers.TheEMTshadhelped the guy who’d beenknocked out to stand up.

Crew Cut and Bloody Facestill sat in the grass. StockyCop uncuffed them and theystood up. Stocky Cop gavethem what appeared to be asterntalkingto.CrewCutandhis buddies nodded solemnlyandrepeatedlyliketheywerelaw-abiding citizens who’dbeenwronglyassaultedfornogood reason.When the copswere finished lecturingCrewCut and Crew, they let thethree rugby goons walk

across the quad and out ofsight.

The four cops walked uptous.

“We’re going to let youthree go for the evening,”TallCopsaid.“Isuggestyouallheadtobed.”

“Whataboutmyphone?”Iasked.

He handed me a businesscard.“Ifyou find it,givemeacall.”

Wow, big help he was.

“Okay. So, um, are thoserugby guys in trouble oranything?”Iasked.

He sighed heavily.“Obviously, the three guyswe talked towere in a fight.Butwe’remissing several ofthe participants involved.Like your acquaintance.Unless we can round upeveryone, there’s not muchwecando.”

Great. Those rugby jerksgot away with behaving like

Upper Division Pricks whilethe man who had protectedme time and time again wasgoing to court in two daysandpossiblytojail.

Howwasthatfairagain?===

CHRISTOS

Flashing reds and bluesfrom a pair of police carsstrobed across the pavementwhenIroundedthesouthendoftheSDUcampusandcame

upNorthTorreyPinesRoad.The squad cars were parkedbehind PaiuteHall. I noticedthem before I got to AdamsCollegeDrive,soIdecidedtodriverightonby.

I wondered if Samanthahad found her phone. If shehad,didIwanttoringherupwhile she was talking to abunchofcampuscops?Bettertocallherlater.

I rode home. The housewas silent when I walked

inside. Not wanting to wakemy grandfather, I slid mymotorcycle boots off in theentry foyer and crept up tobed.

Ineededtogetmybeautyrestbeforemypre-trialinthemorning.

Funstuff.

Chapter3

CHRISTOS

Gravity had me by theballs and was hurtling medown toward oblivion like aboulder with a rocket packstrapped to itsback.Facelesswinged demons swirledaround me, taunting me,

clawingatmyflesh,cacklingwith savageglee.Every timeI swung at one of them ortried tograbanarmora leg,theydisappeared in apuffofblacksmokeonlytoreappearon my back, scaly limbswound aroundmy torso in awicked embrace. Fangs sunkintomyneck. I kept twistingand swinging and throwingknees, but there were toomanyofthem.Icouldn’tstoptheonslaught.

“Christos?”Iflailedawakeinmybed.

“Whatthefuck!”“It’s me, agápi mou,”

Samantha whispered. I felther lay a soothing hand onmy shoulder. “I think youwere having a nightmare.Was it about those rugbyguys?”

“Worse.”“Do you want to talk

aboutit?”“Notreally.Itwon’tmake

any difference. It was just astupid dream.” My bedroomwasstilldark.Iglancedattheclock on the bed stand.4:17am. “Did you just gethere?”

“No. I’ve been here forawhile.”

“Inbedwithme?”“Yeah,”shesaidsoftly.“Areyounaked?”“Yes.” Her voice was

sultry and promised pleasantthings.

I twisted and slidmy armaround herwaist, pulling herbody into mine. Our tautstomachs kissed, deliciousheat radiating from her skininto mine. Her soft breastsmelted against my muscledchest and I was instantlyhard. Samantha had no ideahowcompletelywomanlyshewas. Even in total darkness,shewasincredible.

“Whydidn’tyouwakemewhenyoucamein?”Iasked.

“You were sleeping sosoundly, I didn’t want todisturbyou.”

“Yeah, my body must’vecrashed after all theadrenalinefromthefightwasgone.” I kissed her softly onthelipsandfeltthetipofhertongue tease mine. “Mmm,but you definitely should’vewokenme.”

“You’re awake now,” shesaid. “I didn’t miss mywindow of opportunity, did

I?”shegiggled.“Geewhiz, I don’t know.

Letmecheck.”Irolledontopof her, skin to skin, andwedgedmyfingersunderherass, lifting her hips. HerkneespartedfreelyandIslidbetween her legs. My cockwas already throbbing,strainingtobeinsideofher.Igrabbed it in my fist andteased the tip against her.“Damn, woman, you’realreadywet.”

“What did you expect,”she joked. “I’ve been lyingnakednexttoyouforliketwohourswaitingforyoutowakeup.”

“Didyoutouchyourself?”Iaskedsuggestively.

“No!”shecried.“Why not? It would be

pretty damn sexy for me towake up while you weregetting yourself off next tome.”

“You’re such a perv,

Christos!”“Really?Why? Because I

like the idea that you’re sohotformethatyoucan’tevenwait for the real thing whenI’m sleeping inches away?Sounds pretty damn hot tome…”

“Come here, youcaveman,”shegiggled.

I plantedmy arms aroundhershouldersandloweredmymouth to hers. Our tonguessnaked together as

desperation fired down myspine.

“Yeah, definitelyshould’vewokenmesooner.”Islidmyselfslowlyinsideherwaitingwarmth.“Fuck,agápimou…”

Wemadesomuchnoise,Icouldn’t hear those demonsuntillongafterwefinished.

===SAMANTHA

The scent of sex tickled

my senses as I sighedpleasantly after making lovetoChristos.

I snuggled into Christos’arms. I couldn’t get closeenough to squeeze theunfinished business of histrialoutoftheway.Iwantedtotalkaboutit.Ialsowantedto forget about it and nevermention it again. But itwasn’t going anywhere. Theheatofourinfinitelovecouldnot burn it away, no matter

howmuchIwisheditwould.I considered Christos’

feelings. Would bringing uphis trialmakehimfeelbetterso he could get it off hischest?Orwouldenjoyingthecomforting afterglow of ourintimacybestsoothehimintorestfulsleep?Ididn’tknow.

Inadvertently I heaved ahuge sigh. I couldn’t help it.My indecision was drivingme nuts. I was a terriblegirlfriend.

“What is it, agápi mou?”heasked.

“Nothing.”He chuckled. “Come on.

Tellme. I admit I ran out ofyour apartment somewhathastilyearliertonight.”

“Isthatanapology?”“It is. I apologize for

bolting. But I’ve got all thisheavyshitweighingdownonme.I’vegottogetupandgoto my pre-trial in a fewhours.”

“What’s a pre-trial,anyway?”

“More legal bullshitbefore the actual trial. TheD.A.andmyattorneytellthejudgewhat’sgoingtohappenat the trial, what they’regoing to say in court. Butmainly it’s my chance toofficially accept a pleabargain,orturnitdown.”

“What’sthatmean?”“TheD.A. is givingme a

chance to plead guilty in

exchange for a shortenedsentence.”

He was talking about itlike it was a news story thatwas happening to a totalstranger. But this was real.Christos was going to court.Worse, I really didn’t knowanything about it. So far, allhe had told me in the lasttwentyfourhourswasthathehad punched a guy out andthe trial was on Valentine’sDay. Beyond that, I was

totally in the dark. Notknowing anything made itsomehowmorefrightening.

Iasked,“Areyougoingtopleadguilty?”

A heavy silence filled theroom.

I’d watched TV showsabout court in the past, I’dseen news footage of peoplein court, but none of it wasreal to me. It was alwayshappening to someone else.In fact, the most memorable

courtroomsceneIcouldthinkofwas the one at the end ofthe movie Legally Blonde.Somehow, I didn’t thinkChristos’ court experiencewasgoingtobecandy-coatedwith a bunch of laugh trackmoments starring ReeseWitherspoon.

“We don’t have to talkaboutitifyoudon’twantto,”Isaid.

“It’s okay. I’m going topleadnotguilty.”

“Wait, I thought you toldmeyouhitsomeguy?”

“Idid.”“Doesn’tthatmeanyou’re

guilty?”“No, because it was self

defense.”“Oh.” I hadn’t expected

that. The way Christos haddescribed it initially, I’dthoughtmaybehe’dhadabarfight or something equallystupid.“NowI’mconfused.”

“The District Attorney is

goingtotrytomakemelooklikeabadguy.LikeIstartedit forno reason.Myattorneyhas to convince the jury thatit was actually self defense,thattheotherguystartedit.”

“Did he?” I blurted. Islapped my hand to mymouth. I shouldn’t bedoubting Christos like this.“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t havesaid that.Ofcourse theotherguy started it.” I meant it.Every timeChristoshadever

fought someone in mypresence, the other guy hadstartedit.

“It’s okay, agápi mou.Yes, the other guy started it.Despiteall the shit I’vedoneinthepast,Ihaven’tstartedafightinyears.”

“So tell the jury that.Tellthemyoudon’tstartfights.”

“It’s not that simple,”Christos sighed. “There’s allthese rules about whatconstitutes self defense and

whatdoesn’t. It’sdifferent inevery state, and I don’tunderstand half of it myself.That’s what my attorney isfor. But I do know that wehave to prove that the onlyoption I had in that splitsecond moment was todefendmyself.”

“Wasit?”Iasked.He looked at me

thoughtfully. “Without adoubt,” he said confidently.“Ihadnochoice.”

“Then you’re going towin!”

“That’smyplan.”Christosstood up from the bed. “Ineedaglassofwater.Doyouwantany?”

“Sure.”I heard the faucet running

in his bathroom and hereturnedamoment laterwithaglass.

“Thanks.” I took theglassandsippedatit.

“Hey,” he asked, “what

happenedafterIleftyouguysbackatSDU?”

I gulped down severalswallowsofwater.DidIwantto tell Christos that, asidefrom his trial, those rugbyjerks were now blaming himfor starting the fight? Notreally.“Oh,uh,Romeocalledcampus security and a bunchof cops showed up. Whathappened to the two guyswhochasedyou?”

“I have no idea. I hopped

onmybikeandditchedthem.That was the last I saw ofthem.Didyougetyourphoneback?Itriedcallingyou.”

“Eventually. After thecopsleft,RomeoandKamikokept calling my phone whilewe lookedaroundbehind theDining Hall. It took forever,but we found it in somebushes.”

“Sorry it was such ahassle.Thoserugbybuttplugswere a bunch of Upper

Assmen.”Igiggled.“Istheupperass

like a high quadrant of theanus near the colon?Or is itsomeone who’s takingadvancedcoursesinassery?”

“Both,” he chuckled.“Hey, if your phone is allbangedupnow,andyouneedmoney foranewone, letmeknow.IfeellikeIoweyou.”

“Thanks, Christos. Youdon’t owe me. Those guyswere to blame, not you.

Anyway, if I need a newphone,whichIdon’t,I’llpayfor it,” I lied. I didn’t haveanycashtospare,butIdidn’twanthimworryingaboutyetanotherthing.

“You sure? Are yougetting a quarterly bonusfromGrab-n-Dash?”

“Yeah.Myboss promisedme a free ICEE,” I grinned.“I’ll see if I can use it as adownpaymentonaphone.”

ChristosandIcrawledinto

bed after I finishedmy glassofwater.

Ihadnoideawhatthenext48hourswouldbring,butforthemoment, Christos was inmyarms,andIwasinhis.

===CHRISTOS

Thoughts of my pre-trialhad me wired and jolted meawake before Samantha. Ishowered and dressed asquietly as possible. I don’t

think I’d put as much effortintogoingoutonhotdatesasI was for going to court.There was something fuckedupaboutthat.

AfterIshaved,Iexaminedmyshinerinthemirror.Nice.Black ringed in red. Youcouldn’t miss it. Loved it. Igrinned at myself.My upperlipwasredderandfullerthanusual, but I didn’t thinkanyone would notice. Withmy rugged good looks,

maybe the judge wouldattribute it to a recentcollagen injection. Yeah,right.While thebruisedidn’tsay, “This guy went twelveroundswithMikeTyson andlost,” it did say, “This guyfights more than mostpeople.”

I considered buggingSamanthaforsomeconcealer,but then I remembered she’dworn progressively less andlessmakeup sincewe’dmet.

If she had any, it was at herapartment, and I didn’t havetimeforadetour.

Whatever.Afterbuttoningmyshirt,I

knottedmytieinthemirror.“Sexy,” Samantha said,

standing in the bathroomdoorway. “I don’t think I’veever seen you dressed upbefore.Orcleanshaved.”

I flashed a cocky grin atherwhile cinching the tie uptomycollar.“Youlike?”

“Ilove,”shesmiledasshewalkedupbehindmeandslidherhandsovermychest.“DoI get to see you with thejacketon?”

“Sure.”Aftergivingheraquick kiss, I walked into thebedroom,pulledthejacketoffthehanger,andslipped iton.Ibuttoned it andsmoothed itdown.“There.”

“Wow, Christos, I knewyou could pull off ruggedlysexy like no one else, but

damn, I think you put thatguy from 50 Shades ofGreytoshame!”

“I think my shiner addsthathintof streetdanger thatthe 50 Shades guy wasmissing.”

“Definitely,” Samanthapurred. “Do I have time toshower?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“Beforewego?”I arched an eyebrow.

“We?”

Herfacesunk.“Don’tyouwantme tocomewithyou?”sheaskedmeekly.

I sighed and walked overtoher.Igraspedherarmsandlooked her in the eyes.“Agápi mou, it means a lotthat you want to come withme. But this is just the pre-trial. Nothing is going tohappentoday.It’sgoingtobea lot of boring talk from thelawyers about technicaldetails, andwhich arguments

they’regoingtouse.Shitlikethat. Besides, you haveclasses,right?”

“Yeah,Iguess.ButIwanttobethereforyou.”

“You’re here forme rightnow, agápi mou. I promise,youwon’tmissanything.”

“Promise?”I kissed her gently on the

lips. “Promise. Now, I gottarun out the door. Don’twanna be late for court.Youstillhaveyourkey,right?”

“Yeah,”shesighed.“There’s food in the

kitchen if you’re hungry.Take anything you want.” Ikissed her again and wentdown to the garage andhoppedinmyCamaro.

===SAMANTHA

After Christos left, Ishowered, dressed, and wentdownstairs. I opened therefrigeratorinthekitchenand

stared at the contents. Whowas I kidding? I couldn’tthink about eating whenChristoswasgoingtocourt.Igently closed the door andnearlyjumpedoutofmyskin.

Spiridon was standingrightthere.

“Oh!” I gasped. “I didn’thearyoucomein.”

“Good morning, koritsákimou,” he said. “Myapologies.Ididn’trealizeyouwerestillinthehouse.”

I was always amazed byhow much Spiridon lookedlike an older, silver-hairedversion of his blue-eyedgrandson. Spiridon’s eyesstill shone as brightly asChristos’.IhadnodoubtthatSpiridon had been quite theladies’ man in his day and Isuspected he still was, but Ihad yet to meet any of thewomen who most certainlywerepursuinghim.Iknewhewent out in the evenings all

the time, but I wasn’t quitesurewherehewentorwhohesaw. Christos had hintedfrequently about the womenin his grandfather’s life, butso far it was nothing morethanjuicyinsinuations.

“Would you like me tomake you some breakfast?”heasked.

“Oh,nothankyou.Idon’thavemuchofanappetite.”

“You have to eatsomething, Samoula. You

can’tgothroughanentiredaywithout food.” Spiridonpulled out a loaf of olivebread and spread soft cheeseonto a slice. He handed metheplate.“Trythis.”

I took a bite. The cheesewassaltyandverypeppery.Ithad some kick to it. It wentgreat with the olive bread.“What kind of cheese isthis?”

“Youlike?”hegrinned.“It’sdelicious!”

“It’s called Kopansti. AfriendofmineimportsitfromMykonos.”

“Wow, it’s so good!” Ichomped another bite andsavored it. Somehow, theManosmen alwaysmanagedto set me at ease, as ifeverything in the world wasjust right, and everymomentwasadecadentcelebrationoflife. I hadn’t had an appetitefive minutes ago, but now Iwas ravenous. “Can I have

anotherslice?”“Certainly,koritsákimou,”

he said, spreading morecheese on a fresh slice ofolivebread.“ItakeitChristosmadeithomesafely?”

“Yeah. Safe and sound.”For now, I thought. I knewhis pre-trial wasn’t supposedto be a big deal, but I felt adoomsdayclocktickingdowntoValentine’sDayonFriday,the day of his actual trial.Lameness.CouldIpetitionto

haveValentine’sDaypushedforwardaday?Probablynot.“Spiridon?”

“Yes,Samoula?” Spiridonsmiled.

“Do you, um, ah, I feellike maybe I shouldn’t beasking this,butdoyou,uh…doyouknowaboutChristos’trial?” Iwasafraidmaybehedidn’t knowand Iwasgoingto break his heart, but I alsofelt like I was stuck in thedarkonthiswholetrialtopic,

and I needed someemergencysupport.

His smile faded. It didn’tturn sour, like I couldimagine my mom or daddoing,afterwhichyellingandcondescension wouldcommence. Instead, Spiridonlooked sad. “Yes, koritsákimou,Iknow.”

Phew.Oneobstacleoutoftheway.“Areyouworried?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Asmany times as Christos has

been in court, it never getseasier.There’s little I can dobut pray for him and hopethat the jury sees the goodboy I know my grandson tobe.”

“Yeah,” I sighedthoughtfully. “Are you goingtogotothetrial?”

“Ofcourse.”“Whydidn’tyougotothe

pre-trialtoday?”“Because, based on my

experience, it’s largely a

matter for the lawyers. But IwillbeatthetrialonFriday.”

“Oh.”I sort of felt left out

becauseSpiridonknewallthedetails. But it made sense.Christos lived with him, soI’m sure he’d told hisgrandfather about it awhileago. But I felt hurt thatChristos hadn’t told me. Iwanted to be supportive inanywaythatIcould,butthatwas impossible if he didn’t

include me in the process. Isighed to myself and shookmyhead.

Spiridon patted myshoulder. “It’s okay,Samoula. Christos will befine.”

I hoped so. But thetortured look in Spiridon’seyes ignited the smolderingworry that had been twistingmy guts in knots for the lasttwelvehours.

===

I drove to campus alongthe Pacific Coast Highway,slumped over the wheel ofmy VW. Class was the lastthingIwanted to thinkabouttoday. Worse, today wasSociology 2, starring mysleep-inducing ProfessorTutan-yawn-yawn, andAmericanHistory 2,where Ialways managed to drawcartoons in my sketchbookwhile conveniently avoidingputtingnotesinmylaptop.

I contemplated bailing onclass entirely. One of theperks of being a collegestudent.ButwhatwasIgoingto do if I didn’t go to class?Fret? Wring my handstogether?

ThebeachwasvisibleasIdrove out of Del Mar. ToobaditwasfoggyandgrayandI could barely see the ocean.Not much of a beach day,otherwise I might very wellhave parked my car and

strolled downwithmy towelso I could lay out and catchsomerays.TanningunderthebutterySanDiegosunalwayssoothedme.

Stupidfog.ThelightatCarmelValley

turned red and I came to astop. This was theintersection where I’d firstmet Christos last fall. I’ddriven through here ahundred timessince thatday.The view of the beach never

gotold.IwassoluckytoliveinSanDiego. Iswear, itwasa crime that people had tolive anyplace else in thecountry. I felt bad for myparents, whowere still stuckin the arctic urbanwastelandof Washington D.C. It wasprobably snowing there rightnow. All I had to contendwith was a little fog. Thethermometeronmydashsaidsixtydegrees.

Alittlefogwasn’tsobad.

I reached for the VentiAmericano I’d bought at theStarbucks in Del Mar. Theydidn’t have a drive thru, soI’d had to park and it hadtaken forever. But today, Ididn’t care if I was late forclass.

Not like that first daywhen I’d spilled my coffeeeverywhere.Ishookmyheadand smiled. I’d been such aspaz that day. I rememberedthatfatguybehindmewho’d

beenyellingatme.Bitch…He’d called me all kinds

ofcrazynames.Slut…Andhe’dpracticallybitten

myfaceoff,hewassomadatmeforholdinguptraffic.Whore…What a tool that guywas.

Thinking about all of it nowbrought back TaylorLamberth and DamianWolfram, and the roller

coaster my life had been forthree long years.Was it evergoing to stop? I felt like I’dleft some crazy loop-de-loopbehindmeinD.C.,butnowIwasheadedintosixmore.Agápimou…At least I had Christos to

ride with me through life’stwistsandturns.Christos…

Istartedtotearup.Iwipedmy eyes, no longer worriedaboutsmearingthemascaraIneverworeanymore.Mylife

had changed so much in thelast sixmonths.Butwas anyofitforthebetter?

ThelightatCarmelValleyRoad turned green and Idrove the rest of the way toSDU.

===I pulled into the parking

lot on the north end ofcampus and searched for aspace. The lot was packedwith cars. I turned down yetanother aisle and spotted an

open space. As I drovetoward it, a black Mercedeswhippedaroundthecorneratthe far end of the aisle andraced for the space. I wascloser and reached it wellahead of the Mercedes. TheslickblackcarscreechedtoastopasIwasturninginto thespace,jammingitsnoseinthewayofmyVW.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Whatareyoudoing!This is totallymy space! Move your car! I

washerefirst!”The Mercedes revved its

engine. I couldn’t see thedriver because the overcastsky painted the frontwindshield over with a lightgrayglare.

I held my ground in myVW.Thisspacewasminebyright.First come, first servedandallthat.

The Mercedes’ hornblared at me and the carinched forward like a

menacingcobra.“You’re insane! I was

totally here first!” I shiftedmyVWintoparkandgotoutof my car. For a second Ithought it might be HunterBlakeley, the figurativesculpting model who’d beenstalkingme all quarter. ThenI remembered he drove aPorsche Boxster. I knockedon the window of theMercedessharply.

The power window

whirreddown.“You,” sneered Tiffany

Kingston-Whitehouse, eyesnarrowed.

“Yes, me,” I smirkedconfidently.“Moveyourcar.”

“Move my car? You’vegot it wrong, Merry Maid.Shouldn’tyoubecleaningupfecalmattersomewhere?”

Asalways,Tiffanylookedlike a team of stylists haddone her hair, makeup, andnails this morning. She was

dressed in the latest SanDiegowinter fashion: a sexystudded leather motorcyclejacket over a white scoopneck T that emphasized herersatz rack, skinny blackjeans, and a rugged belt. Asuper cute studded blackleather clutch with whitepiping sat on the empty seatnexttoher.Ihadtoadmit,thegirlknewhowtodress.Butitdidn’tmakeheranylessofabitch.

Which was why I wasseriously consideringgrabbinga fistfulofher fuckmeblondhairandgivingitagood yank. Could you scalpsomeonebyyanking?Ordidyou need a knife to do itright?

“I hate to disappoint you,Tiff, but I was here first.Kindly remove yourMercedesfrommyway.”

“I’mnotmovinganything,you shit stain. Get your car

out ofmywaybefore I pushit.” She revved the engine ofherMercedes.

Her blond locks werewithin easy reach. I flexedmy fingers in anticipation.Wherewasthatknife?Screwit.Iwasn’tgoingtoneedit.Ihad nails. I was tired oftaking shit from TiffanyButtplug-Nuthouse.

“Go ahead,” I laughedlightly. “Scratch your paintjob and mine. I’m sure your

daddy pays for the bestinsurancemoneycanbuy.”

She glared at me andrevved the Mercedes.“Move,” she growled aroundgrittedteeth.

“No.”Istaredherdown.She screamed inmy face,

“MOOOOVE!!!”Iwincedandleanedback.Wow, that girl sure had a

set of lungs on her. And avoice that could cut glass. Ithink Iwas going to need to

get my ears checked afterthat.ButIstoodmyground.

Shethrustherheadouthercarwindow.“I’vehaditwithyou, you little bitch. You’vebeen meddling in my lifesince you came to SDU. I’msick of your ugly face. I’mgoing tomakeyou regret theday you crawled out fromwhatever rock you livedunderbeforeyoucametoSanDiego.”

“Are you threatening me,

Tiff?” I asked cooly, anamusedsmileonmyface.

“No. I’m warning you.Because it’s going tohappen.”

“Okay,” I scoffed andwaved a dismissive hand ather. No matter how manytimes Tiffany had tried tomake my life miserable, shenever succeeded. She wasnothing more than a peskyhousefly as far as I wasconcerned. I wasn’t going to

takeanymoreofherdramaticthreats. She was a spoiledbrat who didn’t know howgoodshehadthings.

Tiffany’s eyes narrowedand her brows dove into atight, threatening scowl. Shelooked hawklike. “Don’tunderestimate me, SamanthaAnnaSmith.”

Surpriselitupmyface.“That’s right,” she hissed,

“I knowwho you are. Don’tthink I’m some dumb blond

you can laugh at. You havefucked with the wrongwoman,youinfectedcunt.”

Howthehelldidsheknowmymiddle name was Anna?Had Christos told her? Thatseemedunlikely.

“Watchyourback,bitch,”she said, then threw her carinto reverse, backed updramatically, and floored it.HerMercedesgrowleda lowthreatas itdisappearedat theendoftheparkingaisle.

Great. As if I didn’t haveenoughtroublesalready.

Chapter4

CHRISTOS

Half anhour after leavingmy house, I walked throughthecoolmarbleinterioroftheSan Diego Hall of Justice,lookingslickinmydarksuit.People in similarly formalandconservativeattiremilled

aboutthewidemainhallway,conducting impromptumeetings before going intothe various courtrooms.Uniformed deputies in tanshirts, olive pants and bulkygun belts were scatteredthroughoutthespace,aswerea few members of theS.D.P.D. in dark blueuniforms.Itwasallsoformalandcivilized.

Awoman in one of thosesexy fitted business suits

carryingabriefcasepeeredatme over a pair of readingglasses.Herhairwasinaneatmessontopofherhead.Sexylibrarian or sexy attorney?Samedifference. I tossedhera dimpled smile and hercomposed, professionalexpression crumbled into aschoolgirlgrin.

Mayaswellamusemyselfbeforegoingintobattle.

Russell Merriweather, myattorney, stood head and

shouldersabovethecrowdina dark charcoal suit, chattingon his cell phone.His ebonydark skin contrastedbrilliantly against hisimpeccable amethyst buttondown shirt and striped tie.When he noticed me, henarrowedhiseyesandflickeda nod in my direction. Asalways, he was all businesswhileinsidethecourthouse.

I walked up to him as heendedhiscall.Heslippedhis

phone inside his suit jacketand turned tome. “What thehell did you do to your eye,son?”

I opened my mouth toanswer.

Heheldupahaltingpalm.“Stop. I don’twant to know.Buy some concealer beforethe trial. We don’t need thejury jumping to conclusionsaboutyouatthetrialFriday.”

I smiled. “Actually, Iwasthinking about getting the

other one banged up so theymatch.”

Russell repressed a smileandshookhishead.“Youdothat,” he said sarcastically.“But get some concealereitherway.”Heputafatherlyhand onmy shoulder. “On amore serious note, have youmadeadecisionregardingtheplea bargain offered by theDistrictAttorney?”

I gritmy teeth. “Fuck theD.A.I’mnotguilty.”

Russellnodded.Aglintofapproval passed across hiseyes.“Iexpectednothinglessfrom you, son. But may Iremind you,” he saidominously,“onceyouenteraplea, it’s set in stone. Nogoing back. If we go to trialandthejuryfindsyouguilty,youruntheriskofuptofouryearsinprison.Areyouokaywiththat?”

“Yup.”Russellnoddedtowardthe

doorstothecourtroom.“Youready?”

“Oneotherthing.”Russell raised his brows.

“Do I want to hear it? Thelook on your face tells me Idon’t.”

I grinned. “I’m going totestify.”

Russell nodded, his eyesnarrowing while his lipspursedthoughtfully.“Asyourattorney,IwouldberemissifI didn’t remind you that it’s

neverwiseforadefendant totestify. Ifyoudo, theDeputyDistrict Attorney will havefree rein to askyouanythinghewants.Includingquestionsabout your criminal record.Theywilldredgeupallofthedemons from your past andparade them in front of thejurylikeamarchingband.Intheeyesof the jury,youwillgo from looking like a manwhopunchedanotherman ina single case of self defense

toCrimeSpreeChristos.”Iknewhewasright.ButI

hadn’t started that fight withHorst Grossman. No matterhow hard the D.A. tried toconvince the jury I was apieceofshit,Iknewthetruth.I was going to stand up formyself. I was going to lookevery member of the jurystraightintheeyeandtellmystory. If they didn’t believeme?Fuck‘em.

Theycouldallrotinhell.

“What other evidence dowehavethatIdidn’tstartthefight,” I asked, “other thanmyversionofevents?”

“Not as much as I wouldlike,”Russellsaidcurtly.

“Then Ihave to testify,” Isaid. “We don’t have anyotheroptions.”

Russell looked me in theeye. Hard. He didn’t shout.Hedidn’tlosehistemper.Hedidn’t try to arguemeout ofit. I’m pretty sure he could

see the resolve in my eyes.All he said was, “You’resure?”

“Yeah.”“Allrightthen.I’llmakeit

work. Let’s do this thing,”Russellsaid,openingthedoorto the courtroom for me. Hemotioned inside. “After you,sir.”

===SAMANTHA

Professor Tutan-yawn-

yawn was working theancientEgyptian sleepmagicinSociologyclassbetterthanthe sandman today. I’ddrainedmyVentiAmericanowithin the first five minutesof class. If I was going tomakeitthroughtherestoftheday,Iwasgoingtoneedmorecoffee.

ItextedMadison.I have a coffee

emergency. Meet me atToastedRoastafterclass?

Her reply, Can’t. I haveManagerialAccountingwithDorquemann and Spanishafterthat.Lunch?

Ireplied,K.Cuthen.I heaved a sigh. Maybe I

couldfindKamikoorRomeo.I was seriously in need ofsomemoral support. I didn’twant to stew in my ownthoughts about what mighthappen to Christos for asecondlonger.

I did my best to

concentrate on the Sociologylecture and take notes untilclass was finished. Still inneed of coffee, I got a freshcup at Toasted Roast bymyselfbeforeheadingovertomyHistorylecture.

I squeezed into a seat andpulled out my laptop. Therewasn’t enough room for mycoffee and computer on thelittle fold out armrestdesktop.

Did theUniversity have a

suggestion box somewhere?Because they totally neededto install cup holders in allthelecturehalls.

“Well if it isn’t CathyGuisewite,” some guy in therowbehindme said overmyshoulder in a smooth,smolderingvoice.

I turned and looked intotheeyesofacuteguysittingbehind me. He was chewingon the corner of a pen andgrinning at me. He had this

clean shaven boy band lookgoing. No tattoos, and notespeciallymuscular,butgreathair and totally swoonworthy. I could imagine himsitting behind a piano andcrooningwhilewomen threwunderwearathimonstage.

I frowned but sort ofsmiled at him. “You musthave me confused withsomeoneelse.”

“Nope.”“I’mnotCathyWhoever.”

“Sure you are,” hegrinned.

Thispoorboyhadascrewloose. I arched an eyebrow.“Uh…no?”

“Don’t tell me you’veneverreadCathy?”

“What?” I was totallyconfused. Maybe I had theloose screw. I’m sure if Ishook my head somethingwouldrattlearoundinside.

“The comic strip? ByCathyGuisewite?”

Stillnotgettingit,Ishookmyhead.

“Do you even knowwhatacomicstripis?”hesmiled.

“Duh.”Iwasn’tanidiot.“Didn’t you ever read the

comics in the newspaper? Iknow it’s totally unhip forpeople our age to admit tosucha thing,butyoucantellme,”hewinked,“Iwon’toutyou on Facebook or Twitterorwhatever.”

Nowthathementioned it,

my parents still got thenewspaper. My dad couldn’tgo to the office without firstreading the comic strips atbreakfast.Hecalledthem‘thefunnies.’ I used to look atthemwhenIwasakidandtryto copy the drawings, but Ihadn’t done that in a longtime. Then a hazy memorylocked into place. “Oh! YoumeanCathy,thecomicstrip!”

He nodded, smiling.“Yeah. I mean, I know the

series ended three and a halfyears ago, but I figured youmay have seen it once ortwice before all thenewspapers started going outofbusiness.”

Who was this guy? Hewasbizarre.Hewasway toocute to be into something aslast century as comic strips.“So,um,whyareyoucallingmeCathy?”

“I’ve seen you drawingcartoonsduringclass.Doyou

ever take notes, or justdoodle?”

Guilty as charged. Iblushed.“Isitthatobvious?”

“Probably not to theprofessor and the T.A.’s, soyour secret is safewithme,”hewinked.“Youknow,yourwork is pretty good. Haveyou ever consideredsubmitting some of it to theschoolpaper?”

I’m pretty sure he waspulling my leg. “No, those

guys are all SnootyMcSnoots-a-lots.” The SDUschool newspaper, TheSentinel,hada reputation forbeing a high-brow elitistnewspaper for preppiejournalism majors. Andconsidering I’d been ejectedfromhighschoolsocietybackin D.C., I didn’t have anydesire togobeforea tribunalof hip socialites and havethem tell me I wasn’t goodenoughtojointheirclub.

“The Analites at theSentinel are totally snooty,”he smiled. “I was talkingaboutTheWombat.”

The Wombat was SDU’scomedynewspaperrunbytheAssociatedStudents of SDU.Itwas full of funny spins oncurrent events, humor aboutcollege life, party reviews ofactual parties (on and offcampus),andtheeverfamousWombat comic strips. I’dread the comic strips before.

They satirized the seediersocial aspects of college:drinking, drugs and doing itwithmembersoftheoppositesex, same sex, or evendifferent species. Some ofthemwerehilariousandsomeoftheartwasamazing.

I raised my eyebrows.“You think I should submitmy cartoons to TheWombat?” I didn’t think mystuffwasgoodenough.

“Yeah. I’ll put in a good

wordforyouwiththeeditor.”“Who’s the editor?” I

asked.“Me,” he smiled. “Justin

Tomlinson.”He leaneddownandofferedhishand.

I had to awkwardly turnin my seat to shake it.“Samantha Smith. Isn’tTomlinsonthenameofoneoftheguysinOneDirection?”

Herolledhiseyes.“Don’tremind me. If I’d had achoice at birth, I would’ve

had the stork deliver me toanotherhouse,”hesmiled.

Hesurehadagreatsmile.Now all he needed was fourmore cuties and a boy bandanthem and the girls wouldcome out of the woodworklike termites. If they weren’talready.ForallIknew,Justinhad a limo filled with fangirlswaitingoutside.

“Anyway,” he said, “nicetomeetyou,Samantha.Emailmesomeofyoursamplesand

I’llshowthemtomypeepsatthepaper.”

“I’ve never written acomic strip. I mean, I justdoodleinmysketchbook.”

“Do you have yoursketchbookonyounow?I’veseen you drawing in itbefore.”

Ah, creepy stalker much?Or,hadIbeendrawinginmysketchbook in History sooften that it had becomeobvious to anyone who sat

near me? That seemedunlikely. I religiously tooknotes inHistory class as if itwasthemostinterestingtopicever invented. Not. “Yeah, Ihaveitinmybookbag.”

“CanIseeit?”I had never shown my

sketchbook to a stranger. Iwas somewhat reluctant. Ohwell, if he mocked me, thenhewasa jerk,boybandcuteor not. I pulled mysketchbookoutandhandedit

tohim.He flipped through it

casually, smiling the entiretime.He stopped to linger atvarious pages, I didn’t knowwhich ones. He evenchuckled a few times.“Yeah,” he said, “these aregreat. Do you have anystrips? Like multiple panelstellingacohesivestory?”

“Notreally,”“Noworries.Whatdoyou

think about working with a

writer?”“Whatdoyoumean?”“SomeofthestripsinThe

Wombat are written by onepersonanddrawnbyanother.I could team you up with awriter if you needed help.Until you get the hang of it.But I get the sense you’llfigure it out pretty quick,based on what I see here.Thenyoucanwriteyourownifyouwant.Itwouldbeuptoyou.”

Wow, this guywas reallynice.Andcute.NotthatIwasinterestedinhim.Buthewasbeing totally helpful, and hedidn’tevenknowme.“Okay.When do I start?” I wasn’tsure how this was supposedtowork.

“Ihavetoshowyourstuffaroundfirst.But,likeIsaid,Ithink the other guys will digyour work. Gimme yournumber and I’ll give you acallafterournextmeeting—”

Oh. How smooth of him.I’d almost fallen for it. Hewasamasterpickupartist.

“—or better yet,” hecontinued, “why don’t youcome to our next staffmeeting?It’sthisFriday.”

MaybeIwasgettingaheadof myself. Maybe he wasbeing genuine. “ThisFriday?”

“Yeah.Wemeetat4:20atToastedRoast.”

I did a double take. “You

guysmeetatTokeTime?Doyou smoke joints during themeeting?”Ismiled.

“It’s up to you,” hegrinned. “so bring your ownjoints.Butusuallywesticktocoffee.”

“Sounds like my kind ofcrowd.” But it was onValentine’s Day. The day ofChristos’trial.Shit.Myguesswouldbe that Iwasn’t goingtomaketheirmeeting.“ButIdon’t think I can make it. I

have…something reallyimportanttodothatday.”

“That’s cool. If youwant,Icansnapsomepicsofyoursketchbook and show themonFriday.”

“Okay.”“Shoot me an email and

I’ll let you know whateverybodysays.”

Wow,hebackedoffquick.Maybe I had judged him toohastily.Maybehewastotallyjust trying to help. “What’s

youremail?”“Look up The Wombat

website online.You can finditthere.”

Theprofessorwalked intothe lecture hall and set hisbriefcasedown,gettingreadytostart.

“Okay,” I said to Justin,“I’lldothat.”

Why did I suddenly feellikemylifewasbeingpulledinonetoomanydirectionsatonce? The one direction it

was already heading wasstressfulenough.

AndwhywasIthinkinginboy band puns all of asudden?

Groan!===

I secretly wondered ifJustinTomlinsonwouldtrytochat me up after Historyclass,buthewasgonewhenIfinished packing up mylaptop.

OnmywaytotheStudent

Center to meet Madison forlunch, I texted Romeo andKamikotoseeiftheywantedtojoinus.

Madison was alreadywaiting in line for fish tacos,deckedoutinanSDUhoodie,Hollister sweats and flipflops.Foracertaincontingentof students, sleepwear wasacceptable school dress. Icouldn’t blame her. I knewshe was jonesing to be backin short sleeves and board

shorts. “What up, girl!” shecheered and gave me a bighug.

“Hey,Mads,”Ismiled.“DidyoufindChristoslast

night?”“Yeah.”“So what was the

emergency?”Hmm.Howtoexplainthat

Iwassecretlyworriedhewasgoing to commit suicide lastnight and still had no ideawhether or not he had tried?

And hewas going to trial intwo days? Yeah, not exactlyan easy breezy topic. Iwanted Madison to distractme from my pressingtroubles, not dredge up mydrama.

She nudged against me.“Comeon,girl.Dish.I’vegotascooprighthere.”

I sighed. Was theresomethingelsewecould talkabout, like boy bands? No,not that either. There had to

be at least one topic I couldcome up with that wouldn’tleavemedramatized.

“Canyoubelievethatfightlast night?” Romeo asked ashe walked up to me andMadison,Kamikoathisside.

Eyeroll.“Fight?” Madison asked,

looking between me andRomeo. “What fight?Between you and Christos?”she gasped. “And you didn’ttellme?!”

I buggedmy eyes at bothofthem.“Geez,youguysareworse than the NationalEnquirer! Christos and Ididn’t have a fight. And,Romeo, stop being such adramaholic!”

“Can you blame me?” heasked.“Ialmosthadmyfacebashed in by the jock squadlastnight.”

“Wait,” interruptedMadison. She looked at mepointedly. “What does the

jock squad have to do withyoucallingme in themiddleof the night asking whereChristoswas?”

Romeo, Kamiko, andMadison raised theireyebrows in tandem. Theystaredatme,dumbfounded.

“Don’t hold out on us,Sam!”Romeo demanded. “Ifyouhavesecrets,youhavetoshare.”

“That’s what I said,”Madison said, folding her

arms across her chest. “Spillitbitch!”

“Fishtacos!”Icried.Madison frowned, “That’s

notananswer,”“Look!” I pointed and

everyone turned to look atnothing.Iconsideredrunningaway while they weredistracted, but luckily, we’dmadeittothefrontofthelineand it was time to order. Iwassparedfurtheraccusatorylooks frommy friends.For a

few precious minutes,anyway. After everyone hadtheir food, we carried ourtrays outside to an emptytable.

“Well?”Romeo askedmeafter everyone sat down.“We’re waiting to hear allabout your fight withChristos.”

My fish tacowashalfwaytomyfacewhenIsaid.“Reelit in, Rumor Romeo. Therewasnofight.”

“Then what’s the story,Sam?”Romeoasked.“Weallwant to know what wemissed.”

I scoffed. “You were theone who spent the night inHillcrest with the vomitsquad. Care to tell us aboutthat?”

“Gladly,” Romeo smiled.“ItallstartedwhenImetthisguy outside The Brass Rail,downinHillcrest.”

“What’sTheBrassRail?”

Kamikoasked.“A gay bar in Hillcrest,”

Romeo answered. “Anyway,thevomitguywas—”

Madisoncringed.“Canwetable that discussion untilafter I’ve finished eating anddigesting? Maybe afterWinter Quarter is over orsometimenextyear?”

“I second that,” Kamikogrimaced. “I don’t need toknow any more aboutRomeo’s alternative lifestyle

thanIalreadydo.”Iwould’vegladlyendured

Romeo’s graphic tale if itmeant taking the heat off ofmyback.

Thethreeofthemstaredatme.

If I couldn’t tell myclosest friends about myproblems, who could I?Wasn’t that part of whatfriendswerefor?Tohelpyoudeal with your problemswhenyouneededit?Buthow

would Christos feel if I toldthe gang all about his trial?It’s not like he’d willinglytold me about it. I’d had todrag it out of him word byword. Icontemplatedwaitinguntil Romeo and Kamikowere gone and just tellingMadison. She seemed moreleak proof than RumorRomeo. I wasn’t worriedabout Kamiko, but she andRomeo were practicallyattachedat thehip. I secretly

believed that if neither ofthem evermet their one truelove, they’d eventuallymovein together and live likespinsters.

“We’re waiting,” Romeosaid,chewingonhisfishtaco.

Screw it. They were myfriends. They had a right toknow. “Okay, but you guyshavetopromisetokeepthisasecret,”Isaid.

“Oooh! Secrets! I lovesecrets!”Romeocooed.

“I’m serious,” I growled.“Youcan’ttellanybody.Thisis a big deal. No foolingaround. Especially you,Romeo. You. Can’t. Tell.Anybody.”

Madison and KamikoturnedtoglareatRomeo.

“What, you guys?” hewhined. “I’ve never spreadgossipaboutanyofyouthreeandyouknowit,ormynameisn’tRomeoFabiano!”

“You mean Elmo?” I

chided.“Who’s Elmo?” Madison

asked,confused.Romeo looked distinctly

embarrassed.I arched an eyebrow at

Romeo.“Youkeepmysecret,I’llkeepyours.Deal?”

“Deal,”henodded.“Christos has to go to

courtonFriday,”Isaid.“Court?”Romeoblurted.“Friday?” Madison said.

“That’sonValentine’sDay!”

“Iknow,”Igroaned.“Why does he have to go

tocourt?”Kamikoasked.“Because he got in a

fight.”“So?” Madison shrugged.

“Guys get in fights all thetime.”

“Yeah,” Romeo said, “Ibet nothing is going tohappen to those rugbybuttplugsfromlastnight.”

“Rugby buttplugs?”Madisonasked.

“I’lltellyoulater,”Romeosaid. “Right nowwe need tohearallaboutChristos’courtdate.” Romeo sucked on hissodastrawlikehewas in themiddle of a movie theaterwatchingajuicydrama.

I sighed and said, “Hehasn’t really told me much—”Bitch…“Ijustknowhepuncheda

guyout—”Slut…

“—andIthinkithappenedthedayImethim.”Whore…Oh my god. That was it!

Christos punching that fatguywho’dyelledatme!Thathad to bewhy hewas goingtocourt.Whyhadn’tIseenitsooner? And why hadn’tChristos told me? I was awitnessandIcouldhelp!

“What, Sam?” Madisonasked. “You look like youjust swallowed some bad

sushi.”“I think I just figured it

out!”Ishouted.“What?”Romeoasked,on

theedgeofhisseat,clutchinghissoda.

“Isawit!”“Saw what?” Kamiko

begged.“IwastherewhenChristos

punched that guy! I’m theonlyotherpersonwhoknowshe started it! I have to callhimrightnow!”

“You’re losing us,”Madison said, lookingconfused.

I whipped my phone outanddialedChristos.Itstartedringing. To the gang, I said,“I can help Christos win histrial! I saw everything!”Christos’ phone went tovoicemail. Damn. He wasprobably still in court.“Christos, you have to callme right now. It’s about thetrial.Iwasthere!Icanhelp.”

Ihungupand textedhimthesame information. With anyluck,he’dat least lookathisphoneandcallme.

I just hoped it wasn’t toolateformetobeawitnessforhistrial.

===CHRISTOS

“Are you saying thatwhatever we tell the judgetoday iswhatwehave tosayin the trial on Friday?” I

asked Russell while wewalkedintothecourtroom.

“Yes,” Russell said aswesat down behind the defensetable. “The judge gave usseveralmonths to get all ourshitinordersotherewon’tbeanysurprisesonFriday.She’sassuming that by nowwe’veturnedovereverystone thereistoturn.”

There was still one stonenobody had turned. But I’dresolved to keep Samantha

safely out of this mess fromthe beginning. It was myproblem to deal with, nothers.“Gotit,”Isaid.

Russellpulledalaptopandseveral folders out of hisbriefcase while I lookedaround.

Everything in the roomwas wood paneled in darktonesorupholsteredinmutedgrays. The color palette ofserious business. It almostmadecourt seem like thehip

placetobe.Chuckle.Atleastthepre-trialwould

be short. Things would getserious in twodayswhen theactual trial commenced. Fornow,Icouldentertainmyselfby studying inconsequentialdetails like the color of thechairs.

The Deputy DistrictAttorney was already at theprosecutor’s table with twoyoung assistants, the threeofthemgoing through files and

murmuring softly about howthey were going to hang myassuponaspike.

The jury box was empty,as were the benches in thespectator gallery. No TVcrews or reporters werepresent either. Nobody cameout towatch pre-trials unlessit was newsworthy. A onepunch fight between tworandom citizens didn’tqualify.

Russell turned to me and

saidquietly, “Once the judgewalksin,theD.A.isgoingtolay out the basic frameworkhe intends to present onFriday, then I’ll lay out ourproposeddefense.Wetellthejudge up front about all theevidence and witnesses thatweplantobringintothetrial.If we’re lucky, and JudgeMoodyfeelsliketheD.A.hasaweakcase,shemaydismissit right here on the spot. Ifthat happens, you’re a free

man. If not,we step into theringonFriday.”

Man, I hoped everythingwent as smoothly as Russellmadeitsound.

He squeezed my shoulderandlookedmestraight in theeyes. “Don’t worry about it,son. I’ve got you taken careof. Nomatter what the D.A.throwsatus,I’llhaveaworkaround.”

“Tell me you’ve got agetaway car ready just in

case.”Hewinkedatme,“Gassed

upwith the engine running.”Russell turned to the DeputyDistrict Attorney and saidcasually, “Good morning,George.”

“Russell,”themannoddedinreply.

I recognized GeorgeSchlosser from myarraignment. He was a tallman with short cropped hairdusted gray at the temples

andaseriousyetboyishface.A wolf in altar boy’sclothing. The civilized kindofguywhoofferedyouacupof tea after whacking thebamboo stakes under yourfingernails.

“How are Judy and theboys?”Russellaskedhim.

“Good,” Schlosser saiddismissively.“Hasyourclientmade a decision regardingourpleaoffer?”heasked,allbusiness.

“After carefulconsideration, my client hasdecided to respectfullydecline,”Russellreplied.

George Schlosser’s lipscurled minutely into a feralgrin.He looked pleased. “Sobeit,”hesaid.

With a blank expressionon his face, Russell leanedover and whispered in myear, “Rumor has it, oldGeorgeovertherecookedandate his wife and children,

hence his reluctance toanswermyinquiryastotheirhealth and well being. Ialmost asked him if humanflesh went better with whitewineorred,butIdidn’tthinkitwouldbeinthebestinterestofyourcase.”

I was ready to crack uplaughing from what Russellhadjustsaid,soIdroppedmychin to my chest and held itin.

I’d been in court with

Russell many times in thepast,andIalwaysappreciatedhiseffort tokeep things lightbehind the defense table, nomatterwhatwas going on intherestofthecourtroom.

The door behind theimmense judge’s benchopenedandGeraldineMoodyfloatedoutlikeablackrobedphantom.

“TheCourtwillnowcometo order,” the uniformedbailiff said. “All rise for the

HonorableGeraldineMoody,presiding.”

Judge Moody was asharshly beautiful as she wasthe last time I’d seen her atmyarraignment.Herhairwasperhaps a bit longer andblonder than before. Hermakeup was subtle buteffective.Aqueen takingherthrone.Her leather executivechair was flanked by twoflags,theU.S.ontheleftandtheStateofCaliforniaon the

right. The California StateSeal, a large brass bas reliefdisc, hung behind her on thewoodpaneledwall.

“Please be seated,” shesaid formally from herexecutive chair. Then sheglanced at me briefly. “Wemeet again, Mr. Manos,”Geraldine Moody said frombehind the ramparts of herimmense bench. I couldn’tdecide whether it was goodnews or bad that she

rememberedme.Consideringshe had been kind enough tosetmybailat$150,000,eventhough the D.A. had onlyasked for $25,000, I wasguessing bad. I couldn’tescape the nagging feelingshe was holding somethingpersonalagainstme.

At my arraignment, I’dbeen wearing an orangeprison jumpsuit withmy tatson display. Maybe shethought I looked like any

other criminal that passedthrough her court room on adaily basis. At least now Iwasinaconservativesuit,myink hidden. But my shinerwas incriminatingly obvious,even at a distance. I wasstarting to wish I’d put onthat concealer. The smallestdetailcouldswayheropinionformeoragainstme.Ifworsecame to worse, and the juryfoundme guilty, her opinionwould influence the

sentencing, which couldmean the difference betweentwo years in prison or four.Nosmallthing.

The only thing I could dowas look as innocent aspossible. I’d buy someconcealer the second Isteppedoutofthiscourtroom.Nomore bullshitting around.Fromhere on out, IwasMr.Clean, I was a Boy Scout. Ihelped old ladies across thestreet.MaybeIcouldsqueeze

somecharityworkinbetweennowandFriday.MaybeMrs.Elders at the library couldarrange for a last minuteCrayonswithChristossessionin front of Judge Moodyduring my trial. Fuck, whowasIfooling?Thetimetobea Goody Two ShoedSamaritanhadpassed.

Russell whispered, “Ithink Geraldine might besweet on you, young man.Perhapsyoucanslipheryour

phone number and makedinner plans.Sweetenher upbeforeyourtrial.”

I rolled my eyes andsuppresseda chuckle. “Yeah,right.”

“Wearenowonrecordforthe State vs. Manos,” thejudge intoned gravely, “casenumber SD-2013-K-071183A. Counsel, pleaseannounce your appearancesfortherecord.”

“George Schlosser, on

behalf of the state ofCalifornia.”

“Stanley Whitehead, onbehalf of the state,”Schlosser’s assistant said.Stanley flung me a scoffingglancelikeI’dstolenhismilkmoneyonetoomanytimesingrade school. I’d like to pophiswhiteheadwith apin andshove a gallon of benzoylperoxidedownhisthroat.

“Natalia Valenzuela, onbehalf of the state,”

Schlosser’s other assistantsaid with a fluid hispanicaccent. I hoped Natalia wasaskindheartedasshelooked.Forall Iknew, itwas justanact to make people forget totake her seriously. Sheworked for the D.A.’s officeafter all, not as a nun or anurse.

“RussellMerriweather, onbehalfofMr.Manos.”

The judge shuffled papersand fileson thedesk in front

of her, setting everything inorder. When she wasfinished,shefoldedherhandson the desk in front of her.“Thank you, counselors. Wehaveanumberofmotions towork through. I suggest webegin with the State. Mr.Schlosser?”

George Schlosser steppeduptothepodiumbetweentheprosecution table and thedefense table and said, “Mr.Manos is identified through

witness statements anddescriptionsastheperpetratorin the assault and battery inquestion.”

Schlosser then proceededto dive into a litany ofevidentiarymotions. In otherwords, Schlosser told thejudge all the things he wasgoing to do at my trial toproveIwasthebadguy,thatI had swung first at poor oldHorst Grossman for no goodreason.

It was all uncomfortablyfamiliar.

HowmanytimeshadIsatbehind the defense table forsimilar reasons? I’d lostcount. In the past, I’d nevercared.ButIhadn’thadmuchto care about. Now thingsweredifferent.

Now I had Samantha toworry about. Seeing herflourish and find success inlife was my number onepriority.

I gritmy teeth. I couldn’twaitforthisshittobeover.

When Schlosser finishedsketching out what the StatewouldargueonFridayatmytrial, he returned to his seatand Russell took over thepodium.

The entire time Russellspoke,Schlosserwatchedhimclosely, taking notes andperiodicallywhisperingtohisassistants. I knew Schlosserwas strategizing, looking for

any weakness in Russell’scase that he could exploitduringmy trial.For themostpart, nothing was whettingSchlosser’s carnivorousappetite. He almost lookedbored. Russell Merriweatherran a tight ship, and I knewhe’d worked up a solid caseformyclaimof self defense.The real action wouldn’treallystartuntilFriday.

“Will you be calling anyother witnesses at trial, Mr.

Merriweather?”JudgeMoodyasked, her eyes on her deskwhile she jotteddownanoteonsomepaperwork.

Before Your Love byKellyClarksonbeganplayingfrommysuitjacket.Itwasn’tvery loud, but in the cryptquiet courtroom, it soundedlike aprimo sound systematfull blast. Shit. I thought I’dturned the ringer off beforecoming into court. I must’vedoneitwrong.Ifumbledwith

my jacket, trying to shut thephone off through thematerial. No good. I had topullitout.

Thejudgecannonedahardglare at me. “Do we have aproblem,Mr.Manos?”

“No,I,uh,”ImumbledasI fishedmyphoneoutofmysuit.

“Perhaps we canreconvene when it’s moreconvenient for you, Mr.Manos?” the judge asked

sarcastically.Iwasn’tscoringanypointswithhertoday.

Schlosser and his teamshared a chuckle at myexpense.

Finally, I dug the phoneout and shut it off, but notbefore noticing who hadcalled. Samantha. Why thefuckwouldshebecallingmenow? Whatever it was, itcould wait. I made sure theringerwasoffandstuffedthephonebackinmysuit.

“Areyoufinished?”JudgeMoodyasked.

“Yeah, sorry. It won’thappenagain.”

“I should hope not, Mr.Manos.Foryoursake.”

Fucking great. Nothinglikeabadfirstimpression.Inthis case, it was more like abad first, second, and thirdimpression.

“As I was saying,” thejudgefiredafinalglareatme,“before we were so rudely

interrupted,” then she turnedto Russell, “Mr.Merriweather, do you intendtocall anyotherwitnessesattrial?”

Russell flicked me apointed glance. Just loudenough for me to hear, hesaid,“Wegonnadothis?”

My phone jumped in mypocket and vibrated once. Ialmostflinched,butmanagedto hold my shit together. Icould tell from the vibration

pattern that it was a textcomingin.Iignoredit.

InoddedatRussell.He turned to the judge,

andinaconfidentvoicesaid,“Yes, your honor. Iwill alsobe calling Mr. Manos totestifyonhisownbehalf.”

A hush fell over thecourtroom.

The three D.A.s lookedlike a pack of hyenas whoseearshadprickedupandnoseshad twitched the moment

they’d caught scent of awounded wildebeest limpingby. Schlosser dug his fingersintothearmrestsofhischair.He was practically climbingoutofit.ThegreedysmileonStanleyWhitehead’sfacehadcurledintoa twist. Iwasjustwaiting for his tongue tosnake out and hungrily lickhis lips.KindheartedNataliaValenzuela’s cheeks hadreddened as if she wassuddenlyturnedon.Yeah,her

earlier demeanor had beennothing but a front. She gotoff on desperation. I couldfeel it. These three hadsmelled my blood and werethirstyforadrink.

So what? Fuck ‘em. Iwasn’tawoundedwildebeest.I was always ready for afight. Because you knew thesecond the badass male lioncame bounding out of thebush with his big mane ondisplay, those hyenas

scattered like ants in asandstorm.

Too bad Iwasn’t allowedto throwpunchesandelbowsincourt.Notbylaw,anyway.But Russell could. In thecourtroom, he was a biggerlionthanIwas.

Hewasgoing toeat thoseD.A.fuckersforlunch.

Somebody hand me aknifeandfork.

Chapter5

SAMANTHA

After lunch, Iwent to theMain Library to study. Nomatter how many times Icalled or texted Christos, henever answered. I tried toconcentrate onmySociologyand History reading, but it

was tough going. I was tooworriedaboutChristos.

Eventually I gave up onhomeworkandpackedupmybooksandlaptop.OnmywaytothenorthparkinglotwhereI’d parked, I texted Christosonefinaltime.

Meet me at ur place 4dinner?

WhenIreachedmyVW,Iwas pleasantly surprised toseethatitwasrightwhereI’dleft it, seemingly intact. I’d

sort of expected to find iteither gone, somehow towedaway by Tiffany Shitstain-Hateface, or perhaps amangledheap.Iwouldn’tputit past Tiffany to hire someguy todriveabulldozeroverit.

I strolled around my car,looking for any fresh keygouges or slashed tires.Nothing. Somehow, IimaginedTiffanywas simplybiding her time. Waiting for

the most opportune momenttostrike.

I climbed in my car andturned the ignition, wincinginanticipationofacarbombgoing off. Nope, the enginestartedsmoothly.

A moment later, I heardmyphonejingle.AtextfromChristos.

Dinner iswaiting foryouat your new home, agapimou.

Yay! I heaved a sigh of

relief. I really needed to talkto him about his trial. I justhoped it wasn’t too late tomakeadifference.

I backed out ofmy spaceand drove down the aisle.Maybe Tiffany had cut mybrake lines? How did onecheck brake lines anyway? Ihad no idea. Oh wait, Iknow!

I glanced in my rearviewmirror. When I saw no onewasbehindme,Ibrakedhard.

Mycarstoppedabruptly.Thebrakesseemedtobeworking.For now. Maybe it tookawhile?

Screw it. I didn’t havetimetoworryaboutwhateverthat vengeful bitch Tiffanymight be planning. I hadmore important things toworry about than her pettyjealousy.Ihadtogethometomyman.

Traffic was light and Imade it toChristos’house in

record time. I parked in thedrivewaynexttohisCamaro.I pulled out my key to letmyself in. I really needed topack up all my stuff andmove in ASAP. I’d alreadygivenmy apartmentmanagermy30daynoticetovacate.

Sadly,Idoubtedtherewastime for me to moveeverything before Friday. Ihadn’t even started packing.Then what? Would I besharing this huge house with

Spiridon while we waitedwho knew how long forChristos to be released fromjail?

I didn’t want to thinkaboutit.

I jammed my key in thelockandwalkedinside.

For now, I was going toenjoy our time together asbestIcould.

“Samoula!” Spiridonsmiled as I walked into thekitchen. “Dinner is almost

ready.”Hewrappedmeupinahugehug.

Christoswalked inwith ahuge platter of lamb kebabskewers. “I just pulled theseoff the grill outside. I hopeyou’re hungry, agápi mou,”hesmiled.

“You bet,” I grinned andtip-toed up to circle an armaround his neck and kiss hischeek.

Christos was so tall, hehad to lean over for me to

reach him. He twisted at thelast second, holding thekebabs in one handwhile hewrapped an arm around mywaist and smooched me onthelips.“That’smorelikeit,”he said. “I’ve been waitingforthatallday.”

“Your Spanakopita isalmost ready,” Spiridon saidto Christos. “It smellsdelicious.”

“Awesome,”Christos saidas he set the platter of

skewerson thecounter top. Inoticed chunks of grilledonions wedged on theskewers between the lamb.Hegrabbedanovenmittandused it to pull a baking panoutoftheoven.

“Wow, that looks uberyum!”Isaid.“Whatisit?”

“Spanakopita. Spinachpie.”

The crust was a perfectgolden brown and lookedflaky. I couldn’t wait to dig

in.“Sit down, you two,”

Christossaidwhilehecutupslices of Spanakopita anddishedthemupwiththelambskewersandcucumbersalad.

“Mmm, Tzatziki! I can’twait,”IsmiledasChristossetplates in front of me andSpiridon.

Christos joined us at thetableandwedugin.

As usual, conversationwith Christos and his

grandfather was fun and fullof laughs. I relished thesesimplemoments.Dinnerwithmy parents was never likethis. Iwas starting tobelievemy parents had no idea howto enjoy themselves, as ifthey consciously avoidedlaughter and joy. Groan.MaybeSpiridonandChristoscouldgivethemlessons.Not.

I continued to enjoy thegood dinner vibes, butChristos’trialkeptnaggingat

the back of my mind. Icouldn’t decide if Christoswas avoiding the topic.He’dprobablytalkedwithSpiridonabout it at length when Iwasn’t around. It had beenfive months since Christos’arrest, so theywereprobablysick of it. I wasn’t going tospoildinnerbybringingitupforthebillionthtime.I’dwaituntilafterward.

Whenwefinishedeating,Igotup toclear theplatesand

dothedishes.“Let me get those,

koritsákimou,”Spiridonsaid.“You go spend some timewithmygrandson.

“Areyousure?”Iasked.“Yes,” he smiled, a faint

sadnessswirlinginhiseyes.“All right,” I said

uncertainly.“Go,” he said, “enjoy

yourselves.”“What the man said,”

Christos grinned. “Wanna

helpmecleanupthegrill?”“Sure,”Isaid.Wewalked onto the back

deck and Christos grabbed asteelbrushtoscrubdownthegrill. Hismuscles flexed andpopped as he worked thebrush, hypnotizing meinstantly. I couldn’tconcentrate.What did I needto talk toChristos about thatwasso important?Was it thefact his tattooed arms mademedizzyandmythighswere

now quivering? No.Something else. Was it theway my stomach wassomersaultingandmycheeksglowedredwhenhissexylipscurled into a smile as heglanced over at me like mymere presence had made hisday? No, couldn’t be thateither.

“Admit it,”he said, “onceagain, seeing me cleaningsomethingisturningyouon.”

Guilty. I rolled my eyes.

“Totallynotturnedon.”He flashed me a dimple

grin. “Uh huh. I see thewayyour eyes are spinning incircles.You canbarely standup.”

Sowhat ifhewasright?Iwouldn’tadmitit,noteveninfrontofa juryafter swearingon a stack of Bibles. Crap.That broke the spell. Weneeded to discuss his trial. Isighed sadly. “Did you getmycalltoday?”

Christos chuckled as hescrubbed.“Yeah.Rightinthemiddle of court. The judgegavemeatonofshitbecausemyphonerang.”

“Ohno! I’msosorry, I’msuch an idiot. I should’vewaitedtocall.”

“It’s not your fault, agápimou,” Christos reassured.“Don’tworryaboutit.”

No matter how anxious Iwas,Christos’evendemeanorcouldalwayscalmmedown.

I took a deep, cleansingbreath. “Did you getmy textor have a chance to listen tomymessage?”

He set down the wirebrush.“Idid.”

“And?”“Andwhat?”“And,” I said, “I can

testify for you. It’s not toolate,isit?”

Christos ranaheavyhandacross his stubbled cheeks.Hisalwayssexycheeks.Why

did he have to be so damnhandsome? I could never getenough of my magazinecover model boyfriend. Hewas eye crack. I’m surprisedmy eyes didn’t go intowithdrawal when he was outofmy sight.At least I couldget a fix right now.Wait, hewasdoingitagain!Tryingtodistractmewithhissexiness!

“Please,Christos, canyoustop being sexy for onesecond so we can discuss

this?”“I’d rather be sexy,” he

smirked. “It amuses me towatch your eyes cross likethat.”

“Myeyesaren’tcrossing!”“Theywereasecondago,”

hewinked.“You’re such a man,” I

groused.“Yup.”Wow.Cockyasever. If it

was me who was two daysawayfromgoingtocourt,I’d

be freaking out. MaybeChristos could giveconfidence lessons to packedstadiumsandmakeamint inthe self help industry. Ormaybe we could just bottlehisegoandputheroinoutofbusiness. Either way, we’dretireyoungandrich.

I remembered thinking ofhimasGoodTimeChristosattheHalloweenpartyatJake’shouse last year. It turned outthathadbeenanaccuratetitle

forhim.Christosloweredthelidon

the grill and hung the brushon the side. “Shall we goinside? All this exercise hasgotmeallworkedup. Ineedtorelax.”

“Okay,” I fawneddreamily. Then I shook myhead. “Wait! Stop! Quitcharming me with yourhotness powers. We need totalkaboutyourtrial.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Mustwe?Iwanted toenjoythis evening with you. AndI’ve got a present for you.”He smoothed a loose lock ofhairbehindmyearandkissedmyforehead.

Swoon.“You do?” I sighed.Who

didn’t like presents? Wait asecond, he was doing itagain! I squinted at him andjammed my hands on myhips. “Is this anotherdistractiontactic,Christos?”

“No, I really have apresent.”

“Fine. Do we discuss thetrial before or after thepresent?”

He considered. “Before.Thatway,mypresentwillgetyoubackinthemood.”

“Mood?” I saidskeptically. “Are you tryingto get me into bed, ChristosManos?”

He nodded confidentlyand slid an arm around my

waist.I rolled my eyes and

smiled. “Fine. But not untilafterwetalk.”

“Works for me.” Heleanedforwardandkissedmepassionately.

After a minute, I couldbarelystandup.Mylegshadofficially melted because ofthe forest fire deep in my…forest.

I shook my head andpushedaway.“Stop!Weneed

to talk,” I pleaded. Whoneeded talking when thehottestmanontheplanethadhis arms around my waist?I’m pretty sure that was thedevil voice on my shouldertalking. Devil voice liked tohaveagood time.ButAngelvoiceremindedherthat therewould be no more parties inmypanties ifChristoswasinjail. Sigh. “Christos, youknowIwantyou,but Idon’twantyou just for tonight. I’d

also like to have youtomorrownight,andthenightafter that, and the night afterthat,and—”

Hesmiled.“Igettheidea.Look, my attorney has goteverything wrapped up. Itotally appreciate your desireto help. But everything isgoingtobefine.”

“Christos, I don’t knowmuchabouthowcourtworks,butIdoknowthatIwastherethatday.You’regoingtotrial

because of that guy whoyelledatme thedaywemet,aren’tyou?”

He nodded. “You figureditout.I’mnotsurprised.Yoursmarts are half of whatattractedmetoyouinthefirstplace.”

“Really? I’m not just apretty face?” I struck afashion model lip pout poseandpiledmyhaironmyheadwithbothhands.

He chuckled. “You’re a

prettyfacetoo.Theprettiest.”“Then you’ll totally want

me inyour trial so I canwinover all the male jurors. I’llhave them wrapped aroundmyfingerafterI’mthrough.”

“I’m sure youwould. Butyou don’t need to doanything. It’s going to befine.”

“Come on, Christos. Weboth know I was aneyewitness. And my eyeswere closer to that jerk than

anyone else’s.Myversionofeventswouldtotallyhelpyou.AmIwrong?”

“No.”“Then how do I get into

the trial? What do I have todototellmysideofthings?”

“Youdon’t.”I frowned at him. “Why

not?”“It’stoolate.”“What? Can you please

explainindetail?”Hesighed.“Wehadtotell

thejudgeatthepre-trialtodaywhich witnesses we’re goingtocalltothestandonFriday.It’stoolatetoaddmore.”

“That’sstupid!Why?”“Because the D.A. has to

have a chance to hearwhatever testimony youmight give before the trialstarts. So they have time toprepare.”

“No problem. I’ll callthem right now!” I stompedmyfoot.

“It doesn’twork like that.You have to go through thesystem.Ittakestime.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I feltmy anger rising like avolcano. I wanted to protectChristos more than I wantedto draw another breath. “Westillhavetwodays!”

“No,wehadtwodaystwodaysago.”hesaidcalmly.

“WhatifI—”Heshookhishead.“Icould—”

“No,agápimou,”hesaid.“It’stoolate.”

“Why didn’t you tell mesooner?” I wanted to poundhim on the chest infrustration. “I could’vehelped!”

“You’ve already helpedme more than you will everrealize.”

“Whocares?”Iwasragingathimnow.“Ifyou’re in jailbecauseIdidn’ttelleveryonewhat happened in court, it

doesn’t matter! I don’t wantyou behind bars for even asecond! Don’t you get it?This is so stupid!” I pushedout of his arms and stalkedacross the deck until I wasstanding at the edge of theswimming pool. I suddenlyhad the desire to dive in andswim a hundred laps in myclothes. I was furious. Butswimming wouldn’t get mewhereIwantedtogo.

I felt warm arms wrap

around me from behind. HekissedthetopofmyheadandIleanedintohim.

I was crying now. “Whydidn’tyoutellme,Christos?”

“Because I didn’t wantyou to waste your time onthis. I got myself into thismess,I’llgetmyselfout.”

“But I want to help!” Icried.

“Agápi mou, you need tofocus on your classes andyourjobs.Speakingofwhich,

didn’t you have a shift atGrab-n-Dashtonight?”

I stiffened in Christos’arms. Oh shit. Oh fuckityshit! I’d forgot all about it. Iwas so stressed aboutChristos not answering mycalls,Ihadgonespacecadet.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”heasked.

Iwinced,“Uh…maybe?”“Samantha, this is what

I’m talking about. You’re sowoundupworryingaboutme

whenyoushouldbeworryingaboutyou.”

Ispunaroundinhisarms.“Don’t you get it? You’realways helpingme, Christos.This is finally theone time Ican do something to reallyhelp you, and you won’t letme.MystupidjobatGrab-n-Dash doesn’tmatter. I’m notgoing to be a conveniencestore clerk for the restofmylife. I can find another job.But if I’m notmistaken, you

onlygetonetrial,right?”“Unless there’s amistrial.

Butyeah,usuallythere’sonlyone.”

“So quit being so bullheaded and let me help you,damnit!”

He smiled his dimpledgrin at me. “I would if Icould, but it’s out of myhands. Anyway, the trial isnot until Friday. I havetonightandalloftomorrowtoenjoymy freedom.Andyou,

agápi mou. Can’t we enjoytonight and forget aboutwhat’saroundthecorner?”

The pleading look in hiseyes melted my heart. Isnuggled my cheek againsthis rock hard chest. Stupidmuscles. Stupid dimples.StupidChristos! Iwoundmyarms around him andsqueezed him as tightly as Icould. Iwoulddomybest toblock out the trial and focusonthenow.

I sighed. “I believe you’dmentioned a present of somesort?”

“I did,” he saidseductively. “But before wegettothat,maybeyoushouldcall your boss and tell himyoucan’tmakeit?”

Groan!My boss could take his

neon urine colored Grab-n-Dashuniformshirtandshoveit up his ass. Since I wasmoving inwithChristos, and

wouldbesavingonrent,didIreallyneed the job?Ohwait,ever since my parents hadgone bonkers and decided tostop sending me any moneyforcollege,yes.NotonlydidI need Grab-n-Dash, I couldusethreemorejobsontopofit.Therewasnoway Icouldpay my tuition with what ImadeworkingattheSDUartmuseum and Grab-n-Dashcombined.

Mylifewastrulyscrewing

me in every orifice. Worse,not only were mymain orifigetting the shaft from everydirection, including my ears,nostrils,andeyesockets,butIimagined millions of tinymicroscopic dicks busilyraping every pore on mybody.

Screw it. I may as wellenjoy my evening withChristos.

Because things couldn’tgetanyworse,couldthey?

===ChristosandIwent inside

and I immediately calledmyboss at Grab-n-Dash on myphone.Iapologizedprofuselyfor not coming in and askedwhatIcoulddotomakeituptohim.

HepromptlytoldmeIwasfired.

“Ohyeah?”Ishouted intothe phone, “Well, youruniforms look like pee andthey smell like hot dogs! I

don’tneedyourstupidjob!”Iheard him hang up on me.“And your eyebrows looklikecaterpillars!”Iscreamed.

“Thatwentwell,”Christossaiddryly.

“I alwayshated that placeanyway.Ididn’tevengetfreeICEEs when I was on theclock! My boss was a totalmiser.”

“You’ll find somethingbetter,” Christos encouraged.“Who knows, maybe you’ll

sellsomemoreart.”I wondered if The

Wombat paid for comicstrips? I’d have to ask theeditor, Justin Tomlinson.Gulp. I could worry aboutthatlater.Christosnow.

“So, you said somethingabout a present?” I askedsheepishly. I admit it. I wasgreedyforagoodgift. Ithadbeenalongday.

“Yes,” he grinned.“You’re going to love it.

Comeon, I’ll showyou.”Heled me through the houseuntil we ended up in thegarage. He flipped on thelights.

The first thing I noticedwas an old station wagonwith wood paneling on thesidesandwhitewalltires.I’dnever seenone like itbefore.Iwrinkledmynose.“Didyougetmeacar?”

“What,” Christos lookedconfused,“theWoody?”

Isnortedalaugh.He narrowed his eyes,

“You don’t know what aWoodyis,doyou?”

“Christos!” I giggled. “OfcourseIdo.”

Hesmirkedatme.“Okay,whatisit?”

“Duh. A woody is a hardon.”

“A what?” he asked,amused.

“Youknow,”Iinsisted.“No. Tell me. I’m all

ears.”“Anerection.”“Awhat?”“Christos, how could you

of all people not know whatI’mtalkingabout?”

Heshookhishead, totallyconfused.

“An erect penis?” I saiduncertainly.

Hestilllookedconfused.“Am I not speaking

English?”Iasked.Heshruggedhisshoulders.

“Okay,” I blurted, “now Iknow you’re messing withme.”

Hecrackeduplaughing.Iswattedhisarm.“Jerk!”He dodged away from

another swat and cackled,“You’re super sexy whenyou’re mad! I totally need apicture of your face rightnow!”

“Boys!”Ifoldedmyarms.“So, what is woody, Mr.SmartyPants?”

“This particularWoody ismygrandad’s1949Plymouthstation wagon. He bought itwhenmy dadwas a kid andtheyrestored it togetherbackinthe1970s.”

“Oh. It’s reallynice.Howcome I never see yourgrandfatherdrivingit?”

“It’s a classic. He onlytakes it out now and then.Beforetheyfinishedrestoringit all the way, my granddadwould loadup thesurfboards

and take my dad surfing upand down the coast when hewasakid.”

“Thatsoundslikefun.”I’dnever done anything nearlythat cool with my parents.Once again, I felt that pinchof jealousy every timeChristos told me yet anothercasual story about his familylife. I don’t think he thoughtanythingofit.Tohim,itwasnormal.Tome itwas exotic,romantic, and almost

unbelievable. Did peoplereally enjoy their lives thismuch? My parents hadn’t.For them, everything hadbeen about work, takingprecautions, planning for thefuture. What about living inthe moment? I don’t thinktheyknewwhatthatwas.

“So,” Christos said, “thefirst part of your present.Boxes.”

“Boxes?”Hewalkedovertoastack

ofnewboxes leaningagainstthe wall of the garage.“Movingboxes.Andpackingsupplies.Foryou.”

“Forme?” I looked at theboxes.Therewas a bunch ofdifferent sizes, including oneof those wardrobe boxes forhangingclothes.

“Ifwe’regoingtogetyoumoved in with me, we’regoing to need to packeverything up, right?” Hesmiledatme.

Myheartmelted instantly.I’d been running around likecray-cray for the last twodays, yet somehow Christoshadmanaged tokeephiseyeon the prize, so to speak. Isaid tentatively, “Are yousure?”

He scoffed. “Of courseI’msure.”

“But, the other night youflipped out and bolted frommyapartmentaftertellingmeabout your trial. I thought

maybe you’d changed yourmind.” I wanted to hide myface. I was about to cry. Iwilled my tears to stay put,lest they ruin my dreams,whichwerecomingtruerightbeforemyeyes.

“Ioweyouanapologyforthat, agápi mou. I totallyflippedout.”Hewrappedhisarms around me and pulledmeclose.

I stared up into hislustrous blue eyes. They

piercedmy heart so easily. Ifeltwarmthdrizzlingintomeas my eyes drank the loveshining from his. “It’s okay,Christos.Iunderstand.”

“You didn’t deserve forme to run out like that,especially after your parentsblewgasketsaboutyourplanto move in with me. Ishould’vebeenthereforyou.I think I was so freaked outby what your parents said,combined with the stress of

mytrial,itwaslikeIcouldn’tdo anything to stop thelandslide.AfterIcooledoff,Ihad to remind myself that Ican’t control what yourparentssayordo,andIcan’tcontrol the outcome of mytrial. But that doesn’t meantherestofmylifehastogrindto a halt. We talked aboutmoving in together, and Imeant it. Shit, you alreadyhave a sweet art studio here.May as well seal the deal.

This house is your house. Iwantyou to livewithme,nomatterwhathappens.”

I think I was floatingoutsidemybody.AnysecondIexpectedtoseealightattheendofadarktunnelandheara choir of angels welcomingme to heaven. Oh wait, thelight was just the loveglowing in Christos’ eyes.“Yes,” I said hoarsely. I hadto clear my throat, I was sochokedup.“Yes!” I laughed.

“I totally want to move inwithyou!”

“Awesome,” he smiled,his eyes darkening withtangible desire. “I’ve alreadygot Jake and a bunch of mybuddies lined up tomorrow.Oneofthemhasabigpickup.If you’re willing, I thoughtme and the boys could go toyour apartment while you’reatschoolandpackeverythingup for you.Wecanput yourfurniture in thegarage.We’ll

have all your stuffmoved inbefore you’re back fromcampus.Whatdoyouthink?”

“Wow! That soundsawesome! Are you sure? Imean, moving isn’t usuallypeople’s number one socialactivity.”

“It’s totally cool. As longas you’re coolwith us doingit. I’d need to get yourapartment key. And youshould probably tell yourmanager and your neighbors

so they don’t think we’rerobbingyou.”

I laughed. “I’ll do that.Oh,onething.”

“What?”“Don’t let any of your

buddiessniffmyunderwear,”Igiggled.

Hechuckled.“Theywon’thave a chance. I’ll be toobusy hogging all of it formyself.” He inhaled loudly,“Ahyeah,that’stheshit!”

Iswattedhisarmagain.“I

can’t decide whether that’sdisgustingoratotalturnon.”

“I like how your pussysmells,soI’mgoingwithturnon.”

Iwinced.“Gross!”He shook his head and

smiled.“Onedaywe’regoingtohave to breakyouof yourprudish ways, agápi mou. Ilikehowyourpussysmells.Ilikehow it tastes. Igenerallythinkaboutjammingmyfacebetween your legs every five

minutes.”“Youaresocrude!”He smiled his dimpled

grin. “What can I say? Youturn me on more than anywomanhaseverturnedamanonin thehistoryofmen.I’mtheluckiestguyontheplanetand I like to indulge in it.Yourpussy,thatis.NectaroftheGodsandshit.”

I had to admit, the hotthrob between my legs wastotally unintentional. I took

no responsibility for beingturned on by Christos’ crassbehavior. Iwas a proper girlwithoutasinglesluttyboneinmy body. Christos, on theotherhand,had the soulof amale slut, and for somereason, I wanted his sluttybone in my body. Err, Imeant,IwantedhisslutboneinpartsofmeforwhichIwasnot responsible, the wetdrenchedcenterinparticular.

He arched a cocky

eyebrow, emphasis on thecocky part. “Ready to goupstairs?”

“Why do we have to goupstairs?” The hood of theWoodyseemedlikeasgoodaplaceasanytome.

“To see your otherpresents,”hemurmured.

“Presentsaregood,”Isaidsoftly, gazing up into hiseyes.

Christos squatted downand scooped me into his

arms.Okay, I admit it, he’d

carriedme places a thousandtimes by now, and I liked itbetter every time. We wentupstairs and he carried meintohisbedroom.Thistime,Ireally felt like we had justcrossed an importantthreshold. We had steppedinto something permanent.Wow,Iwashotfromheadtotoe.

Heflippedonthelights.

Thebedwasnowcoveredin a new comforter and pilesof pillows were stackedagainsttheheadboard.

“I thought the bed couldbe plushed up a bit, sinceyou’ll be spending so muchtimeinit,”hesaid.

“Iloveit!”Still cradled in his arms,

he walked me around theroom.

“Ialsoboughtyouachestof drawers for your clothes.”

Anewdarkwoodcheststoodangled in one corner. “And Imade room in the closet foryoutohangstuff.”Heopenedone of the mirrored doors.Plentyofroom.“Andyoucanput shoes and shit on theshelves and the floor. If youturn into a shoe whore, wecanrentastoragelocker,”hegrinned.

“Lucky for you, I’mbroke,”Ismiled.

“Thatwon’tstopyoufrom

going to Goodwill or thethrift shops.Shoesare shoes.I know how you ladies getwhenitcomestofootwear.”

“Are you encouragingme?” I grinned. “I’m notabovebargainhunting.”

He rolled his eyes. “Giveme at least a month beforeyou go nuts. I’d at least liketoenjoytheillusionofashoefreehouseholdforthatlong.”

Christos was still holdingmeinhisarms.Isnuggledmy

cheek against the largemusclesofhischest.Iinhaledhismanlyscent.Wow, Iwasliving in a fantasy world.Somebody wake me up! Onsecondthought,don’t!

“When did you do allthis?”Iasked.

“Today.Mypre-trialwentprettyquick.There’sstilloneortwomorethings.”

“Oh? How many presentsdoIget?”

“As many as you want,”

he winked as he opened thebathroom door and walkedmeinside.

“Oh my god,” Imurmured. I couldn’tbelievemyeyes.

Litcandleslinedtheroom.Rosepetalscarpetedthefloorand the edge of the jacuzzitub, which was full ofbubbles.Twobigbouquetsoffresh red roses werepositionedon thecounter topbetween the sinks. In the

middle of everything was abig heart shaped box ofchocolates.

“Happy pre-Valentine’sDay, agápi mou,” he saidsoftly.

Okay,nowIwasofficiallycrying. Tears streamed downmy face. “Oh, Christos. Myagápi mou. I can’t believeyoudidallthis.”

“Ican,”hegrinned.“But it’s somuch,” I said

lookingupintohiseyes.

“It’s not enough,” hesmiled.

“But I haven’t gotten youanything,agápimou,”Isaid.

“Yes you have, agápimou.You’vegivenmeyou.”He gazed deeply into myeyes.“Samantha,withyouinmy house and inmy heart, Ihave everything I will everneed on this earth. You aremyall.AllthatIneed,allthatI want, all that life has tooffer.”

Iliftedmyheaduptokisshim. He worked his armsaroundbeneathmeand liftedmecloser, until our lipsmet.The warm embrace of ourkissing lips sent shimmersofdesire cascading down mythroat.Warmth spreadacrossmy chest and lit my breastswith pleasurey tension. Histongueenteredmymouthandmeltedintomine.Igrabbedafistfulofhisshirtashiswarmbreathcaressedme.

Wekissedforatime,thenhegentlypulledaway.“Yourbath awaits.Don’twant it togetcold.”Hesetmedownontheedgeofthetubandpulledmyflatsoffandmassagedmyfeet.

“Mmm, that feelswonderful,”Isaid.

He smiled and massagedfor awhile. When he wasfinished,heslidhishandsupmy jeans and worked histhumbs between my thighs

until they teasedbetweenmylegs. I giggled as he tickledhis hands up my sides andpulledmysweaterandTshirtover my head. He tossedthemonto the floor, tookmyhands, and pulled me tostanding.

“What?”Iasked.“Pants,” he grinned as he

unbuttonedmyjeans,slidthezipper down, and slowlyworkedmy jeansandpantiesdown to my ankles. He was

kneeling beside me, his faceinches from my center. Hetilted his head up at me andcocked his dimples while heinhaledslowly.

“Fucking incredible,” hesaid,closinghiseyestosavormy scent. He leaned towardme and exhaled on my wetfolds.Hishotbreathmademetingle. I wanted to dancenervously, but my jeanstrapped my feet. He put oneknee between my legs,

pressing my jeans down andbinding my feet. I wasn’tgoinganywhere.

“Christos,”Imurmured.“Ican’tmove.”

“Nope,” he chuckled. Hecupped my butt with hishands and jerked my hipstoward him, burying his facebetweenmy legs.His tonguelaved between my lips, hotandhungry.Helappedupmywetness like a parched manstumblingintoanoasis.

The pleasure was intenseand electric, spasming outfrommy core intomy chest,glowing up my throat. I feltfaint, and propped an armagainsthismuscledshoulder,steadyingmyselfashelickedaway my equilibrium.Contractions seized my coreas an orgasm rose up insideme, spinning through mybodyinliquidwavesofheat.I moaned throatily andcollapsed onto Christos’

shoulders as pleasure stolegravityandliftedmeintotheair.“Oh,oh,oh…”

He drove his tongue intome as I came all over hisface. He wouldn’t stop, andmy pleasure mounted,intensifying as anotherorgasm took flight on thewingsofthefirst.

He didn’t stop. Hewouldn’t relent. He growledand moaned as his fingersclenched my ass in his

mesmerizing grip. He wasravenous and tore me openwith his tongue. I weptpleasure between my legs,rainingalloverhisface.

Iwasgone.===

My legs were quiveringwhenhe finally finished.Mytorso was draped over hisshoulderssoIleveredupwithmyarms.MyhairhunginmyfaceasIgazeddownathim.

He tilted his head up at

me, a wicked gleam in hiseyes. He looked carnivorousashisslicklipsspreadacrosshis teeth. “I told you I’vebeendyingforabite.”

Igiggled.“Yousoundlikeavampire.”

He chuckled and pulledoff his shirt, revealing theintricate tattoos on his armsand shoulders as well as the‘Fearless’ script across hischest,thenslidhimselfupmybody, pressing pectorals

against my swollen breastsand the knots ofmy nipples,shooting electric tingles thatstopped my breath. Heunhookedmy bra and peeledit away, his face stillglistening as he kissed medeeplyandcaressedmyneck.

“Mmm,sogood,”hesaid.“Readyforyourbath?”

“What about you?” Iasked.

“Whataboutme?”“Aren’t you, you know,

liketotallyworkedup?”“I can wait,” he said

cockily.Abalert!Ilookeddownat

his always amazing abs. Iwould do laundry 24/7 if hisabsweremywashboard.Iranmy fingers down them,caressing all eight as theyarrowed down to thewaistband of his pants. “Idon’t know if I can.” Igrabbed his belt and pulledhishipsintome.

“I would never refuse alady,”hegrinned.

I unbuckled his belt andunbuttoned his jeans. Iwanted to recreate the samemove he’d used on me. Igrabbed his underwear andjeans and started pulling.“Damn,yourjeansaretight.”I needed some leverage, so Istepped out of my jeans andpantiesandkickedthemasidebefore setting my legs andyankingunsuccessfullyonhis

jeans.“Alittlehelp?”“Blame fashion,” he said

casually. “Skinny jeans arein.”HeshimmiedhishipsasIslidhispantsdown.

Hiscocksprungoutofhisboxersandwavedinmyface.

“Look out for my heatseeking missile,” he joked.“It’sgottargetlock.”

I snickered. “You are acomplete dork, you knowthat?”

“Only for you, agápi

mou.”I managed to push his

jeansandboxersdowntohisankles.WhenIroseuponmyknees,histhrobbingcockwaspointingrightatmymouth.

“Uhhh…” I said, “WhatdoIdo?”

“Yougotyourselfintothismess,”hesaid.

I arched an eyebrow andglaredupathim.“Ithinkit’stimeformybath?”

“Whateveryouprefer.My

dick’s not going anywhere. Ican fuck you later. It’s up toyou.”

Still staring at him, Ishookmyhead.“Youhaveadirtymind,youngman.”

“Thedirtiest.”Iloweredmyeyesbackto

his manhood. Wow, it wasreallybig.Thickveinswoundaround the shaft. The headwas dark and purpled withblood. It literally pulsed,thump, thump, thump,

probably in time with hisheartbeat, getting slightlybigger with each thud. Precum dribbled from the tip. Ilickedmylips.Icouldn’thelpmyself.Itlookedsolickable.

I leaned toward it and feltheat pouring off of it beforemylipseventouchedit.

“Do you know whatyou’regettingyourselfinto?”heaskedthoughtfully.

“Not really?” My mouthhadneverbeenthisclosetoa

cock in my entire life. I’dalways maintained a safedistanceatalltimes.Maybeitwas finally time to throwcautiontothewind.

“Wecanjumpinthetubifyou want, and enjoy thesuds,”hesaidsoftly.“It’suptoyou.”

I smiled up at him andbattedmyeyelashes.

Hegrinned.I leaned forward and

gingerlykissedthetopof the

tiponce.“Howwasthat?”“Wow. Amazing. I’ve

neverfeltanythinglikeit,”hequipped. “Best. Blow job.Ever,”hewinked.

Ifrownedathim.“Excuseme. I haven’t had a lot ofexperience swallowingelephanttrunks,hotshot.”

Hecockedadimpleatme.“I’ve got a hot shot waitingfor you, whenever you’reready.”

I rolled my eyes. “That

wasepicallylame,Christos.”“And?”hegrinned.“Make

yourmoveorI’mjumpinginthetub.”

“Fine.Youaskedforit,”Igrowled.Ileanedforwardandlicked the pre-cum right offthe tip and swallowed. Asaltyhintofocean.NotwhatI’d expected. But I wasn’tdone. I slid my lips aroundthe head of his cock andlickedtheunderside.

“Fu-uh-uh-uck,” he

moaned.I glancedupand sawhim

throw his head back. Therewasnoway Iwasgettingallof him in my mouth so Igrabbed his shaft with bothhands and continued to lickandslidewithmymouth.

Hehissedinecstasy.“Oh,damn,that’samazing…”

Iwasn’tentirelysurewhatIwasdoing.Ihadseenporn,and had some basic ideasabouthowthisworked.What

I hadn’t expected was howmuchitwasturningmeon.Ifelt the muscles in my coreshakingwith need, like therewas a direct connectionbetween these lipsand those.IslidmyheadforwardasfarasIcouldgo,untilhetouchedthe back of my throat. Redalert!Ipulledbackabruptly.

I’d heard about gagreflexes, and those fabledwomenwhohadnone.Idid.

Icouldworkaroundit.

I continued to lick andstrokewithmouthandhands.I moved my left hand downand cupped his balls andmassaged them with myfingers. I suddenlyremembered seeing peopleworking those silvermeditation balls in theirhands, the ones that rangwhen you circled themaroundinyourfingers.

Meditation,myass.Thosesilverballswerefor

blowjobpractice.===

CHRISTOS

The funny thing aboutblow jobs was that a goodnumber of chicks sucked atthem. In a badway. Imean,they were terrible. Likesticking my dick in a meatgrinder.

I had no doubt an equalnumber ofmenwere terribleatgoingdownonwomen,but

thatwasanothertopic.The worst thing in the

worldwaswhena chickwasgoingdownonyou,grindingthe skin off your dick like abelt sander, having the timeof her life, thinking she’s allthat. The last thing youwanted to do was burst herbubbleandtellhershesuckedat sucking. I’d never donethat. I’d always manned upandenduredthepain.Mostofthe time, I could force out a

wad as quickly as possibleand be done with it. But ononeortworareoccasions,thechick was so bad, there wasnoway Iwas going to comebefore my dick was grounddown to a nub. I don’t evenremember how I got out ofthat one. I think I had justshouted,“Ohshit,who’s thatoutside your window!” andran out her front door whenshe was looking the otherway. Not one of my finer

moments.Lucky for me, Samantha

was easily the best I’d everhad.Worldclass.Goldmedalperformance. She’d barelystartedandalreadyIcouldn’ttellupfromdownorleftfromright.

“Holyfuck”Isaid,“Ihavetositdown.”

“Did I do somethingwrong?” Samantha asked,pulling her mouth off mydick.

“Fuck no. But I’m goingtopass out at the rate you’regoing.”

“Is that bad?” she askedinnocently.

I shook my head andchuckled. “No.” My kneeswerejellyasIloweredmyselfuntilIwassittingontheedgeofthetub.

Samantha kept one handaround my dick the wholetime, like she didn’t want tolet go. She had no idea how

fucking sexy that was. Andthe fact she didn’t know,made her ten times sexier.Not because she wasinnocent, but because shewasn’t doing an act. Somewomen thought the cameraswere rollingwhile theywereinthebedroomandtheywerebusy mugging and moaningfor the lens. But Samanthawas right here with me,focusedentirelyonme.Itwasa rare and unique experience

forme asmuch as I knew itwasforher.

Shekneltdownontherugin front of the tub betweenmyknees.“ShallIcontinue?”sheasked.

“Hellsyeah,”Igrinned.Her hot lips slid back

down my cock like a silkglove.Damn,shewassuchanatural. Sheworked herwayupanddownmydick,pullingme inside her deeper anddeeper. I closedmyeyesand

my head fell back, lollingagainst my shoulders.Whatevershewasdoingwithher hands and mouth wasmagic. I swear, my entirepackage was glowing withpleasure, like my entireawarenesswascollapsingintomycockinatightballofhotecstasy straining to bereleased.

Idon’tknowhowlongshewent on. I lost all track oftime. At one point, I looked

down and saw she wasputting her whole body intoit. The head ofmy dickwason fire. Every lick mademybody jerk. It felt so fuckinggood. I think my balls werewound up so tight there wasnothing left to grab, so shereleased them and put bothhandstoworkonmyshaft.

“Fuck, Samantha,” Iwhispered hoarsely, “I’mgoing to come. Oh, fuck, ohfuck…”

She intensified everythingand I think my penis turnedinto a black hole because itwas sucking the entireuniverseintothecenterofmybody.RightwhenI thoughtIwas going to blow,waves ofheat flooded through mybodyandeverythingreleased.All my tension faded fromexistence. All the stress thathad knottedmy body for thelast three weeks thinkingaboutmytrialfinallyletgo.It

was the most relaxingsensationI’deverfelt.

Iwasatpeace.AndIstillhadn’tcome.I’dreadaboutguyshaving

multipleorgasms.Ithoughtitwassomekindofmyth.ButIhadn’tyetshotmyloadandIwas riding on a wave ofintense, relaxing pleasure. Itwasamazing.

AndSamantha kept goingandgoing.

Orgasms had always been

an explosion for me. Ashooting, pounding, pullingthing. This was just total,peacefulrelease.

Itfeltsodamngood.The glow spread through

my whole body. I slumpedagainstthewallbythecornerofthetubandsliddowntoanelbow, but Samantha keptgoing.

I could stay like thisforever, enjoying the flyingfreedom the love of my life

wasgivingtome.I don’t know how long it

wenton. Ineverwanted it tostop.

Then something started tobuild.Awinding tighter thanI’d ever felt before. I wasgoing to blow. Someone hadshovedanuclearbombupmyassanditwasgoingtoripmeinhalf.Iwelcomedit.

My awareness shrankdown like the beginning ofthe universe between my

legs: infinite mass crushedintoamicroscopicspace.Andthenitwasallover.

BOOM.Every atom in my body

disintegratedintoprotonsandneutrons and shot across theuniverseatthespeedoflight,engulfingallofexistence.

Release.Peace.Iwasatpeace.For the first time in my

life,Iwasatpeace.

Agápimou…itwasalwaysyou.

===SAMANTHA

Christos’ cock grew thickas it strained in my mouth.He’d been slumped over forawhile, but Iwasdeterminedto finish him. I was starvingfor his cock, thirsting for hissweet release. I wanted totakehimintomethroughmymouth, swallow his energy

intomybelly.He was moaning

continuously, almostabsently, his eyelidsfluttering, nearly catatonicwith pleasure. Itwas kind ofweird,butatthesametimeitwas the biggest turn on. Hewas truly putty inmy hands,his body a puddle of muscleandmoans.

Then his cock suddenlystrained harder and harder,veins bulging, jutting and

swelling beyond allproportion.Thiswasit.

He suddenly lurchedforward, his knees pressingagainstmysidesashiswholebodycontracted.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!” heshouted.

Hot cum fired into mymouth,hittingthebackofmythroat.Iwassurprisedbytwothings simultaneously. Itwasverysalty,andtherewasalotof it. Way more than I

expected.Istoppedmovingmyhead

but continued to pump hisshaft. I was determined tomilk every last drop out ofhimwithmytongue.Hekeptcoming and coming and Itried to hold it all in mymouth.Ihadnochoicebuttoswallow.

I expected to gag, but Ididn’t. Iwasso turnedonbyallofthis,Ijustwentwiththeflow. No pun intended. He

flowed right into me. Icontinuedtoslowlystrokehiscockwithmytongue.

Withmylipsstillwrappedaround him, I glanced atChristos. His eyes wereclosed, his face saggingunconsciously.Hewastotallygone. Was he asleep? Afterawhile, I stopped, pulledback,andsmiledathim.

Idon’tthinkI’dfeltnearlythis slutty in my entire life,not even when I kissed my

ownwetnessoffofhismouthon several occasions. WhatreallysurprisedmewasthatIlikedfeelinglikethis.

Igavehead!There, I said it! My first

blowjob!Yay,me!Icouldn’tget over how much I hadenjoyed it. I’m pretty sure ithadworked for Christos too,judging by the look on hisface.

Oneofhiseyelidsopenedintoaslit.Hispupilflickered

inmygeneraldirection.“Anybodyhome?”Ijoked.A slow smile spread

acrosshismouth.Heliftedaneyebrow.“AmIdead?”

“No, silly.” I placed myhands on his legs and leanedtoward him for a kiss. I slidmytongueintohismouthandhe welcomed it. I halfexpected him to wince forsome reason, like maybe hewouldn’t want to taste hisown cum. But he sucked

awayatmeravenously.“Mmmmm,”hemoaned.“Wasitgood?”Iasked.“Mmmmm-hmmm.Idon’t

thinkIcanmove.”“Readyforthatbath?”“You might want to run

some hot water. I feel likewe’re intonextweekand thetub’s probably cold,” hejoked. “What year is it? Idon’tevenknow.”

I checked the tub and itwas cool, so I ran hot water

and added more suds. Whenit was ready, I climbed in.“Youjoiningme?”

Christos’ only responsewas to melt into the jacuzzitub like a limp eel fromwherehesatontheedge,hislegs following as anafterthought.

“Oh my gosh! Christos!”He was totally submerged. Ididn’t want him drowning. IclearedsomesudsawayandIsaw him smiling up at me

fromunderwater.Eventually,hisheadraised

above the surface, his hairglued to his forehead. “Ireallydon’tknowwhatplanetI’monrightnow,”hesaidashe slid around the tub untilwewereshouldertoshoulderand he leaned his bodyagainst mine. “That wasreally amazing, agápi mou.I’ve never felt anything likeit.”

“Really?” Despite

Christos’ sated behavior, Iwas still somewhat insecureabout my performance,having never done it before.There was no shame infishing for a fewcompliments, was there?Besides, itwasalmostas funto talkabout sexas itwas todo it, especially when youwere basking in the afterglowofhavingjustdoneit.

“Really,” Christos smiledsmugly. “I think you melted

my dick off,” he murmuredsleepily. “I can’t even feel itright now. I think my ballsare completely empty.Like Ishot my testicles out of mydick.Didyoufeelthemgoingdown your throat at anypoint? Can you check ifthey’re still there, or hasmyscrotum deflatedcompletely?”

I reachedunder thewater,between his legs and cuppedhis balls. “Still there,” I

grinned.Igavethemagentlesqueeze. “They seem likethey’re still kind of full.Maybe you need to drainthemsomemore?”

“Inawhile.”“What?” I gasped. “I

thought youwere theminutemanwhenitcametorecoverytime.”

“Not after what you justdid.Imightneedanhour.”

“Noway!”“Yes,way.Come to think

of it, I thinkmy blood sugartookahitfromallthataction.I may need some chocolateafterthat.”

“Areyoucrazy?”Ibarked.“After what I swallowed, IthinkIneedtogoonadiet!”

He snickered. “I’m sureyou swallowed nomore thantwothousandcalories.”

“That many?” I gaspedseriously.

“That’swhattheysay.Butthathastobeamyth.Aload

is no more than a fewteaspoons. I mean, a twentyounce porterhouse is athousand calories. How thehell would you squeeze twothousand into two or threeteaspoons?Doesn’tmakeanysense. In other words, youdon’tneedtogoonadiet.”

“Areyousure?”“Man,you’resuchagirl.I

guess you won’t have roomfor the chocolate I boughtyou, what with swallowing

my load and all,” he saiddismissively.

“That’s where you’rewrong! Women always haveroom for chocolate!” Ihopped out of the tub andgrabbedtheheartshapedboxoffthecounter,thenslidbackintothewater.Ilookedatthebox. “What’s See’sCandies?I’veneverheardofit.”

“That’s right,” Christossaid,hismouthjustabovethesurfaceofthewater,asleepy

expression still hooding hiseyes, “they don’t have See’son the east coast. See’s isMary See, the little old ladywho invented them. Prepareforthebestchocolatetrufflesyou’veeverhad.”

“I’ve had Godiva. Someold lady named Mary can’tpossibly be as good asexotically sexy Godiva,” Iscoffed.

“Try one,” he said,uninterestedinmyargument.

I opened the box andlooked at all the differentmilk, dark, and whitechocolate morsels. “WhichoneshouldIpick?”

“It doesn’tmatter, they’reallawesome,”hesaid.

I grabbed one and took abite. Rich chocolate andbutter cream filling meltedmytastebudsinachocolateyrush of yummyscrumptiousness. “Oh mygod. That is unreal.” I

swallowed.“IthinkIjusthadmyfirstfoodgasm.”

“Told you,” Christoschuckled.“HappyValentine’sDay,agápimou.” He leanedover and kissed mepassionately.

Wetook turnskissingandeating See’s chocolates. Icouldn’t decide which wasyummier.

It didn’t matter because Iwas sharing both with myman.

Iwasinheaven.

Chapter6

SAMANTHA

ThenextmorningIwasinhell.

I’d had nightmares allnightaboutChristosbeing injail.Isleptlikecrapandwokeupexhausted.

At leastChristoswasnext

tomeinbed.Fornow.Histrialwastomorrow.I stared at the ceiling,my

head spinning like ahurricane.

His trial felt like aneternity from now and I justwanted it to be over. It alsofeltlikeitwasasecondfromnow, and my time left withChristoswassofleetingthatIneeded to hold onto him fordearlife.

“You awake?” he asked

softly.Tears dribbled down my

cheeks.“Yeah,”Isaidsoftly.He rolled over onto his

stomach and his face wasinches frommine. He kissedmycheekgently.

I smeared tears from mycheeks and held back thehitching sobs that tried toforce theirwayout. Iwantedtobestrongformyman.

“Letitout,agápimou,”hesaid softly. He wrapped an

armaroundmeandpulledmynakedbodyintohis.

“Oh, Christos,” I sobbed,finally letting go. My bodyshook with pain and fear. Ishutoutalltheterriblefuturescenariosdancingthroughmyhead and did my best toconcentrate on Christos’lovingembrace.

I cried for a long time ashe kissed me softly,showering love all aroundme, my lips, my eyes, my

cheeks, the tip of my nose,myears,myhair. I sank intohiscomfortinglove.

“I love you Christos. Ican’t let you go,” I saiddesperately. “I need you.Right here. I don’twant yougoing to court tomorrow.” Iknew itwas ridiculous, but Isaiditanyway.

“I need you too, agápimou, forever and always. Ineed you inmy life to guidemy heart, to keep it open, to

keepmegrounded,toremindme why life is worth living,why I have to keep fighting,why I will never give up onyou or us. You are my life,agápi mou. I have nothingwithoutyou.”

Myheart opened tohis inthat moment wider than iteverhadbefore.Christoswasmyonetruelove.Iknewitascertainly as I felt his heartopeningwide tomine in thatmoment.Iliterallyfeltenergy

flowingbetweenus, the rubyjewel of my own heartabsorbingandprojectingbackhisloveinacompletedcircle.

Togetheratlast.I treasured this man like

no other thing in my shortlife.Hewasmygift.

I would do anything tokeephimsafe.

Anything.Without thinking, I

reached between us and felthishotheatinmyhand.Islid

him inside my waitingwetness and wemade tenderlove.

It was slow, soft,connected, and precious.Thewingsofmyheartflutteredinthe bath of his love. Ourbodiesspiraledupandoutofthe room as one, the hotbreath of our love lifting useffortlessly into the sky onbillowingsheetsofecstasy.

Eventually, we reachedorgasmtogether.

“I love you, agápi mou,”we murmuredsimultaneously.

After, as we laid in bed,we returned to Earth andcame to rest in our ownbodiesonceagain.

To my surprise, I was ontop of him. I hadn’t evenrealized Ihadendeduphere.It had happenedunconsciously, withoutinsecurityoranxiety.

Ireallyhadbeenoutofmy

body, connected withChristos on some strangespiritual plane that existedoutsideofthisbedroom.

But that moment hadpassed.

I was now intimatelyaware of my physical bodyonce again. Christos’manhood, the most sensitivepart of him, was still deepinside of me, quiveringwithin, pulsing faintly andintermittently. I savored

knowing that his fluids weremingling with mine as heemptied the very last ofhimself intome. I wanted tokeep his tender manhoodinsideofme like this foreverso I could protect him fromall the terrible things in theworld.Iwantedtosustaintheopenflowbetweenourheartsin that moment, thisconnectionthatwasproofhisheartwasboundtomine.

Forever.

===At some point, stark

reality prodded its way intomy awareness. I could feelChristos’ semen puddledbetween us on his stomach.The gooeyness didn’t botherme.ItjustremindedmethatIwouldneedtocleanup,needto separate from Christos,breaking our physicalconnection so we could goaboutourday.

Why was it that sex

alwaysledtoanending?Ifeltsadnessstirringinmybelly.Iknew the French calledorgasms‘littledeaths’. Ithadalwaysseemedmorbidtome,butinthismoment,Irealizedthey were right. I feltsomething dying. I hoped itwasn’tprophetic.

Groan!ThiswasnothowIwantedtostartwhatmightbemylastdaywithChristosforalongtime.

I hugged Christos as

tightly as I could, my faceburrowing into his muscledchest. I never wanted to lethimgo.

Never.“We should get cleaned

up,”Christossaid.“No,”Iwhispered.He wrapped his arms

aroundme and held ontomefora longtime.Iappreciatedthat. His manhood was stillinside me and I still wasn’tready to let him withdraw

from the protection of mybody.

Justafewmoreminutes.For consolation, I

reminded myself that afterevery ending comes a newbeginning. It felt like falsehope, but I did my best torally.Lifewasfilledwiththerhythmofchange. I’d seen itfirsthand.

Now I just had to walkintoanewchapter.

Justgetupoffthebedand

start.Anytimenow.Isighed.DidIhaveto?Finally, I satupon topof

Christos.He smiled up at me, his

jeweled blue eyes piercingmyheart.

Hegavemecourage.Hegavemehope.Hegavemestrength.Nomatterwhathappened.“We’re a mess, aren’t

we?”Iasked.He chuckled. “I wouldn’t

have it any other way.Wantmetolickyouclean?”

Ihungmyheadand liftedmyhipsoffofhis.Therewasaswimmingpooldownthere.“I hope you’re thirsty,” Ijoked, totallyunselfconscious. I felt like anewme.Idon’tthinkI’deverbeen this relaxed aroundChristos,orevenwhenIwasalone.

I climbed off of him,cuppingmyhandbetweenmylegstocatchanyerrantdrips.Why was reality always fullof annoying details like this?“I’llberightback,”IsaidasIwalked toward thebathroom,“Stayrightwhereyouare.”

Rose petals still coveredthe bathroom from top tobottom. All of the candleshadgoneout,saveone.

Onecandle.I lookedaround theroom.

Wasn’tthereoneothercandlestill burning? Two strongflamesburningbright,sidebyside?

No. There was only theone.

Theone.I shuddered and blinked

away fresh tears. I almostdoubledoverinagony.

Christos…“You okay in there?” he

calledfromthebedroom.“Yeah,” I choked out

hoarsely,“justasecond.”AfterIcomposedmyself,I

lookedaroundandgrabbedahand towel off the rack andreturned to the bedroom. Icrawled onto the bed andkneeled next to Christos. Igently wiped him clean,swirling the towelaroundhisstomachandhisthighs.

“Ready to shower?” Iasked.

“Afteryou,”hesaidashepropped himself up on his

muscled,tattooedarms.Iheldoutmyhandtohim

and he took it. I led him offthe bed and into thebathroom, where weshoweredtogether.

Afterwedressed,wewentdownstairs.

“What do you want toeat?”heasked.

“I’ll make it,” I saidconfidently. “Sit down andrelax.”

“Givingordersnow?”

“Yep,”Igrinned.“We have leftovers from

last night,” he suggested,“tons of lamb. I always loveproteinforbreakfast.”

“Zip it. I’ve got it.” Iopened the fridge andscanned the contents. Theresurewerea lotof leftovers.Ihated to let foodgo towasteand I wasn’t above takingsuggestions. I grabbed someveggies, the lambandonionsfrom last night, and cooked

omelets forbothofus. Ialsomade toast and poured someorangejuice.

“Whatareyougoingtodotoday?”Iasked.

Christos finished chewingon a slice of buttered toastand wiped his face with anapkin. “Move you in,remember?”

“Ohyeah.”“I need your key. Don’t

forget to call your apartmentmanager.”

“I’ll do it right now. Idon’t want you gettinghassled.” I jogged upstairsanddugmyphoneoutofmypurse. I called my managerand explained everythingbeforegoingbackdownstairs.“Christos, are you sure youdon’t want me to help movestuff?”

“No, I’ll handleeverything,”he smiled. “Youwon’thavetoliftafinger.It’smygifttoyou.”

“That’s so sweet, agápimou,” I said, “but I kind offeel like ditching classestoday.”

“Whichclasses?”“Today? Oil Painting and

FigurativeSculpting.”“Oh, you can’t skip

those,” Christos said firmly.“I mean, Marjorie wouldtotallymissyouinsculpting.”

“TheBitchinger?”Christos chuckled. “Yeah.

Can’t let her down. How’s

shebeentreatingyoulately?”“Like her favorite

student,”Igrinned.“You must’ve done

somethingtopleaseher.”“I think please is too

pleasantaword,”Igrinned.Christos arched an

eyebrow. “Do I want toknow?”

“No,otherwiseI’dhavetokillyou,”Iwinked.

We finishedbreakfast andheadedout thedoor together.

I stood in the entryway asChristoslockedupbehindus.I felt likewewere amarriedcoupleheadingofftowork.ItwassodomesticallyromanticIwantedtohugmyself.

“Isn’t Spiridon home?” Iasked.

“No,hehadtotakecareofsome stuff. I think he’ll bebacklate.”

“Okay.IfIgetbacktothehouse before you, is it okayformetocomein?”

“Of course, agápi mou.Youliveherenow.Comeandgoasyouplease.”

Wow, I really liked thesoundofthat.

Christosstartedloadinguphis Camarowith the packingmaterialswhileIhoppedintomyVWanddrovetocampus.

Getting through my daywasharderthanI’dexpected.Nagging in the shadows ofmy mind, like someonecontinuouslytappingtheback

of my head with two stifffingers, was the awarenessthat Christos was going tocourtinlessthantwenty-fourhours.

ItriedtojokearoundwithRomeo and Kamiko in OilPainting to distract myself,but it didn’t help. Somehow,everythingmademe think ofjail. The paint that wastrapped in the tube until Iuncapped it and squeezedsome out onto my palette.

Thefruitstuckinthebowlonthepillarinthemiddleofthestudio until someone elsedecided to move it. Sure,Christoswasn’t an inanimateobject, but if he ended up injail, he’d have as muchcontrol over life as paint orfruitdid.None.

Lameness.After class, I had no

appetite, so I leftRomeoandKamiko to get lunch bythemselves.

I went to the library tostudy some Sociology andHistory. My grades in bothclasseshadcontinuedtosink.

Despite the quietenvironmentofthelibrary,nomatter how hard I tried toconcentrate, I couldn’tremember a single word ofwhat I read. I packed upmybags and went to FigurativeSculpting. Hunter Blakeleywas still the model, but hehad become invisible to me.

He was just a big brainlessslab of tanned muscle andblond hair. Whatever. Hedidn’t even look at meanymore.Thankgoodnessforsmallfavors.

When class was over,Romeo and I walked outtogether.

“Did you give your photoof the rugby buttplugs to thecampus police yet?” Romeoasked as he squinched hismonocleintoplace.

“Oh,I totallyforgotaboutthose jerks. Do you thinkthere’s any point in giving ittothemnow?Imean,whatifthey go track the other guysdown and the next thing weknow, the cops are lookingfor Christos so they can askhimquestions?Orworse?”

“Goodpoint.”“I’llhangonto it fornow.

Whoknows,maybe I’ll needit later to prove Christos’innocence.” Something

clunkedintoplaceinmyheadthemomentthosewordswereout of my mouth. I felt myeyes saucer in surprise. “Ohmygod!That’sit!”

“What’s it?” Romeo wastotallyconfused.

“Thank you so much,Romeo!” I hugged him andshook him vigorously. “Ihave to go to the library andlook something up rightnow!”

“You look like you just

won the lottery orsomething,” Romeo smiled.“Caretoshare?”

“No time! I’ll tell youlater!”IkissedRomeoonthecheek and sprinted to theMain Library, which had asuperfastinternetconnection.

“Ifyouwinmorethantenmillion bucks,” Romeohollered at my back, “youhave to give me at least ahundredgrand!”

“Will do,” I laughed over

myshoulder.===

My search online provedfruitless. After two hours oftrying,Igaveupandtrudgedto my car. Maybe my ideahadn’tbeensosmart.Grrr.

I drove to my apartmentout of habit, mulling overother options in my head.NothingcametomindbythetimeIparked inmyassignedspace in the parking lot. Iwalked upstairs and opened

my door. Everything wasgone. My furniture, myclothes, my art supplies, mydishes.Everything.

“That was quick,” I saidout loud. For a second, Inervously thought perhaps Ihad been robbed, but I knewit was just Christos. Therewas a Post-It stuck to thefront door that read simply,‘AllFinished!’

The carpet wasimmaculateanddidn’thavea

single foot print in it, justoverlapping diagonal linesfrom the carpet machine. Iwas loathe tomar theperfectsurface,butIwantedtocheckthe kitchen and bathroom. Istepped inside to investigate.Yup, everything had beenscrubbedtoasparklingshine.

I locked up and drove toChristos’ house. Imeant,myhouse.Grin!

A big pickup truck wascoming out of the driveway

as Iwas turning in.Jakewasdriving. Two blond and tansurfing buddies of his sat inthecabnexttohim.

Jake stopped and rolleddownhiswindow.

I stopped my VW besidehis cab. “Oh my god, Jake!You guys cleaned me out!And cleaned up too! Myplace is spotless. I didn’tthink guys were capable ofsuchthings,”Igrinned.

Christos camewalking up

between our cars at thatmoment. “You kidding?Haven’t you heard of theTwelve Labors of Hercules?Oneof themwas tocleanallthe shit out of the AugeanStables in a singleday.Theyhad thirty years of built upfilth.Yourplacewasworse.”

I swattedatChristos frommyseatinmyVW.“Jerk!”

He dodged away easilyand chuckled. “Herculeswouldn’thavestoodachance

atyourapartment!”“Myapartmentwasn’tthat

dirty!” I shouted. “Tell him,Jake!”

Jake smiled, his teeth abright white stripe shiningfrom his tanned face. Howdidhemanagetostaysotan,even in winter? I guesssurfing seven days a weekwasbetterthanatanningclubmembership.

“Between you and me,”Jakechuckled,“Christostook

a lot of breaks.” He shot aglanceatChristos.“Imean,alotofbreaks.”

“Totally,” the two cuteguys sitting next to Jakechorused.

“Dude,” Christos sneered,“you guys were asleep thewhole time. If it wasn’t forme,you’dstillbenappingonSamantha’scouch.”

Jake rolled his eyes.“You’resmokingcrack,bro.”

IsmiledatJake.“I’msure

Christos didn’t lift a finger,so thank you Jake, and youguys too,” I said to Jake’scute surfer buddies sittingnexttohiminthetruck.

I noticed the large steamcleaning vacuum in the backof the pickup. “You guysevenshampooedmycarpet.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, “abuddy of mine has a steamcleaning business. He let meborrowoneofhisrigsfortheday.”

“Do I owe you guys anymoney?”

“It’s on the house,” Jakesmiled.

“Thanks, Jake. So, howdidyouguyswork so fast? Imean, everything is finishedandit’sstillearly.”

“Elbow grease,” Christossaid.

“He’sright,”Jakesaid.Heflexed his left arm and themusclespopped.IforgothowmuscularJakewas.Iguesshe

was always so relaxed, Inever noticed how cut hewas.MadisonprobablylickedJake’s arms at everyopportunity. I was so happyforher.

“Youshould’vebeentherewatching us work,” Christossaid. “You would’ve beencreamingyourjeanswatchingthe four of us scrub andscour.”

“Me and Madisoncould’ve sold tickets,” I

joked. “Who are yourbuddies,Jake?”

“This is Lucas andLoganSummer,”hesaid,noddingtothe two hotties on the benchseat beside him. “They’rebrothers.”

“Twice thesummer, twicethe brother,” the one withblueeyessaid.

These guys were theepitomeofsummer,all right.Beaches and bathing suitsweremadeforthem.

“Dude, you know thatdoesn’t make any fuckingsense,” the one with greeneyes scoff-smiled and shookhishead.

Blue eyes rolled hisglittering orbs. “So what? Ilikehowitsounds.”

Yeah, they were brothers.Cute as hell, but definitelybrothers.

I smiled at them and theybeamed their winning smilesback at me. I gave them a

wave. “Hey, guys. I’mSamantha.Whichoneofyouiswhich?”

“What up, Samantha. I’mLucas,” he waved. He hadblue eyes. “This is my kidbrother,Logan.”

“Hi,” Logan nodded, hisgreen eyes sparkling at melikeemeralds.Heseemedshycomparedtohisbrother.

These guys were totalheartbreakers. Both were astan as Jake and had shaggy

blondhairwithanaturalcurl.The only visible differencebetweenthemwasthatLucashadblueeyesandLoganhadgreen. Girls everywhereswoonedat the sightof themand envied their awesomehair, I had no doubt. Theyalso projected a very homey,genuine energy. No wonderthey were friends with JakeandChristos.

“So, do hot guys alwaystravel in packs or what?” I

asked.“Normally,meandLogan

do,” Lucas said, “but todaywe’reslumming itwith thesetwo trolls.” He motionedtoward Jake and Christoswithhisthumb.

“Dude, you’re totallywalkinghome,”Jakejoked.

“Whatever, dude,” Lucasscoffed.

Jakerolledhiseyes.Itwasobvious hewas close friendswith Lucas and Logan from

the way the three of thembehaved.

“Hey,” Lucas said to me,“If you guys aren’t doinganything this Saturday night,you should totally comewatchourbandplay.”

“Youguysareinaband?”Igoggled.

“Totally,” Logan saidsoftly.

Yeah,theywereperfect.Lucasnodded,“We’vegot

ashowattheBellyUp.”

“The Belly Up?” I said.“That’s right near where Ilive.”

“You guys should comecheckusout,”Lucassmiled.

Saturday night. I felt thatlead ball that had beenweighing me down for thelast few days roll around inmy stomach. If luck wasagainstme, I’dbe cryingmyeyes out while Christosstarted a long stay in jail. Iglanced at Christos and I

couldtellLucas’offerhadn’tsat well with him either.“Oh,” I said, “I don’t know.Canwedecidelater?Christosand I have some…familystuff.”

Christosnodded,ahintofsadness tightening his smile.“Familystuff,”heechoed.

“Yo, we gotta jet,” Jakesaid.“Getthisrigbacktomybuddy at his shop before hegoes home for the night.Anyway, me and Mads are

goingtoseeLucasandLoganplayonSaturday,socallusifyouwantustopickyouup.”

“All right,” I smiled.“Thanksagain,youguys!”

“Anytime,”Lucassaid.Logannoddedandsmiled.Iwavedasthetruckdrove

off.When they were gone, I

parkedmyVWinfrontofthegarage and got out. Christosstill stood at the end of thedriveway near the street. He

seemedamillionmilesaway.Istartedwalkingtowardhim,but he didn’t move. I brokeinto a run until I was in hisarms.

“Christos…oh, agápimou…” I wept as heenveloped me into his warmembrace. I felt the worldcrumbling around me by thesecond,andhisarmswerethelastsafeplaceintheuniverse.

Wordscouldnotdojusticetomysadnessandfearinthat

moment.His trial was tomorrow

morning…===

ChristosandIwalkedintothe house together after I’dcalmed.

“Welcome home, agápimou,”hesaid.

“That’sright!”Ismiled.“Ilivehere!”

“Yup. You’re all movedin. Ievenputyour icecreaminthefreezerinthekitchen.”

“Allofit?”Igrinned.“All nine pints,” he

smiled.Christos led me upstairs

and showed me all myclothes, neatly folded in thechest of drawers or hangingin the closet. My old shoesfrom D.C., which I rarelywore in warm San Diego,were neatly arranged on thefloorofthecloset.

“Your furniture is in thegarage,” Christos said. “If

you want any of it, let meknow.I’llputitwhereveryouwantinthehouse.Otherwise,make yourself at home. Thisisyourhousenow.”

I smiled at him. “I loveyou,Christos.”

“I love you too,” hesmiled.

The pleasant knowledgethatIwasnowmovedinwasblownoutofmychestwhenIremembered that my parentsdidn’t know.Now that Iwas

actually situated in theManos’ house, I sensed theywould not be happy. Butthere was no going back.Since they’d stopped payingfor anything, did it reallymatter? Was there any waythey could make my lifeworse than theyalreadyhad?I sighedharshly,notwantingtothinkaboutit.

Christos and I wentdownstairsandhada somberdinner together. Spiridon

wasn’t back from whereverhe’d gone, and the usualrelaxed, social atmospherewascrushedbytheweightofwhat tomorrow might bring.Not even Christos was hisusualeasygoingself.

After dinner, I tried to dosome sketching at mydrawing table in the studiowhileChristosworkedonthebackground for one of hisunfinished paintings. It wasuseless. I couldn’t

concentrate.Iwalkedover toChristos,

whosatathiseasel,andputahandonhisshoulder.“Ican’tget anything done. Do youwanttogotobed?”

He sighed loudly anddippedhisbrush intoa jarofturpentine and swirled itaround. The turpentinespliggedandsploggedaroundthe jar until he wiped thebrush dry on some papertowels.“Sure.”

When we reached thethreshold of the studio thatled back into the house,Christos turned and took along, meaningful look at thestudio.

Iwantedtocry,butIheldback my tears, for his sake.This wasn’t the last time hewas going to see it. Itcouldn’t be. The jury had tofind him not guilty. Christoswasn’t a badman. I knew itinmyheart.

Christos sighed again andturnedoutthelights.

We walked quietlyupstairsandgotreadyforbedin silence.We slid under thecovers together and laid sideby side, holding hands,staringattheceiling.

Iwasmiserable.Christos was distant,

almostlikehewasinshock.Icouldn’tblamehim.

I squeezed his hand, andhesqueezedmineback.

Idon’tknowhowlongwelaidlikethat.

Atsomepoint,Ineededtotalk. The stress inside meneeded to be vented before Ivomitedupmydinner.Ifthathappened, I knew Iwouldn’thesitatetorundownstairsandfill my stomach with icecream until I had to vomitthatouttoo.

“Christos,” Iwhispered inthe darkness, “are you surethere’snowayIcantestifyat

yourtrialtomorrow?”Hedidn’tanswer.“I mean,” I said, “I was

there. I saw the guy. Myversion of events shouldmake a difference, shouldn’tit?”

After a long time, a thin,tiredvoicesaid,“It’stoolate,Samantha. Whateverhappens, happens. I’ll dealwithit.”

“But,whatif—”“I really need to try and

sleep,agápimou.”Icouldn’targuewiththat.He slid his hand out of

mineandrolledontohisside,hisbacktome.

Ifeltlikehewasamillionmiles away. I almostsnuggled up against him, butdecidedtolethimsleep.Ilaidinbedquietlyforawhile.

Mystomachwaschurninglike a sailboat in a superstorm. I couldn’t take itanymore. I had to do

something aboutmy stress. Islippedsilentlyoutofbedandwentdownstairs.

I passed right by the evilicecreaminthefreezer.

Ihadworktodo.Iskulkedaroundthehouse

untilIfoundanoffice.Itwaslined with bookcases filledwith art books. A beautiful,ornatewoodendesksatinthecenter of aChinese area rug.Probably Spiridon’s office.Therewasacomputeron the

desk. I switched on a smalldesk lamp and a yellow discoflightfellontotheblotter.Iclicked the mouse and wokethecomputer.IcheckedthatIcould access the internet.Yup,working.

For a second, I drummedmy fingers quietly on thedesktop while I consideredwhattodonext.

I finally broke down andtiptoed back to the kitchen. Ispooned two modest scoops

ofPeanutButterFudgeBombinto a small bowl thenreturned to the office. I wasgoing to need at least a littlesustenancewhileIworked.

I didn’t care what thestupid courts said. It wasnever too late to make adifference.

Chapter7

SAMANTHA

Ijoltedawake.WherethehellwasI?Ow!Mycheekwaskilling

me. Had I slept on a bed ofnails?? I opened my eyescarefully, on the lookout forsharpobjects.Nonails.

But I had fallen asleep atthekeyboard,myfacerestingon the keys. I sat up andrubbed my cheek. I feltkeyboard grooves wafflingmyskin.

Nice.I leaned back in the

antique chair in Spiridon’soffice. Something creakedandpopped.Icouldn’tdecideif itwas the antique chair ormy antique back. When Istood up, more popping.

Definitely my back. I wouldneed to get it refurbishedlater.

Light slipped into theoffice around the windowblinds.Iyankedthecordandsunlightblaredinside.

Morningalready?How late had I worked?

There was no way to knowwhat time I’d fallen asleep.Butitdidn’tmatter.I’dfoundwhat I’d been looking foronlinelastnight.Inowhada

waytohelpChristos.I couldn’twait to tell him

thegoodnews!The housewas so quiet, I

imaginedChristoswasstillinbed.Itiptoedoutoftheofficeand back to Christos’bedroom.Ourbedroom.

Thedoorwasopen.Hewasnotinbed.I walked into the

bathroom. It was empty, andalltherosesfromValentine’sDay were gone, as if they’d

neverbeenthere.“Christos?”Icalled.Thehousewassilent.Iwentfromroomtoroom.This search felt eerily

familiar. I’d done the samethingonlydaysbefore,but ithad been at night. Now thesun shone through windowsalloverthehouse.

Fuck!Whattimewasit?Irandownstairs,hopingtofindChristos and Spiridon eatingbreakfast together,hot coffee

inthepotwaitingforme.The kitchen was empty.

The clock on the stove said8:30am.

“Christos?” I calledloudly.“Spiridon?”Mypanicstarted to rise. Tears begandrippingdownmycheeks.

I ran to the studio andshouted, “Christos!Spiridon!”

Silence.I even checked the back

deck,butnoonewasoutside.

I ran into the house andtoward the front doors. Anote was taped to one ofthem.Itread,‘Wenttocourt’.

I opened the front doorand sprinted down thedriveway.

IscreamedwhenIreachedthe street. “Christos!” Istarted sobbinguncontrollably.“Noooo!!!!”

HowcouldIhelpmymanwhenIdidn’tknowwhere tofindhim?

I fell to my knees on thecement of the driveway andwailed.

===CHRISTOS

TheskywasclearblueasIdrove my ’68 Camaro southon the 5 freeway towarddowntown. Great day for atrial, right? What I wouldn’tdotostripoutoftheshirtandtiethatwerestranglingmesoI could head down to the

beach with my board andcatch some waves with Jakeinstead.

Nottoday.Maybe not for the next

fouryears.I grit my teeth, doingmy

bestnottothinkaboutit.Morning traffic was light

and my car cruised along atsixty-five. I thumbed on theMP3 player mounted in thedash and skipped throughsongs until I hit Mouth For

WarbyPantera.Icrankedthevolume and the musicrumbled the interior of thecar.My left footpoundedonthefloorboard in time to thebass drum and my handsslappedouttherhythmofthesnare drum on the steeringwheel.Guitars screamed intomyeardrums.

Yeah, I was going tofuckingfight.

Time to testify, motherfuckers.

I desperately wanted tofloor the gas pedal.TakemyCamaro up to one-forty andstartweavingthroughthecarsontheroad.Butthesepeopleweren’tmyenemies.

That’s what was drivingmecrazy.

Therewasnoonetofight.No one to punch. No one tokick, claw or bite. Damn, Ineeded to punch someone intheface.

IglancedoverattheBuick

next to me. An old womanwasatthewheel.Shehadtheseatpushedwayforwardandcould barely see over thedash. Her hands were at tenand two and her chin juttedforward, pinning her eyes ontheroadinfrontofher.

Yeah, not exactly what Ihadinmind.

Where was that HunterBlakeley when I needed apunching bag? I’d barelyscratched his nose the night

meandJakehadrunintohimcomingout of thedowntownHooters. He deserved aproper ass kicking for beingsuchashitmagnet.

I took a deep breath andtriedtoreleasemyfrustration.I started shouting alongwiththelyricsofMouthForWar.

A couple miles later, Ipulled off the freeway at theFront Street exit and headedtoward the courthouse. Idrove into a parking garage.

Thelowerlevelswerealreadyfilled with cars so Ihammered the gas andsquealedtiresupthenextfourfloors,leavingtrailsofrubberaroundeverycorner,untilmycarwasontheroof.Plentyofspaces. I parked in the farcorner.Afterthrowingonmysuit jacket, I headed for thestairs.

When I was on thesidewalk, I turned the cornerat Broadway. The sun shot

hotbulletsoff theglass frontof the courthouse, punchingmy eyes. I squinted at theglare and felt like somewesterncowboyathighnoon.Time for the final shootout.Too bad a trial took waylonger and was way moreboringthanasixgunduelona dusty street cut betweenrows of whorehouses andsaloons.

I shot my cuffs andadjustedmytie.Man,Ihated

suits.I strodeup thecourthouse

steps.Timetokickfuckingass.

===SAMANTHA

After screamingmy lungsout on the driveway for thebetter part of two minutes, Istood and dusted off theknees of the sweats I’d sleptin and ran into the Manoshouse. Isprintedupstairsand

jumped behind the desk inSpiridon’s office andfranticallysearchedonlineforSanDiegocourthouseswhilewipingtearsfrommyeyes.

Therewasmore thanone.I ruled out the obvious ones,like Juvenile Court andFamily Law Court. Therewere two Superior Courts.Onedowntown,andtheotherin Kearny Mesa. They werefairly far apart. I hoped Ididn’tpickthewrongone.

I had no idea how long atrial actually took. I mean,mostcourtTVshowstookanhour or less. But what aboutin real life? I had zero clue.Besttogetcracking.

What Ididknowwas thatI couldn’t run into courtwearingsweatsandslippers.

I ran into my newbedroom and rifled throughmy closet. I didn’t have asecond to savor the fact thatthis wasmy first morning in

mynewhomewithChristos.Welcome to Sucktown,population:Me.

The remnants of myWashington D.C. wardrobewere perfect for puttingtogether court-appropriateattire. I selected a blackblazerandagraypencilskirt,plus a cute white blouse,black hose and conservativepumpstogowith.

Idashedintothebathroomand slathered on

antiperspirant.ToobadIwasout of industrial strength. Iwould have to gowithExtraDry.Ipulledmyhairbackinaharshponytail,thenappliedminimalmakeup.

I was out of the housesevenminuteslater.

Who said women had totakeforevertogetdressed?

Iwasonamission.I was going to save

Christos.I tried calling him as I

hopped into my VW, but hedidn’tanswerhisphone.

It didn’t matter. I hadproofofhis innocence in thepalmofmyhand.

===CHRISTOS

Footsteps echoedthroughout the crowdedmarble hallway inside thecourthouse as I snailedthrough security in slowmotion. I had to remove my

belt and shoes when I wentthrough themetaldetector. Itwas almost like going on aplane trip vacation, excepttherewas a fifty-fifty chancemyflightwouldcrashintothesideofMt.Guilty.

Ipausedtoglancebackatthe sunlight shining throughthe tall windows of thecourthouse’smainentrance.Itook a good look, in case itwas the last time I sawfreedomforfouryears.

No,fuckthat.I was going to fight this

shituntilIwon.I found Russell waiting

outsideourcourtroom.“Eye of the Tiger?”

RussellsaidasIstrutteduptohim.

“What?”Iasked.“You got that Rocky

Balboa look on your facewhenhefoughtClubberLangthesecond timeat theendofRockythree.”

I chuckled. “Fucking eyeofthetiger,man.”

As always, Russell wassharply dressed from top tobottom. His suit was freshlypressed, his cufflinksglittered,andthewhiteofhiscollar and cuffs contrastedbrilliantly against his ebonyskin.“Speakingofeyes,Iseeyour concealer did the trick.You look like Joe Citizennow.”

“Yeah.” I’d borrowed

some from Samantha’smakeupbagthismorning.

“We win this,” Russellsaid, “I’ll have to take youout for a fancy dinner,considering we’re bothdressedup.”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “I’mshooting for lunch. I plan onbeing in and out of here bynoon.”

Russell chuckled andslapped my shoulder firmly.“Eyeofthetiger.”

A tall, beautiful dark-skinned woman in a tightnavy blue suit stood next toRussell,holdingthehandleofher briefcase in front of herhips with both hands. Shesmiledatme.

“Christos,” Russell said,“yourememberMs.Johnson?Shewillbeassistingtodayattrial.”

“Of course.” I smileddown at her, “Brianna.” At5’11” in her heels, she still

seemed short to me. Weshook hands. She had thesamefirmgripIremembered.I’d met her at Russell’sofficesnumeroustimes.

“Christos,”shesmiledandnodded.

I knew Brianna was stillon the lookout for qualityhusband material. BeforeSamantha had taken me offthemarket, I’doffered to fillthe bill for Brianna severaltimes. She was a good

woman, smart andhellaciouslyfunnythesecondshe was off the clock andhung up her lawyer’scostume.Butshe’dsaidIwastoo young. I think I waseighteen at the time and shewas thirty. I couldn’t blameher. I was still a mess backthen. “Any good men beenable to catch you yet,Brianna?”

“Not yet,” she grinned.“None of them are fast

enough.” Brianna hadtrophies and photos of herrunning college track in heroffice.

“When are we going tohead down to the SDU trackto see who runs the fastesthundred?”Ichided.

“Your muscle bound asswouldn’tstandachance,”shechuckled. “Too damn topheavy.”

“Keep dreaming,” Ismiled.Iwasdamnquick,but

I knew Brianna would givemearunformymoneyoncesheputhertrackspikeson.

Russell said to me. “Weget you off today, I’ll driveyou both out to the trackmyself. But my money’s onBrianna.”

“Ihopeyoulikelosing,”Igrinned.

“I never lose,” Russellsaid shrewdly. “We ready?”He nodded toward thecourtroom.

“Let’sdoit,”Isaid.Russell openedoneof the

heavy wooden doors and hisgamefaceslidintoplacelikeSirLancelot’svisor.

I followed Brianna andRussell into the belly of thebeast.

The big door latched shutfirmlybehindme.

===SAMANTHA

Iwas excited and anxious

as I drove out of my newhome, the one I shared withChristos!

I was sure fate was withme and good things weregoingtohappenonceIgottothe court house downtown.Everything was going toworkoutformeandChristosintheend

Theonlyproblem?At that moment,

everything started goingwrong.

Halfway to the freeway,the needle on my gas gaugedecided to lay down on thejob. It pointed right at the Elike a lazy bastard. Noproblem. I was all aboutsolving problems today. Iwould not be deterred.Luckily, there was a gasstation right before the onramp.Yay!Therewas also along line. Lame! But therewerenootherconvenientgasstations.

Waiting in line wouldn’ttake that long, would it?Therewerefourlinesofcars,so I picked the shortest one,hoping it was the quickestone.

Iwaited.Why was it so crowded?

Were they out of gas? Ihadn’t heard about anylooming gas shortages or oilembargoes.

I pretended to be patientwhileIwaited.Thesedantwo

cars ahead finished andpulled away from the pump.Theguyinfrontofmedroveforward and climbed out ofhis huge truck to gas up. Iwasnext.

Too bad truck guy had agas tank the size of an oilfield. It took forever for himtofillitup.Thenhehadtogoinside topay.Didn’thehaveacredit cardor adebit card?Who used cash anymore?Maybe he was going to pay

withgolddoubloons?I tapped my foot

impatiently. “Any time,cowboy!” I shouted. He hadbeenwearing boots.Allmenwho wore boots and drovetrucks were cowboys. I’msurehehadagunrackinhistruck somewhere. I grew upinWashingtonD.C.Sueme.

Were had he gone? Washe using the bathroom? Didhefallintothetoilet,orwasitjustdiarrhea?Geez,howlong

didittaketowipeyourbutt?I drummedmy fingers on

my steering wheel. If I triedto drive around the island toanother pump, I might losemy spot. Truck guy’s truckwas too big for me to pushout of the waywithmy tinyVW,otherwiseIwouldhave.And the gas hose was tooshorttoreachmycarbecausethebedofhistruckwasaboutamilelong,andithadforcedme to stopway far from the

pump.When I noticed moss

starting togrowon the tipofmy nose, Cowboy finallywalked outside. Molassesslow.Slowmotionsceneinamovie slow. The shifting ofcontinentsslow.“Move it!” Ishouted inside my car. Hehadn’t heard me so I rolleddown my window to shoutagain.

Before I could make apeep, he turned on his

cowboybootheelandwalkedback into the store. No!Wherewasmy lasso! I needtowrangle his ass and throwhim behind his steeringwheel.

I scanned around me.Unfortunately, the lines fortheotherpumpswerewall towall cars. It was reallysmartestformetowait.

Two minutes later,Cowboy came back outsidewithabigpepperoniflavored

Slim Jim and a bottle ofMountain Dew. He climbedinto his truck. Did heimmediately drive off? No.Didheevenstarthisengine?No.Didhedoanythingotherthanplaywith themeat stickin his hand while in thecomfortofhiscab?

Ihadno ideawhathedidwithhismeatstick,nordidIwantto.

Days,weeks,evenmonthslater, he started his truck. A

gust of exhaust billowedthrough my window as hedrove off. I should’ve rolleditup.Icoughedoutaportionofmyleft lungbeforetheaircleared.

I gassed up my car thensped to the onramp for the 5freeway.Iswear,everylightIhitonthewaytherewasred.At one intersection, I gotstuck behind a line of carswaiting to turn right becausea woman with a stroller out

for a Sunday stroll haddecidedtousethecrosswalk.Didn’t anyone tell her itwasFriday? No Sunday strollingon Fridays! I swear, I sawthree snails racing past her.Whywas she walking?Whowalked anywhere anymore?Didn’t she know it was rushhourandpeoplehadplacestogo?

Eventually, the rightturners turned and I made itthroughthelight.Iwasonthe

5 heading south a fewminuteslater.

Nothing could stop menow.

Exceptatrafficjam.AsIcrestedthehillatDel

Mar Heights Road, I nearlycrashed into a blanket ofbrake lights.Thecarshadallslowed from65 to 35 in lessthan a quarter mile. A fewminutes later, my VW creptalongat10mph.

Had I jinxed myself by

hoping thingswould turnoutforthebest?

===CHRISTOS

Russell led Brianna andmetothedefensetableinsidethecourtroom.

The judge’s bench wasstill empty. Only a fewrandom heads populated theseating in the spectatorgallery.

I noticed that George

Schlosser and his assistanthangmen, StanleyWhiteheadandNataliaValenzuela,werealready set up at theprosecutor’s table with threelaptops open and humming,and file folders neatlyarrangedbetweenthem.

George Schlosser lookedcalm and sure of himself.Whitehead looked like asmugfuckwhoI’dverymuchlike to bump into in somedark alley when no one was

looking.Nataliawas a brighteyed and bushy tailedvampirejackrabbit.

Whatever.I knew that me, Russell,

andBriannalookedlikethreegladiators stepping into theColiseuminAncientRomeaswewalked up to the defensetable.Weweregoingtoslicesome heads off. I could feelit.

I sat down while Russelland Brianna arranged their

laptops and files on thedefense table. It was a quietmoment forme to settle intomy seat. I was going to bedoing a lot of sitting for thenext few hours. At least itwas peaceful in thecourtroom prior to trial.Almost like enforcedmeditation. I could roll withthat. Then my stomachdroppedthroughaholeinthefloor and plummeted to thecenteroftheearth.

“Paidi mou,” my fathersaid from somewhere behindme.

I recognized his voiceinstantly.

Holy fuck. How the helldidhegethere?

Mystomachbouncedbackfromtheearth’scoreandflewthrough the ceiling to shootinto the stratosphere. Thiswasnot going to bemyday,wasit?

Ihadn’ttoldmydadabout

the trial. I’d considered itafterdiscussingthetopicwithmygrandfather,butatthelastminutedecidednotto.Maybeif my dad actually came bymy grandfather’s place nowand then or showed someinterest in something otherthandrinking,Iwould’vetoldhim.

I glanced back as hesqueezedmyshoulder.

He was leaning over thethigh high partition between

the court floor and thegallery,wearinga sharpdarksuit.Helookedlikeaslightlyolderversionofme,butwithahintofgrayat the temples.To my surprise, he lookedhealthier than when I’d lastseenhimalmostayearago.

Ever since my mom hadrun out on us, my dad hadstayedlockedupinhishousewhere he drank away hisdays.Hissplitwithmymomhad turned him into an

absentee human being. Icouldn’t stand watching himthrow away his life andtremendous talent, so I rarelyvisited him, and we nevertalked on the phone.Hewasalways too damn drunk toholdaconversation.

Russell and Brianna bothturned to look at my dad.Russell knew him on sight.He’dmetmydadmanytimesinmyyouth,butIdon’tthinkBriannaknewhim.

“Mr. Manos,” Russellnodded,standingtoshakemyfather’shand.

Brianna stood aswell andintroduced herself. “BriannaJohnson.”

“Nikolos Manos,” myfathersaid.

Reluctantly, I stood andturned to face him. Mygrandfather, wearing a lightgray suit, walked up behindmydad, lookingnervousandapologetic. Yeah, he knew

why I might possibly beirritatedthathe’dbroughtmydad.Fuck.

“Pappoús,” I said as Ileaned over to hug mygrandfather.

Hewhisperedinmyear,“Ithoughtyourfathershouldbehere.Foryou.Forhisson.”

That explained where mygrandfather had been lastnight. Probably sobering upmy dad so he wouldn’t besloppy drunk in court. I

groundmyteethtogether.Still whispering, my

grandfather continued, “Yourfather was worried youwouldn’twanthimtobeherebutI toldhimitwouldbeallrightwithyou.”

Yeah,right.I pulled away from my

grandfather but dropped myeyes tomy hands.My handswere already clenched intofists.Myfuckingdadwasthelast person I wanted sitting

behindmeduringmytrial.“I can seewhereChristos

getshisgoodlooks,”Briannasaid warmly. “You threecouldbebrothers.”

My grandad smiledproudly and nodded. “That’smyboys.”

“Sayhellotoyourfather,”Russell said softly, nudgingmyelbow.

IglaredatRussellbutsawcompassion inhiseyes.He’dbeen encouraging me to

forgivemydadforyears.Without looking at my

dad,I leanedtowardhim.Hethrewhisarmsaroundmeandsqueezed, stifling me. Iexpectedtosmellbooze,butIdidnot.Thatwasasurprise.

Ipulledawayandglancedat him briefly. “Hey,” Imumbled.

“Paidimou,it’ssogoodtoseeyou,”hesaidearnestly.

As I was about to take astep back, my dad threw his

arms around me again andcrushedmetohischest.He’dlet his body go to shit yearsago. But now, he was muchstronger than I remembered.Had he been working outagain? That seemedimpossible. I sighed as hepatted my back repeatedly.“Okay,dad.That’senough.”

HesoftenedwhenI’dsaid‘dad’.

He released me and Iglanced at him again. His

eyesweremoist.“You look handsome as

always, son,” he smiled, hismouth shaking. “Bet theladieshavebeenchasingyou,no?”

I arched a noncommittaleyebrow.

“I heard all about yourselloutshowatCharboneau,”he continued, “I went downtoseeeverythingthedayafteropening night. Amazingwork, paidi mou. Your

female figures put mine toshame.”

I gave him a solid, longlook.

“I’m not bullshitting you,paidimou.Atmy best, I didnotpaintlikeyoudonow.”

My chest tightened andmy eyes went hot. For myfather to say that and say itsober blew me away. Myfather never exaggeratedwhen it came topainting.Hewasn’t harsh, but he never

piledon falsepraise.Hewashonest, direct, andencouraging. But he neversaidwhathedidn’tmean.I’dbeen waiting to hear wordslike that from himmy entirelife. He was so fuckingtalented, I never thought Iwould.Iwasshellshocked.

My voice cracked as Ispoke,“Thanks,Bampás.”

My dad’s smile widenedacross his even white teeth.Silent tears dripped from his

eyes, staining his suit jacket.He grabbed me and huggedmemorefiercelythanbefore.

Ilethim.Mygrandfatherrubbedmy

dad’sbackaffectionately.Hiseyes were wet as well. ThenheturnedtoRussellandsaid,“Mygrandsonissuchagoodboy.”

“Yesheis,”Russellstatedfirmly.

Iwasreadytocrymyself.When my dad released his

hug, I happened to glance atRussell who was marvelinglike he was witnessing amiracle.Maybehewas.

“TheCourtwillnowcometo order,” the uniformedbailiff announced from thefrontoftheroom.

So much for happyreunions.

Timetofight.===

SAMANTHA

Traffic ground to a haltbeforeIreachedthe805split.I was literally parked in myVW in an ocean of otherfrustrateddrivers.

Just north of the SDUcampus, the 5 freeway splitinto two roads, the5and the805.Usually traffic lightenedupatthatpointbecausethereweresuddenlytwiceasmanylanes.

I’d hoped that the slowdownthroughDelMarwould

betemporary.Nosuchluck.Iwasstuck.Icouldn’tget

toanofframptotakesurfacestreetsbecausetraffichadnotmovedinthelasttenminutes.I know, because I waswatching the clock on mydashboard.

Iconsidereddrivingalongthe shoulder. Several drivershad done just that in the lastcouple ofminutes.Desperatetimes called for desperate

measures. The only problemwas, I was in the numberthree lane and there was aneighteenwheelerbetweenmeandtheshoulderontheright.There was no way he couldmove out of the way, and Iwas boxed in by cars on thefront,backandleft.

If my VW had beenshorter, I would’ve drivenbeneath the eighteenwheeler’strailer,betweenthesets of wheels. I’d seen it

done in a movie once, but Ididn’thavealowslungsportscar.

MaybeIneededtohopoutof my car and hitch a ridewith one of those peopledrivingdowntheshoulder?

A second later, aCaliforniaHighwayPatrolcarspedby, lightsflashing,sirenblaring. He was probablygoing to pull over thoseshoulder drivers and ticketthem.

Groan!Could I charter a

helicopter and call in anairlift?Probablynot.What ifI called 911 and told them Ineededtogettothehospital?Too bad that wouldn’t helpmegettocourt.

WhatwasIgoingtodo?Itwas fifteen miles todowntown.Wait. I could runfifteenmiles.Itwouldn’ttakeme more than, oh, I don’tknow,twohours?

ToobadIwasinheels.Where were Taylor

Lamberth’s running shoeswhen I needed them? Ishould’ve learnedmy lesson.Neverwearheels.Heelswereevil.

I laugh cried at my ownmorbidjoke.

I’d now been stopped fortwentyminutes.

That was when I noticedblack smoke billowing upintotheskyinthedistance.

There must have been anaccident.

Iknewthefiretrucksweregoing to drive by and cleartheroadatanyminute,right?Open up the road and get atleast one or two lanesmoving?

Right?Ten more minutes passed

without a single firetruck orambulance. Where werethey? People could be dyingin their mangled cars.

Somebody needed to helpthem so I could get to thecourthouse!

Howlongwouldittaketowalk?HowfastcouldIwalk?Threemilesanhour? Icouldmake it to downtown in fivehours!WouldChristosstillbeincourt?

But could I walk fifteenmilesinheels?

Fuck.As soon as this day was

over, I was throwing away

anyshoeIhadwithaheelonit. I was going to be one ofthose women who worebusiness suits and runningshoes during their powerwalk lunch breaks, but Iwasgoing to do it around theclock. Iwould spearhead themovementtoridtheworldofshoes with heels! Ladies!Throw away your chains!Burn your heels! Right, likethatwasgoingtowork.Whenit came to addictive

substances, women’s shoeswere worse than crackcocaine. I knew fromexperience.

Another ten minutespassed without moving aninch.Peoplehadgottenoutoftheir cars to lookaroundandseewhatwashappening.

An ambulance finallydrove by, followed by a firetruck.

Mygoodhumorwasgone.I was really stuck. Maybe I

couldwalk to the nearest offrampandcallacab?Butwithtraffic stopped, howwould acabgettome?Crap.

WhatwasIgoingtodo?ItriedcallingChristos.No

answer. I’m sure he was inthe courtroom in the middleof the trial. He wouldn’tanswer.

Thiswaskillingme.I had cold hard evidence

that Christos was innocent,incontrovertibleproof thathe

hadactedinselfdefense.AllIneeded todowas togive itto him and his lawyer. Theywouldknowwhattodo.

Butwhatdid itmatter if Icouldn’treachthem?

I didn’t even know thename of Christos’ lawyer,otherwise I would’ve calledhis office to tell themwhat Iknew.I’msuretheguyhadasecretary who could send anassistant over to thecourthouseorwhatever.

I slammed my palmsrepeatedly against mysteeringwheel.

“Fuck!!!!!!!!!”Iscreamed.In that moment, I was

completelyuseless.

Chapter8

CHRISTOS

“AllrisefortheHonorableGeraldineMoody,presiding,”thebailiffsaid.

Thirdtimewasalwaysthecharm.ThelasttwotimesI’dheard that phrase, duringmyarraignment and pre-trial, it

was no big deal.Now itwastherealthing.

After my trial, I waswalkingoutofthiscourtroominto one of two places.Freedomorprison.

Judge Moody walked toher throne. She wore moremakeup than I’d seenpreviously, and her hair wasup in a careful bun. Shewasall dressed up, an attractivewoman who could fuck meoverwithasinglebangofher

gavel. Not the kind ofbanging I liked to thinkabout.

I huffed out a sigh as shesettledin.

I was tired of waiting.Let’sgetthisshiton.

George Schlosser and hisassistant D.A. fucks Stanleyand Natalia looked ready todroolovermycorpse.

Fuck them. I was stillkickingandbreathing.Watchout,motherfuckers.

“Please be seated,” thejudge said gravely from herbench. “We are now onrecord for the State ofCalifornia vs. ChristosManos, case number SD-2013-K-071183A.All partiesare present. And so webegin,” she finishedominously, “Bailiff, pleasecallinthejury.”

The bailiff opened a sidedoorandtwelvejurors,amixofmenandwomenofvarious

agesandethnicities,filedintothe jury box and sat down.Some of them looked bored.Some looked excited to dotheircivicduty.Somelookedlikethey’dratherbeanyplaceelsebuthere.

Thatwaswhenthetruthofmy situation slapped me fullin the face. Who was Ikidding? This wasn’t a fistfight. For the next howevermany hours, I had to sit stillandkeepmymouthshut.No

fists, no knees, no elbowstrikes, nothing. All I coulddowaswaitandhopethejurypaid attention, kept an openmind,anddidn’tbumrushtojudgeme.

This was going to betorture.

Fucking Christ. Did theyservebourbon todefendants?Icoulduseashotortwelve.

Deputy District AttorneyGeorge Schlosser walked upto the podium to give his

openingstatementtothejury.He took his time, lookingeach of the twelve membersof the jury in the eye beforeheopenedhismouth.Washegoingtosayanything,orjustsmilepleasantlyallmorning?

The court room wascompletelysilent.

“Yeah, I hit the guy,”Schlosser said, noddingdramatically, looking atvarious jurors. “Yeah, I hitthe guy,” he repeated before

pausing for further dramaticeffect.“Ladiesandgentlemenof the jury, these are thedefendant’sownwords,givenduring an interview with theSan Diego PoliceDepartment, a fewdays afterhe assaulted HorstGrossman.”

Schlosserputhishandsonhis hips, pushing his suitjacket behind him with hisarms,andinavoicedrippingwith accusation and harsh

judgment said, “Thedefendant himself admittedthat he did in fact violentlypunchHorstGrossmaninthestomach on September 26,2013.” Schlosser noddedauthoritatively.

Violently? What did youexpect when good oldGrossman called me afucking prick and tried tojumpme?WasIsupposed togive him a friendly punch ormaybe a gentle one? Fuck

me.Based on Schlosser’s

delivery, you’d think he’dalreadywonthetrial.Whatafucking douche. He wasn’tthere. He didn’t know whathappened.Igritmyteethanddid my best to look calm,cool, and bland. Russell hadwarned me not to show myemotions, or the jury mightlatchontowhateverIdidasifitwasproofofmyguilt.

Schlosser smiled at the

jury like they were old pals.“Youmaybeaskingyourselfwhywe’reevenhavingatrialtoday, if the defendantalready admitted to hittingHorstGrossman.He’sguilty,right?”

Fuck.IknewexactlywhatSchlosserwasdoing.Hewasplantingseedsinthemindsofthejury.Hewasgood.Iknewa few tricksofmyown.Toobad I couldn’t use a singleoneinthecourtroom.

“The reason we’re heretoday, ladies and gentlemenof the jury, is because thedefendant wants you tobelievehestruckthevictiminself defense,” Schlossersneered, as if it couldn’tpossiblybetrue.

I noticed that Schlosser’sassistants,StanleyWhiteheadandNataliaValenzuela,werewatching his performancewith obvious admiration. Icould tell the two of them

bowed and scraped atSchlosser’s feet. I couldn’tblamethem.IfIwantedtobethe best bottom feeder ever,I’d probably pucker up forSchlosser too. Fucking lowlifes.

“Members of the jury, Iask you to take a look atExhibit 86 B on theprojection screen,” Schlossersaid, clicking buttons on hislaptopatthepodium.

A huge photo popped on

the screen mounted on thewallacrossfromthejurybox,fillingitlikeadriveinmovietheater. The image was splitdown themiddlewithmeonthe left and Horst Grossmanontheright.IlookedliketheIncredibleHulkstandingnexttoalittleoldman.

The reason for thisdiscrepancywasobvious.

The picture of me wasfrom the day I had beenarrested. I wore a white V

neck short sleeve tee. Mymuscled arms, covered intattoos, were popping out ofmyshirt.Inclearblackletterson the gray wall behind mewas a horizontalmeasurement line with thenumerals 6’5” skimming thetopofmyhair.

Horst’s photo had beentaken at a different time infrontofarandomwhitewall.There were no measuringlinesbehindhim.Horstcould

be3’2”or8’11”,butwithoutany numbers, there was noway to know. Whatever hisactual height, his head waspositioned much lower thanmine, creating the illusionthat he was much shorter.Finally, the photo of Horsthadbeenzoomedout.Notsomuch as to be comicallymisleading, but enough thatHorst seemed like a small,inconsequentialmanstandingnexttoamammothtitan.

Thiswasfuckingabsurd.Iknew from standing twoinches from Horst Grossmanthat he wasn’t nearly as tinyasthisimagemadehimseem.

The split photo had beenon screen for all of twoseconds before Schlossersaid, “The defendant wantsyou to believe that HorstGrossmanputhiminfearforhislifethatday—”

“Objection, your honor,”Russellcut inauthoritatively,

“this evidence is blatantlyprejudicial.”

“Sustained,”JudgeMoodysaid.Sheleveledasternlookat Schlosser and said,“Counselor, take that slidedownimmediately.”

“Absolutely, your honor,”Schlosser said agreeably. Heclickedonhis laptop and thescreenwentblack.

“Membersofthejury,”thejudge said, “you willdisregard that photo. Let the

court transcript reflect thatexhibit86Bhasbeenstrickenfromevidence.”

It didn’t matter. The jurywasn’t going to forget thephotonowthatthey’dseenit.Worse,noneof themhadyetseen Horst Grossman inperson because he wasn’teven in the courtroom. If hehadbeen,thefairthingwouldbe to have me and Horststand shoulder to shoulder infrontofthejurysotheycould

see for themselvesouractualsize differences. But thatwasn’thowitworked.

George Schlosser knewexactly what he was doing.He was pushing the rules oflawtothebreakingpoint,andhewasgettingawaywithit.

Itwasn’tthefirsttimeshitlike thishadhappened tomewhen I was in court. All Icoulddowassitstillandsuckitupinsilence.

The rest of Schlosser’s

openingstatementwasalmostasheinousandmisleadingasthatsplitphoto,buttherewasnothing overt that Russellcould object to. It was all inthe way Schlosser deliveredhis argument: his sneeringjudgmental tone of voice,bodylanguage,andchoiceofwords. Schlosser was adespicablybrilliantman.

When Schlosser finishedand sat down at theprosecution table, Russell

leaned over and very quietlywhispered in my ear, “Afternineyearsworkingunder thehead District Attorney,Schlosser is still nothingmore than a young bucktrying to prove himself. Hisonlygoal today is to sharpenthe points of his gloriouscareer on your hide whileclimbing the political ladder.Theonlyproblemis,there’samountain lion in this herecourtroom ready to take his

shit down a rung. And thatmountain lion’s name is me.Don’t worry, son. I’m goingto have Schlosser’s headmounted on my wall beforethedayisover.”

Icrackedasmile.“No smiling,” Russell

ordered sharply as he stoodand stepped up to thepodium.

Russellwasaconsummatebadass during his openingstatement. He was gracious,

level headed, straight to thepoint, focused on the facts,andhedismantledthebulkofSchlosser’s inflammatoryargumentswithease.

The men and women inthejurybox,whohadlookedready to string me up fromthe nearest tree in a tightnoose,noddedthoughtfullyatRussell’s words, enthralledby his confident, no bullshitpresence.

WhenRussellfinishedand

satdownat thedefense tablenext to me, I breathed anobvioussighofrelief.

Icouldn’timagineabetterattorney in my corner of thering than RussellMerriweather.

Theonlyproblemwasthatit was going to be back andforthlikethisallday.RussellMerriweather and GeorgeSchlosser were evenlymatched.Whenitcamedownto it, this trial hinged onmy

word against HorstGrossman’s, and whether ornotthejurybelievedawordIsaid after Schlosser titillatedthemwithtalesfrommytruecrimelifestyle.

Peopleweren’t inclined tobelieveaconvictedcriminal.

Schlosser had theadvantage.

If onlywe had somethingbettertoworkwith.

===SAMANTHA

It had been over an hoursince traffic had stopped.Therewasablackhazeintheair that stank of burningrubber and cooked meat. Itwas nauseating to say theleast.

I finally got word fromsomeguystandingoutsidehisToyotaCamrythatitwasn’tapile of burning corpses.Thank god for that.Apparently, a refrigerated

Ralph’s grocery store semitruck had over turned andgone up in flames. Severalother cars were involved, allof them burning. The CHPweren’t letting anyone drivethroughtheinferno.

ButIdidseeaLifeFlighthelicopterlandupahead.Hadmywishbeengranted?Wasitpossible?

Ofcoursenot.I’m pretty sure they

needed it for someone who

was seriously hurt. Yes, Iconsidered asking if theycouldgivemealiftaftertheydropped off the injuredpeople at the hospital. No, Ididn’twalkuptothesceneoftheaccidentandactuallyask.

The grapevine rumorsabout when traffic would bemoving again rangedanywhere from one hour tofour. I could only cross myfingersandhope.

I called Christos several

moretimes.Noanswer.I called Madison who

calledJake toask ifheknewwho Christos’ lawyer was.Jake never answered.Madison said he was surfinganditcouldbehoursuntilhecheckedhisphone.Whatwasit with professional surfersspendingall their time in thewaves?

Damn it. There wasnothingIcoulddobutwait.

===

CHRISTOS

George Schlosser called aseries of witnesses to thestand, all of whom had beenat the scene the day I’dpunched Grossman. They allsounded reasonable andcredible.

The problem was thatnone of them had a clear,uninterrupted view of thewhole thing from start tofinish and no one had heard

anything Grossman or I hadsaid that day because thetraffic noises were too loud,or they’d been too far away,or theirwindowswere rolledup and they hadn’t heardanythingatall.

You would think thiswouldworktomyadvantage.Unfortunately, the law saidthat if I couldn’t prove I hadactedinselfdefense,thejurywouldhave to findmeguiltyof assault because I had

punched Horst Grossman. Itwasthatsimple.

And right now, what thejury had to work with waslike handing them a mysterynovelwithhalfthepagestornout,includingtheending,andasking them who the killerwas.Theycouldonlyguess.

In other words the scorewas,theState:1,Me:0.

InIceHockeyandSoccer,after a whole bunch ofrunning around,many games

finished with one to nothingon the scoreboard. I hopedthings went differently forme. Ineededsomeone to runa six point touchdown intotheendzone.Toobadnoonewithlegshadtheball.

“The state will call yournext witness,” Judge Moodysaid.

From his seat at theprosecution’s table, GeorgeSchlosser said, “The statecallsEdnaHolloway.”

A uniformed deputywalkedoutsidethecourtroomto fetch her. A minute later,thedeputy ledanoldwomanuptothepodium.Sheworeashin length navy blue dressandapillboxhatthatfloatedinthefoamofherwhitehair.She firmly clutched a goldclasped old lady handbag inherglovedhands.Despiteherage, she walked erect andwithpurpose.

My first impression was

that she’d probably choppedopenkegs of beer and liquorwith a wood axe duringprohibition, or had led anarmy of suffragettes duringthe early charges to securevoting rights for women inthe U.S. during the 19thcentury.

The bailiff motioned forEdna to raise her right handwhile he said, “Do yousolemnly swear that yourtestimony will be the truth,

the whole truth, and nothingbut the truth, so help youGod”

“Yes,” Edna Hollowaysaid.

The bailiff led her to sitdownatthewitnessstand.

George Schlosser askedMrs. Holloway a series ofquestions establishing thatshewasan83yearoldretiredhighschoolmathteacherwholived in Del Mar and nevermissed a Sunday at church.

I’dbeenslightlyoffaboutherage. Edna also told the juryhow she had been outwalking her GermanShepherd Greta on the trailrunning alongside PacificCoast Highway when I’dpunched Horst Grossman.She’dhadaclearviewoftheincident, and had hungaround to do her civic dutyand tell the cops her versionofevents.

George Schlosser smiled

atherfromthepodium.“Mrs.Holloway, please tell thecourt what happened in themoments leading up to theassault.”

“I saw that man,” shepointedatmeforcefully,“getoff of his motorcycle, walkuptoHorstGrossman,andhithim without provocation.”She nodded once foremphasis, her wrinkled lipspursed as tightly as thehandbag she clutched in her

gloved hands. You’d thinkshe was worried about pursesnatchers.

Russellstoodupandsaid,“Objection to the use of thephrase‘withoutprovocation’,your honor. Mrs. Hollowaywas not privy to theconversation between Mr.Manos and Mr. Grossman.She had no way of knowingwhat was said between thetwomen.Therefore,shecan’tspeak to matters of

provocation.”“Sustained,”JudgeMoody

said.“Pleasestrikethephrase‘without provocation’ fromMrs. Holloway’s testimony.Membersofthejury,youwilldisregardherremark.”

Schlosser cast a snake’ssmile in the direction ofRussellbeforeheturnedbackto the witness stand. “Mrs.Holloway, at any time, didyou see the victim punch orkickthedefendant?”

“No.”“Did he attack the

defendant in any way beforethedefendantpunchedhim?”

“No. I saw the entirething, from the time thedefendant got off hismotorcycle until the time herode away. I never saw Mr.Grossmanattackhim.”

Schlosser noddedvictoriously.“Whathappenedafter the defendant punchedMr.Grossman?”

“I’ll tell you whathappenednext.Mr.Grossmanfell over. Then I watched inhorror as the defendantdraggedMr.Grossmantotheside of the road and threwhim down on the curb likegarbage,” she spat. “Just likegarbage. I’ve never seen ayoung person show suchblatantdisrespectforanelderinallmylife.Thenhewalkedawaywithnoconcernforthehealth andwell being ofMr.

Grossman. After that, he goton his motorcycle and droveofftowhoknowswhere.”

Thatwaswrong.I’daskedGrossman if he wanted anambulance.He’d said no.Ofcourse,EdnaHollowaydidn’tknowthat.

“Thank you, Mrs.Holloway,” Schlosser said toher.“Nothingfurther.”

Schlosser sat down andRussell stepped up to thepodium.

“Mrs. Holloway,” Russellsaid in a friendly tone, “didyou happen to overhear anyof the conversation betweenMr. Manos and Mr.Grossman?”

“I did not.” EdnaHolloway’s eyes flashed atRussell like he was themugger who wouldundoubtedlystealthepurseinher gloved hands. Shetightened her grip around itand sat up straight and stiff,

herheadheldhigh.“Did you see them

speaking to each other?”Russellcontinued.

“I did.” Mrs. Hollowayglanced around defensively,as if Russell was trying totrapherinalie.

“But you didn’t hear anyof the content of theirconversation?”

“I did not,” she saidwarily.

“How would you

characterize the bodylanguage of Mr. Manosduringtheconversation?”

I remembered clearly thatI’d been calm and relaxedthat day. I hadn’t gottenworkedupuntilhe’dtoldmetotakeafuckinghike.

“Aggressive,” EdnaHolloway said, “andconfrontational.”

Fuckme.Nothinglikeeyewitness testimony to get tothebottomofthings.Onlyin

thiscase,Ednawasshovelingdirt out of thegrave shewasdigging for me with everywordoutofhermouth.

“You’re sure?” Russellaskeddoubtfully.

“Yes,”shesaidtightly.“Did you at any time see

Mr.GrossmanmovetoattackMr.Manos?”

“No.”That was wrong. Ten

secondsaftergettingupinmyfaceandshoutingF-bombsat

me, Grossman had lungedlike a charging bull. That’swhenI’dpunchedhim.Once.Sounded like self defense tome.

“You never saw Mr.Grossman lunge toward Mr.Manos?” Russell askedskeptically.

“No,”shesaidfirmly.“Did you see Mr.

Grossman step toward Mr.Manos?”

“No.”

“Hedidn’tmoveatall?”“No.Mr.Grossman stood

rightwherehewasthewholetime. I don’t care howmanyways you ask me, sir. Thatyoungmanthrewthefirstandonly punch.” After a pause,she glared at Russell andadded, “Withoutprovocation,” as if she wasspittinginhiseye.

Russellignoredit.She just had to slide that

in, didn’t she?Who the fuck

wasthiswoman?Brianna gave my hand a

brief reassuring squeezeunderthetable.Sheknewthestory,I’dtoldherandRussellso many times. I glanced ather and she smiled briefly.Neither of us wanted to callattention to ourselves. Shewentback to takingnotesonherlaptopandpreparingfileswhile Iwentback to lookingblandandcalm.

Russell worked Edna

Hollowayoverwithquestionsfor the next twenty minutes,coming at her from everyangle, but Edna Hollowaywouldn’t budge. The lastthing Russell wanted to dowas look like he wasbadgering the witness, so hefinally backed off and said,“Nothing further, yourhonor,”beforesittingdown.

The score was now, theState:2,andMe:0.

===

After Mrs. Holloway leftthewitness stand, the deputyled Horst Grossman into thecourtroomtobeswornin.

Too bad I couldn’t standnext toGrossmanso the jurycould see our actual sizedifference. Horst wasn’t asbigasme,butnowaywashethe tinyman that theDistrictAttorney’ssidebysidephotoofmeandGrossmanhad ledthejurytobelieve.

Grossman’sbigguthadn’t

changed. It tented out theflaps of his threadbare sportcoat. The guy looked like hecouldn’taffordnewclothes.Iknew that was bullshit. Hedrove a custom Mercedesconvertible, for fuck’s sake.Gone was his gold jewelryand the expensive silk shirtand fitted slacks he’d beenwearing the day I’d punchedhim.

Also missing was hisfancy toupee. I remember

thinking the guy had a greatheadofhair.Nowhesporteda stringy comb over. Helooked the part of anineffectual city bus driverhoping for an earlyretirement.

Horst Grossman limpedhisway to thewitness stand.He breathed heavily, like hewas climbing Mt. Everest.What a show boater. GivethatguyanOscar.

I repressed a desire to

chuff out a comical laugh.Ridiculous.

George Schlosser leanedpatiently against the podiumand smiled while poor oldHorst settled into thewitnesschair with a series of gruntsand wheezes. I’m surprisedtheyhadn’twheeledHorst inon a hospital bedwith an IVtubestickingoutofhisarm.

SchlosseraskedGrossmanall the usual questions toidentify who he was and

where he lived. Grossmanalso rambled on about hisfamily who he loved dearly,his selfless involvement inthe community, and hisconsiderable charitablecontributions. In his sparetime, I had no doubt thatHorstsponsoredthousandsofstarving children living inThird World countries,regularly rescued kitten’scaughtintreesandhelpedoldladies across the street.

Somebody call the Vatican.They needed to officiallyrecognize Saint HorstGrossman and make somestatuesoftheguy.

Finally, Schlosser doveinto relevant testimony. “Thequestiononeveryone’smind,Mr. Grossman, is why yougotoutofyourcarinthefirstplace, putting yourself inharm’sway?”

Grossman noddedrespectfully, likeagoodlittle

boywho always didwhat hewas told. Uh huh. He madeSir Anthony Hopkins looklikeahamactorinaWayan’sBrothers comedy. Grossmansaid, “I thought the womandrivingtheVW,theonewhohad stopped in front of me,was having some sort of cartrouble. The stoplight hadbeen green for a long time,andhercarhadn’tmoved.SoI got out ofmy car to checkthatshewasokay.”

It took everything I hadnot to blurt laughter.Grossman hadwanted to killher,nothelpher.

Grossman continued, “Itturnedout,shehadspilledhercoffee all over her car. Iasked her if she needed anyhelp. She said no, she wasfine. I suggested that sheshouldpullovertothesideoftheroadtolettrafficgoby.”

What? He was totallylying.He’dbeenshoutinghis

ass off at Samantha andcalling her names. The guyhadbeensoworkedup,Iwassurprised he hadn’t givenhimself a stroke. That’s whyI’dwalked up to Samantha’scar in the first place.Grossman had been trying topry her window down so hecould get to her. When thathadn’t worked, he’d startedkickinghercardoor.

“Was this the point atwhich the defendant

approached you?” Schlosserasked.

“Yes. He surprised me. Inever saw himwalk up. ThenextthingIknow,hetoldmeto ‘back the F-word off’ andleave.Ihadnoideawhatwasgoingon.IhadbeentryingtohelptheyoungwomanintheVW.IturnedtofacehimsoIcould explain myself. That’swhen he hit me. I was sosurprised, I never saw itcoming.”

Was he serious? Or justfuckinginsane?

“Where did the defendantstrikeyou?”Schlosserasked.

“Inthestomach.Ifeltpainshootoutfrommybelly,andIthinkthewindwasknockedout ofme. I couldn’t breatheor even standup, so I fell tomy knees. Before I couldrecover, he grabbed the backofmyshirtand liftedmeup.My shirt cut into my throatand I couldn’t breathe. Then

hedraggedme to the sideofthe road. Iwas trying to stayon my feet, but he waspushing me so fast, I kepttripping. I think the onlyreason I didn’t fall on myface was that he had me bytheshirtcollar.Whenwegotto the curb, he threw me totheground.”

Schlosser continuedasking Grossman a litany ofquestions: the severity of hisinjuries,howlonghewasoff

of work, how much pain hewas in immediately after theattack and in the weeksfollowing.Itwentonandon.HorstGrossmansoundedlikethe most level headed,reasonableguyon theplanet.George Schlosser was sosmart with his questions,therewas littleRussell couldobjectto.

I was on the edge of myseat when Schlosser finallyturnedthingsovertoRussell.

Russell steppedconfidentlytothepodiumandwent straight to work onGrossman. “Do youremember saying anything toMr. Manos when heapproachedyou?”

“Not that I recall,”Grossman answeredpromptly.

“You didn’t say anythingtoprovokehim?”

“NotthatIrecall.”“You didn’t make any

threateningremarks?”“NotthatIrecall.”Fuck, Grossman had the

most selectivememoryofalltime. If he was going to liehis way through crossexamination,Iwasfucked.

“How long would youestimate it was between thetime you turned to face Mr.Manos and when you claimheattackedyou?”

“Idon’tknow,maybefiveseconds?” Grossman said

thoughtfully.Nowhe remembered.Too

badhisrecollectionwasatadinaccurate.

“DidyoumakeanymovesthatmighthaveprovokedMr.Manos?”

“NonethatIrecall.”“You didn’t move toward

himsuddenly?”“Idon’tthinkso.”Russell noticeably rolled

his eyes. I couldn’t blamehim. I wanted to roll mine,

but I stared straight atGrossman as blandly aspossible. I hoped the jurydidn’t spot the daggers andbullets sneaking out of myeyes, because they wereflying out at a thousandroundsaminute.

Russell asked Grossman,“Youdidn’tmoveaninch?”

“I don’t think so,”Grossmananswered.

“Did you stand immobile,like a statue?” Russell asked

in a tone that bordered oncomical.

Grossman chuckledagreeably. “Of course not.ButIdidn’tmakeanysuddenmovements.”

“You’re sure?” Russellsaid doubtfully. “May Iremind you, Mr. Grossman,that you are testifying underoath?”

Grossman’s browsfurrowed. “I know that, sir,andIdidn’tmakeanysudden

moves.”“That seems odd to me,

Mr.Grossman.You’resayingthat the defendant got off ofhismotorcycle,walkedup toyou,acompletestranger,andsimply punched you in thestomach?Thenhe ledyou tothecurbandaskedyouifyouneededanambulance?”

“It was the strangestthing…” Grossman musedthoughtfully.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Russell marveled, a grin ofdisbelief tugging at thecornersofhismouth.

I was marveling too.Grossman was totally lying.But there was no way toproveit.

Russell asked morequestionsabouttheattackandthe aftermath, includingGrossman’s supposedinjuries, but the mandeflected all of Russell’squestions like the greatest

goal tender in the history ofsports. I couldn’t believe it.Grossmanwas a total pro onthestand.

Russell finally ran out ofquestionsandsatdown.

“Anything further,counselors?”thejudgeasked.

“No, your honor,”Schlosser said from theprosecutor’stable.

“Nothing further, yourhonor,”Russellsaid.

“The State rests, your

honor,”Schlossersaid.Grossman stepped down

fromthewitnessstand.“All right,” JudgeMoody

said, “we’ll take a shortfifteenminuterecess,thenthedefense will call its firstwitness.” She banged thegavelwithfinality.

Fuck.Thescorewasnow:theState:3,Me:0

TheonlywayIwasgoingto score any points with thejurywaswhenRussellcalled

metothestand,givingmetheopportunity to finally tellmyversion of events. If I waslucky, this would win me apoint with the jury, bringingthe score up to 3 to 1. Toobad Schlosser would get tofollow up with questionsaboutmycriminalpastduringcross examination. He couldvery well undermine anyadvantage I’d gained fromtellingmysideofthestory.Ifthings went poorly, after I

was finished testifying, thescorecouldbebackto3to0,orworse,thejurymightviewme as a criminal. Becauseeveryone knew: once acriminal, always a criminal.Thatwould score a point forthe prosecution. The way Isaw it, thatwould put thingsat4to0.

Sadly, it didn’t matter.Whetheritwas3-0,3-1,or4-0, I was the loser in everyscenario.

I needed an NFL widereceivertorunrightontothissoccer field and catch aHailMary touchdown pass, or Iwasfucked.

Too bad there were nowidereceiversinsoccer.

===SAMANTHA

The traffic jam finallycleared enough for theemergency crews to let carsstart going through. It took

foreverforeveryonetomergeinto the one lane that wasopen and squeeze around thewreck.

TheRalph’s semi and theother cars involved in theaccident were all twisted,crunched,andblackened.Thefiremen were still millingabout and hosing thingsdown, but nothing appearedto be burning anymore. Thepeople who’d been air liftedout by the helicopter were

longgone.Itookamomenttoremindmyself that theirdayswere going way worse thanmine.

I stuck to 65 mph on theway downtown, paranoid Imight get pulled over by theCHP if I tried to speed. Ididn’t need anymoredelays.Ikeptafoursecondfollowingdistancefromthecarsinfrontof me. I didn’t want tosomehow get in a wreck ofmy own. That bitch Lady

Luck had been workingagainst me all morning, so Iwasn’t giving her anyopportunities to further fuckmeover.

I exited the freeway atFront Street and headedtoward thecourthouse.Therewere a bunch of one waystreets and I got turnedaroundseveral timesbefore Ifound the courthouse onBroadway.

Did the courthouse have

priority parking for panickygirlfriends? No. Did theyhave any parkingwhatsoever? None that Icouldsee.

Iwastemptedtoditchmycar on the steps of thecourthouse and run inside.Crap.Thatwasn’tanoption.Idrove around the block andstopped at the first parkinggarage I could find. Theywanted twenty five bucks! Ididn’tcare.Ithrewsomebills

at the parking attendant andparkedonthethirdfloor.

I took my heels off andcarriedthemwhileIranfrommy car to the courthouse.Lucky forme the SanDiegosidewalks were relativelyclean. The courthouse was ahugebuildingwithabunchofRomancolumnsoutfrontandthewords‘HallofJustice’ inbiglettersabovetheentrance.Did Superman and WonderWoman work here? Why

hadn’tWonderWomanflownherinvisiblejettopickmeupfrom the traffic jam? OrSuperman could’ve justhopped out his window andswooped me out of my car.Thoseguysweregettinglazy.

I put my shoes on andwalked through the doors.Then I got in line for thesecurity check and promptlytookmyshoesbackoff.Andmybelt.Why?Iwasn’tflyinganywhere.Couldn’ttheyseeI

wasn’ta terrorist?Sowhat ifmy blouse was soaked withsweat? IknowIwasclose tolosing my cool because onemoredelaywasgoingtobroilmy brain and send me intoseizures, but it wasn’t like Ihadabombinmypurse.

After I finished withsecurity, I stopped in mytracks. Where the hell wasChristos’ courtroom? Theremust’ve been a hundredroomsinthisplace!Igrabbed

several people walking byandaskediftheyknewwherethe Manos trial was, hopingthat was what it was called.Every person I grabbedlooked at me like I wasinsane.IwantedtotellthemIdidn’t have a bomb in mypurse, nor was I a terrorist,but I deduced thatwouldnothelpmattersany.

So I started openingcourtroom doors at random.Every time I did, whatever

wasgoingoninsidegroundtoa halt. Everyone turned tostare at me and the lawyersglared at me like I wasruining their lawyer mojo.What the heck was theproblem?Iwasbeingquiet.Itmight have been because allof the courtrooms were sosmall. Where were the hugeones you saw in all themovies?

More importantly, weretheheckwasChristos?

I was never going to findhim.

This building had at leastten stories. Did I have to gofrom floor to floor openingeverysingledoor?Thatcouldtake hours. But nobody I’dasked had a clue whereChristos’trialwas.

What if I’d driven to thewrongcourthouse?

Fuck!

Chapter9

CHRISTOS

We all filed into thecourtroom after the recess.The judge sat down at herbenchandcalledinthejury.

“Mr. Merriweather,”JudgeMoodysaidtoRussell,“you may call your first

witness.”Russell leaned over and

whispered in my ear, “Youreadytodothis?”

I took a huge breath.“Yeah.”

Timetorollthedice.Timeformetostepupand

testify.I felt my balls crawl up

inside my pelvis. I think thehaironmyheadwastryingtocrawlbackintomyscalpandmy fingernails were

retracting. Every part of mybodywasattemptingtoavoiddisasterorinjury.Thiswasit.Uponthehighwirewithoutanet.DidI fall tomydeath inthe middle of myperformance or finish with aflourish to the sound ofapplause?

“Psst!”I whipped around to see

whowashissinginmyear.ItwasSamantha.Inearlyjumpedoutofmy

seat.“Samoula?” my

grandfather whispered,lookingconfused.

Brianna looked up fromher laptop and stared atSamantha like she had juststepped off the Crazy TrainfromCrazyTown.

Russell’s head swiveledslowly around like a gunturret. He leveled abludgeoning gaze atSamantha. He had no idea

who she was. “Excuse me,young lady,” he whisperedsternly,“mayIhelpyou?”

“I have a video!”Samanthahissed.

“What?” Russell askedbluntly.

“You should sit down,agápimou,”Isaidsoftly.

“You really need to seethis video!” Samanthawhispered. “It’s on myphone.” She held it over thelow railing between the

observer’s benches and thefloorofthecourtroomproper.Shegave a littlewave tomygrandfather and smiled athim.

“Young lady, court is insession,” Russell warned.“You keep talking, and thejudge is liable tociteyouforcontempt of court. I suggestyou return to your seat andbehaveyourselforIwillhaveyou escorted out of heremyself.”

“This is important!”Samanthapleaded.“Tellhim,Christos!”

“Do you know thismiscreant?”Russellaskedmesharply,narrowinghiseyes.

“Yeah,”Isighed.“Isortofdo.”

Samantha slapped myshoulder and frowned at me.“Sortof?”

I repressed a chuckle.“Russell, meet SamanthaSmith.She’smygirlfriend.”

Russell raised hiseyebrows. “Pleased to meetyou, Samantha,” he saidpolitely. “I don’t know ifyou’ve noticed, but we’re inthe middle of a trial. I’mtryingtokeepyourboyfriendout of the slammer. Unlessyouhave averygood reasonforinterrupting,Isuggestyousit down immediately andkeepquiet.”

“ButIhavevideoofwhathappened!” Samantha

pleaded.“What are you talking

about?” Russell asked,perplexed.

“Mr. Merriweather,”JudgeMoodyinterrupted,“dowehaveaproblem?”

Russell smiled at thejudge.“No,yourhonor,notatall.Maywehaveamoment?”

“Make it quick, Mr.Merriweather,”JudgeMoodyordered.

“I have video of him!”

Samanthahissed.“Ofwho?”Iasked.“Ifoundavideoonlineof

youpunchingthatguysittingrightoverthere!”ShepointedatHorstGrossmanwhosatonthe far side of the witnessgallery, behind theprosecutor’stable.

Both of Russell’seyebrows climbed up hisforehead.“Comeagain?”

I couldn’t believe what Iwas hearing. I said,

“Samantha,areyouserious?”Shenodded.“Yes!”Judge Geraldine fired a

stern look at the three of us.“Any time, Mr.Merriweather.”

“One moment, yourhonor,” Russell said. “I mayhave just receivedinformationthatbearsonthiscase.”

“May have or have?” thejudgedaskedimpatiently.

“Ifyouwouldkindlygive

me a moment, your honor, Iwillletyouknow.”

“DoIneedtocallanotherrecess five minutes after thelastone?”

“No,yourhonor.Thiswillonlytakeamoment.”

“You have two minutes,counselor.”

Russell turned toSamantha. “Do you have thevideoonyourphone?”

“Yes.”“Isitreadytoplay?”

“Yes.”“MayIseeit?”Samantha handed the

phonetoRussell.I leanedover his shoulder

andhepressedplay.The video was amazingly

clear. You could see HorstGrossman’sfaceclearlyasheshouted and screamed atSamantha in her VW. Youcould even see Samantha’sface inside her car, and mewhen I walked up in my

helmet, before and afterGrossman lunged and Ipunched. Whoever shot itmust have been planning onstudying cinematography atUSC film school. The audiowas a bit choppy, but youcould hear most of whatHorstGrossmansaid.

Russell glanced betweenSamantha and the phone. “Isthatyou?”heasked,pointingatthetinyimageofSamanthainherVW.

Shenodded.In a low voice, Russell

said, “Christos, you’re luckywe’re incourt.Otherwise I’dsmack you upside the head.ThenI’dturnyouaroundandsmackyouup the other side.Whydidn’t you tellme yourgirlfriend was the girl in thecar? Are you crazy? No,don’t answer that. Because Iknow you’re crazy.” Heturned to Samantha. “Wheredidyoufindthisvideo?”

“Onsomebody’sblog.It’snot even aYoutube video. ItwasonVimeo.”

“Wecheckedtheroadragevideos,” Russell said,confused, “and we checkedVimeo. And Youtube. Andeverywhere else. Severaltimes. We couldn’t findanything.”

“Ithinkwhoeveruploadedjustpostedit.See,theuploaddate is two days ago and itonly has a few hundred hits.

It tookmeallnight to find itbecause of how it waslabelled.”

“You’re quite the privateinvestigator,” Russell said.“What was your nameagain?”

“SamanthaSmith.”“Thank you,Ms. Smith. I

think you just saved yourboyfriend’s ass.” Russellsmiled.“Wouldyouhaveanyobjection to going up on thewitness stand to testify in

Christos’defense?”“Me?”shegasped.“Yes, you. If the judge

will allow it, we can keepChristosoffthestand.”

“Of course! I’ll totally doit!”shesaid.

“Do me a favor,” Russellsaid, “email theURL of thatwebsite to my assistant.” Henodded toward Brianna andsaid, “Ms. Smith, this isBriannaJohnson.”

Brianna and Samantha

shook hands then Samanthafiredofftheemailtoher.

“Got it,” Brianna said afew seconds later. I watchedher pull the video up on herlaptop. It turned out thecourthouse had great wi-fiservice.

Russellstoodup,facedthejudge, and in his mostcharming, winning voice,said, “Your honor, maycounselapproachthebench?”

“This better be good,Mr.

Merriweather.”George Schlosser and his

team were staring at usopenly. They had no ideawhatwasabouttohitthem.

“Ithinkyou’regoingtobeamused,yourhonor,”Russellsaidthoughtfully.“Icertainlyam.”

“You may approach,counselors,”thejudgesaid.

Russell, Brianna, GeorgeSchlosser, and his twoassistants walked up to

GeraldineMoody’sbench.In a soft voice I could

barelyhear,Russellexplainedeverything to the judge. Hepointed at Samantha severaltimes. When he did,Schlosser and his team gaveSamanthadirtylooks.

Brianna set her laptop onthe corner of the judge’sbenchsothatthejudgecouldviewthevideo.Schlosserandhis teamhadtocraneover tosee the screen when Brianna

playedthevideo.Atfirst,JudgeMoodywas

bored, but as the videounrolled, she becameentrancedand literally leanedforward on the edge of herseat. When the videofinished,shesaid,“CanIseethatagain?”

“Certainly, your honor,”Russellsaid.“Brianna,pleaseplayitagain.”

Brianna nodded and resetthevideo.

After the second viewing,Schlosser growled, “This ispreposterous, your honor.There’snowayyoucanallowthisintoevidence.Ineedtimeto verify that the woman inthisvideois theonestandingoverthere.”

“It looks like the sameyoungwoman tome,” JudgeMoody said, a hint ofamusementinhervoice.

“That may very well be,”Schlosser huffed, “but if it

turnsoutsheisthewomaninthevideo, Istillneed time todepose her properly. I haveno idea what her testimonymightbe.”

“Neither do I,” Russellsaid.

Schlosser scoffed at him,then turned to Judge Moodyand said, “Your honor,freshman tactics like thesearen’t fit for thiscourtroom,”he said it like Russell was aknown liar, “I suggest we

leave them in trashy novelsand circus tents where theybelong.”

“I’ll decide what flies inmy own courtroom, Mr.Schlosser,”thejudgesaidinaparental tone. “Mr.Merriweather, have you hadan opportunity to interviewthis surprise witness ofyours?”JudgeMoodyasked.

“No, I have not, yourhonor,” Russell said. “Iwasn’tawareofherexistence

until she stepped into thiscourtroomtoday.”

The judge raised askepticaleyebrowatRussell.

He raised a skepticaleyebrowather.

Schlosserrolledhiseyesatbothofthem.

“I’ll allow it,” JudgeMoodysaid.

“But—” Schlosserinterjected.

The judge cut him off.“Mr. Schlosser, you’ve been

doing this long enough.Improvise. In light of thisvideo, you’re lucky I don’tdismiss thiscaseon thespot.Would you like me to dothat?”

Schlosser smiledendearingly, “Your honor, I—”

“Yes or no, counselor,”thejudgesaid.

Schlosser huffed a hardsigh. “As you wish, yourhonor.”

“Excellent. Mr.Merriweather,please see thatMr.Schlossergetsthelinktothis video. We’ll take a onehour recess, during whichtime both your teams canreviewthevideoindepthandformulate your arguments.”Shebangedhergavel.“Courtisinrecessforonehour.”

===Samantha’s testimony and

the amazing video footageturnedthetrialonitshead.

Russell played the videoon the big projection screenwhile Samantha was on thewitness stand.He paused thevideointermittentlytoaskherquestions to help clarifydetails of what washappening.

Iwatchedwith aminimalgrin on my face while themomentsbeforeI’dgottenoffmy bike for the first timeunwoundonthescreen.Ididmy best not to look smug in

frontofthejury.Itwasdamnhard.

The video had close upson Grossman’s face as heshoutedatSamanthaandtriedtopryhercarwindowdown.He looked like a raginglunatic. The jury watched instark, wide-eyed amazementas Grossman frothed at themouthinthevideoandturnedbeet red while he calledSamantha a bitch, a slut, awhore,andapinhead.Oneof

the female jurors giggled indisbelief when Grossmankicked the door ofSamantha’sVW.

Theknockoutpunch,bothliterally and figuratively,camewhenGrossman lungedatmeinthevideo.Ihadbeenstanding calmly in front ofhim. Everyone in thecourtroom could clearly seethat Grossman had tried totackle me before I’d sidestepped out of his way and

punchedhim.I glanced over and saw

Deputy District AttorneyGeorge Schlosser running ahand through his hair. Helookeddefeated,likehe’djustbeenpunched.

When Russell finishedasking Samantha questionsand sat down, Schlosser wasfinishing a quiet discussionwith his assistants. After amoment, they all nodded ateachother.

Schlosser stood up andsaid,“Yourhonor,duetotheunforeseen developmentsregardingtheevidenceinthiscase, the statehasdecided todrop all charges against thedefendant.”

“Are you sure, Mr.Schlosser? I don’t want tocomebackanddothisagain,”thejudgesaid.

“Yes, your honor,”Schlossersaid.

“Let the record show that

in the matter of the State ofCalifornia vs. ChristosManos, case number SD-2013-K-071183A,” the judgeintoned, “the State hasdropped all charges. Shebanged her gavel. “Casedismissed. Mr. Manos, youarefreetogo.”

For a second, I couldn’tbelievemyears.

Thehugesmilethatspreadacross Russell’s face provedthat I hadn’t been

hallucinating.“Congratulations, son,” hesaid while shaking my handand squeezing my shouldervigorously,“let’sagreenevertodothisagain.Feelme?”

“Agreed,” I said, grinningfromeartoear.

He pointed at me with ajabbing finger. “I mean it,son. No more bullshit.You’vegotbetterthingstodothan waste my time in acourtroom.”

“You knowme toowell,”Ismiled.“Ipromise,nomorecourtroombullshit.”

Withanyluck,I’dbeabletoliveuptomypromise.

===SAMANTHA

I practically jumped overthewitnessstandtryingtogetto Christos when the judgedismissedthecase.

Christos came out frombehindthedefensetableandI

leaptintohisarms.“Wedidit!”Isquealed.He spun me around once

and set me down. “No, youdid it, agápi mou. You wonthis case single handed.” Heglanced at his lawyer andsaid,“Imean,Russellhelped,but you, Samantha, stole theshow. Samantha, meet myattorney, RussellMerriweather. He’s an oldfriendofthefamily.”

I shook Russell’s hand,

“Nicetomeetyou.”“Christos is right, Ms.

Smith,”Russellsmiled.“Youshouldsendhimabill.”

Igrinned.“Nah,I’llfigureout a way to make him payforitwithservicesrendered.”

Christos chuckled.“Gladly.”

Brianna Johnson walkedaround the defense table andfrowned at Christos.“Christos, how could youforget to mention to Russell

andIthatyourgirlfriendwasatthecrimescene?”

Christos shrugged hisshouldersnoncommittally.

“You could’ve savedyourself a whole lot of timeand trouble had you told ussooner,” Briannaadmonished.

Christos cracked out adimpledgrin.“IwastryingtosaveSamanthaawholelotoftimeand trouble.”Herubbedhishandagainstmyshoulder.

“Shehasbetterthingstodo.”I rolled my eyes at him.

“Russell was right, Christos.You are crazy!” I looked atBriannaforagreement.

She gave me a sisterlysmile and shook her head,“Men!Iswear,ifitwasn’tforus women, they wouldn’t beabletotietheirownshoes!”

“Iknow,right?”Ismiled.“Hey,” Christos quipped,

“I’mstandingrighthere.”“Good. Thenmaybe what

we’re saying might sink in.”Brianna winked at me.“Despite his thick head,Christos is a good youngman. But don’t you let himweasel out of doing a fewchores tomakeup forall thetroublehe’sputyouthrough.”

“Iwon’t,”Ismiled.Spiridon walked up a

moment later with someonewho could only be Christos’dad.TheybothexchangedbighugswithChristos.

“TheManosmen,”Russellsaid proudly, smiling at allthree of them, “all up in thisherething.”

“Samantha,”Christossaid,“Iwantyou tomeetmydad,NikolosManos.”

IshookNikolos’hand.Helooked like a slightly olderversion of Christos. He wasasdashingashissonandhadthe same priceless blue eyes.Seeing the three of themtogether, it was obvious that

Christos was going to bepainfully gorgeous at everystage of life. I know peoplesaidthatGeorgeClooneygotbetterlookingashegotolder,butNikolosandSpiridonputpoorGeorgetoshame.

“I’veheardallaboutyou,”Nikolos smiled. “My fathertells me that you’re a goodyoungwoman,andatalentedartist too. Maybe you couldteachmy son a thing or twoabout painting. He needs all

the help he can get,” hewinked.

Spiridon smiled at me.“Yes. Samoula has movedintothehousetobeChristos’private painting tutor. Isn’tthatright,koritsákimou?”Hepatted me affectionately ontheshoulder.

Iwas so overwhelmed byall of it, the relief thatChristos’ trial was over andthe sense of having a familythatIabsolutelyadored,thatI

couldn’t speak. I smiled andnodded my reply as tearsblurred my vision. I did mybest to hold them in as thegroupofuswalkedoutofthecourtroomtogether.

Now that it was over, Isecretly hoped thatwould bethelasttimeIeversetfootinacourtroom.BetweenTaylorLamberth, Damian Wolfram,andChristos, I’d had enoughtrialstolastalifetime.

===

CHRISTOS

I inhaled a deep breath ofmellow afternoon air as westood in front of the Hall ofJusticeintheSanDiegosun.

Iwasfree.Itstillhadn’tquitesunkin.

Part of me had been fullyprepared to be led out of thecourtroom in handcuffs andtruckedofftoprisonaftermytrial.Thefoggyclawsof thatfearstillnickedatthebackof

my neck. Not to worry.They’d fade. I was in theclear. I was with my familyandfriends,andIwasfree.

“Whowantstocelebrate?”I smiled. “I was thinkingdrinksanddinnerattheYardHouse up the street? I’mbuying.”

“You’ve spent enoughmoney on me already,”Russell smiled. “We can allhead over there and I’ll pickupthetab.”

“Christos Manos?” somerandom guy walked up andaskedabruptly.HehadcomefromthedirectionoftheHallof Justice and wore anexpensive suit and held abriefcase. Was he a courtclerkorsomething?

Inarrowedmyeyes.“Whowantstoknow?”

“Are you ChristosManos?”theguyaskedagain.

NowthatI’dhadachancetolookathim,hedidn’tseem

threatening. But he held athickwhitebusinessenvelopein his hand. “Yeah, I’mhim.Whatdoyouwant?”

The guy raised his armand jabbed the envelope atme.“You’vebeenserved.”

Ishookmyheadandtookthe envelope from him. Heimmediatelywalkedaway.

“Christos, Christos,Christos,” Russell sighed.“What is it this time, youngman?”

Iopenedtheenvelopeandreadthepaperwork.

“What?” Samantha asked,worried.

I sighed heavily. “HunterBlakeleyissuingme.”

“What? Why?” Samanthafrowned. “Because youtripped him that day atSDU?”

She was referring to thetimeI’dwalkeduponHuntergivingshit toherandRomeoin the Eucalyptus grove on

campus. “No. Because Ipunchedhimintheface.”

“When?”Samanthaasked.“You don’t want to

know.”“Iwant toknow,”Russell

interrupted. He took thesummons from me. “And Iwant to know who all wasinvolved. No more of theselast minute surprises.” Hescanned over the paperwork.“This isacivilsuit,Christos.He’s suing you for damages.

Didyouhithim?”“Yes,” I sighed. “But it

wasselfdefense.”“I’m sure itwas,”Russell

said.I couldn’t tell if he was

beingsarcasticornot.Hewasprobably pissed that I’dwalked out of one trial andright into another. I couldn’tblamehim.

“Look,” I said, “A coupleweeks ago, Hunter and threeof his buddies followed me

and Jake after we leftHooters.Huntertookaswingatme, so I back-handed himinthenose.Once.”

Russell pursed his lipswhile his brow knotted overhis dark eyes. “Soundsfamiliar. Unfortunately, aciviltrialisn’tlikeacriminaltrial, son. If you hit him,you’re probably going tohavetopay.TheonlythingIcan do is work to minimizewhat you’ll owe him.” He

flipped throughseveralpagesof the document. “Which, inthiscase, isawholehellofalot. This guy’s attorney isasking for a million inmedicalbills,lostwages,andpain and suffering. We cancutthatdownquiteabit.ButImightnotbeabletomakeitall go away. May I ask, didyouhaveafilmcrewonhandto saveyour ass in court thistimearound?”

“Idoubtit,”Isaid.“Itwas

themiddleof thenightonanempty street. No one wasthere except Jake and thethreeguyswithHunter.”

“All right,” Russell said.“We’ll figure it out. In themean time,may I please begthat you not get in anymorefights? Is that possible? OramIasking forwater fromastone?”

Everyone was staring atme expectantly. Samantha,my dad, my grandad,

Brianna,andRussell.Allhadskepticallooksontheirfaces.

“Come on, guys,” Ipleaded,“theonlyreasonanyofthisshitstartedisbecauseIwasdefendingSamantha.Thefirst time at her VW, thesecondtimeintheEucalyptusgrove at SDU. Hunter neverwould’ve cornered me andJake that night if I hadn’ttrippedhim thatdayatSDU.Hewas still pissed I’dmadehimlookfoolish.”

“While your actions havebeen honorable,” Russelladmonished, “the next timethere’s trouble, I encourageyoutoruntheotherway.Feelme?” He raised a doubtfuleyebrow, but a slight smilebetrayedhisseriousness.

“WhataboutSamantha?”Iasked. “What if I need toprotecther? I’mnotgoing toleaveherintrouble.”

“You’re a strong boy,”Russell smirked. “Pick her

up, throw her over yourshoulder,andrun.”

I chuckled, “I can handlethat.”

Russell put a big hand onthe back of my neck. “Allright, you all. I’ve hadenough courtroom drama forone day. Let’s get somedinner.”

We all walked east onBroadway and went insidetheYardHouse.Sinceitwasearly and the dinner rush

hadn’t set in, we got a tableforsixrightaway.

While we waited for ourwaitertotakeourdrinkorder,Icheckedmyphone.Tonsoftexts and voicemails fromSamantha. I felt like a jerk.She must’ve been freakingout trying to reach me. I’dmakeupforitlater.

Butthelasttexttocomeinwas from BrandonCharboneau.

How are the paintings

coming along? I want tobook the gallery for yourshow, but I can’t set a dateuntil you give me one. Letmeknow.

Fuckinggreat.Ihadnevertold Brandon about the trial.He’d been cracking thewhipenough as it was withoutknowing.Ihadn’twantedhimgoing nuts thinking I had toget everything done before Iended up in prison. Itwould’ve created way too

muchtensionbetweenus.Now that my trial was

finally over, the last thing Iwanted to dowas jumpbackin the studio to continuepainting abunchofmodels Ihadnointerestinpainting.

Before, I had beenpainting themmostly tokeepmy mind off the Grossmantrial. Work was always agood distraction. On thebright side, now that I hadthis ridiculous Hunter

Blakeley civil suit hangingovermyhead,theworkmightbejustwhatIneededtokeepme motivated. I’d spent ahugeamountofmymoneyonRussell. His servicesweren’tcheap. If I ended up payingout toHunter, even if I onlyowed him a fraction of theamounthewasasking,I’dbebroke.

Ineededtoearnsomecashquick. Cranking out thecanvases for Brandon was a

goodawayas any topull inmoreBenjamins.

And now that Samanthahad moved in, she couldwatch me hanging out withhotnakedchickssevendaysaweek. She wouldn’t miss amoment of the excitement.I’m sure she’d have the timeofherlife.

Fuck. Like everythingelse, I’dworry about it later.When the waitress arrived, IorderedadoubleshotofBasil

Haydenbourbon.Letthedrinkingbegin.

===SAMANTHA

“How much did youdrink?” I asked Christos aseveryone walked out of theYardHouseontoBroadway.

“Lost count,” Christosslurred.

“You weigh a millionpounds,” I grunted. His armwasovermyshoulderandhe

leanedagainstme.Itfelt likeabuildinghadfallenontome.

“Let me help you,Samantha,” Nikolos said,concerned. He grabbedChristos’otherarmandstoodhim up easily, taking all ofhisweight.

“Where’s my Camaro?”Christosasked.

“You’renotdriving,paidímou,”Nikolossaid,“not likethis.”

Christos wasn’t sloppy

drunk, but he was in theneighborhood. This was thefirst time I’d seen him likethis. I couldn’t blame him.He’dhadastressfulday.

“I can drive Christos’Camaro,” Spiridon said toNikolos. “You can take mycarhome.”

Nikolos nodded. “Whichwaytoyourcar,Samantha?”

“Thisway,”Ipointed.“Brianna and I are parked

this way,” Russell said to

everyone. “I should get herbacktohercarattheofficesoshecangohome.”

Weallsaidourgoodbyes.Spiridon andNikoloswalkedChristos and me west onBroadway, toward theparking garage where myVWwas.RussellandBriannawenttheotherway.

“Tell me about some ofyour paintings, Samantha,”Nikolossaidasthefourofuswalkedalongthesidewalk.

“She’s awesome,”Christos slurred, his eyes alittleglassy.

“She’s quite good,”Spiridonagreed.“She’safastlearner. Christos has taughther a lot since they met inSeptember. I’ve never seensuchrapidimprovement.”

I blushed. “Gosh,Spiridon,thankyou.”

“I’d love to see some ofyour work,” Nikolos said.“Has Christos been teaching

youaboutthefigure?”“Yeah.He’s taughtmeall

about gesture drawing andstudyinganatomy,andhowtodrawfromthemodel.Ineverknew you could do that. Ialways thought you had tomake everything up out ofyourhead.”

Nikolos nodded andsmiled, still holding Christosaround thewaist to help himwalk. Christos was drunkerthanI’dthought.

“She’s soooo good,”Christossaid.

Yeah,hewastoasted.Nikolos didn’t seem to

mind. I knew from Christosthat Nikolos was a heavydrinker, but he hadn’t drunkanything at dinner. He wascompletelysober.

“A lot of people thinkdrawing is magic,” Nikolossaid. “They think you’reeither born knowing how oryou’re not. That’s not true.

You can learn, especially ifyouhaveagoodteacher.”

“That’s what Christossaid!”Ismiled.

Nikolosnoddedproudly.We eventually made it to

theparkinggaragewheremyVW was parked. Nikolosgently lowered Christos intothebackseat,thentherestofusclimbedin.

After dropping Spiridonoff at Christos’ Camaro, Itook Nikolos to where

Spiridon’s car was parked inanother garage. He pulledChristos out of the back seatofmyVWandputhiminthefront seat forme. There wasno way I could’ve done itmyself. Nikolos movedChristos likehedidn’tweigha thing. Hewas pretty damnstrong.

“Thanksforeverything,”IsaidasIhuggedNikolos.

“I can tell, Samantha,”Nikolos saidashepattedmy

back,“you’reagoodgirl.I’mgladmysonmetyou.I’mjustsorry it was that idiot HorstGrossman who brought youtogether.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Ilaughed.“Thatguywasajerkandnowwecanforgetabouthim. But if he hadn’t beensuchanassmasterinthefirstplace, I never would’ve metyourson.”

“Ass master?” Nikoloschuckled. “In the old days,

when I was young, Iwould’ve called him afucking asshole and left it atthat.”

I shrugged. “But thatsounds like any randomasshole.HorstGrossmanwaslikethemasterofallassholes.He’s the one who gives alltheorders,”Igrinned.

“I like how you think,”Nikolos laughed. “Do youneed me to follow you backto my father’s house to help

getChristosoutofthecar?”“I think I can manage. If

not,hecansleepinthecar.”“Spiridon has a

wheelbarrow in the garage ifyou need one. Well, goodnight, Samantha. I lookforward to seeing your artsometimesoon.”

“Me too!” I smiled. Iwaved as he got intoSpiridon’s car and droveaway.

I hoped that Nikolos

wouldcomebythehousefora visit at some point. Heseemed really nice. I don’tknow why Christos neverspent any time with him.Based on the way Christoshad talked about his dad inthe past, I’d imaginedNikolos would be somerundown drunk. That’s notwhat he seemed like tonight.He seemed healthy and wasdefinitelysober.Christoshadbeen the one doing all the

drinking.Maybe Christos and his

dad would start spendingmore time together. I’m sureitwould be good for both ofthem.

Despite all of the day’sdrama, I felt like thingswerestartingtolookupformeandChristos.

Finally.===

My good mood took anose dive when my phone

rangonthedrivehome.Myparentswerecalling.There was no way I was

going to answer them rightnow.Icouldn’tdealwithonemore drop of drama tonight.After our last call, I couldonly imagine the nastinesstheywouldslammewithifIanswered.

Iletitgotovoicemail.I’ddeal with them later. Maybetomorrow.

Maybenever.

Maybe if I never calledthemback,myparentswouldslowlyforget theyeverhadadaughter.Icouldhope.

So,so,so,SOGROAN!!!I rolled my eyes and

concentratedon the roadas Idrovetowardhome.

Home. To my new housewhere I lived with Christos.Swoon. The drunk guyslumped against the door ofmy VW. Sigh. Oh well,nothingwasperfect.Sowhat

ifhewasdrunk?Itwasbetterthanhimbeinginjail.

Besides, I’d been drunkplentyoftimesinhighschoolas an outcast teenager.Sometimesthingsgotsobad,it was the only thing I knewhow to do to block out thepainandrejectionwhenIwasalone. Sometimes, not evenice cream was enough. Butmydrinkinghadn’tturnedmeinto an alcoholic. I’m sureChristoswouldbefine.Ifhis

drinking somehow became aproblem, I’d be around tohelp.Iwouldn’tlethimthrowhis life away. We’d find away through whateverobstacles life put in front ofus.Together.

Spiridonwasalreadybackat the house when I pulledinto thedriveway.HehelpedChristos out of the car withease and didn’t need awheelbarrow. All the Manosmen were very strong

physically.Ididn’tknowhowoldSpiridonwas, but he hadtobeatleastsixty.HepulledChristosoutofthecarlikehedidn’t weigh a thing. Icouldn’thavedoneitwithoutaforklift.

Spiridon walked Christosupstairs and lowered himontothebed.

“Icantakeitfromhere,”Isaid.

“Okay. I feel like sometea. I’m going to go make

some. You can join me ifyou’dlike.”

“Allright.”Spiridon smiled, “It’s so

good tohaveyou livingwithus, Samoula. It was far tooquietwith onlymy grandsonaround.It’snicetohavemorefamilyinthehouse.”

My heart warmed at hiswords. “Thank you,Spiridon.” The implicationthat I was family broughttears to my eyes. I’d known

himforalloffivemonthsandI felt completely at easearound him.Maybe he couldadoptme officially.Ohwait,wouldn’t that make meChristos’ sister? No, thatwould only be if Nikolosadopted me. If Spiridonadoptedme,thatwouldmakemeChristos’aunt.Notgonnawork.

“What’s so funny?”Spiridonasked.

“Nothing,” I smiled. “Just

randomthoughts.Letmetakecare of Christos and I’ll joinyoudownstairs.”

“Perfect. I’ll be in thekitchen.”

I hung my blazer in thecloset and slipped off myheels. Then I slid Christos’dress shoes off. He was stillin his suit, which was nowquite rumpled. He’d beentruly dashing in thecourtroom.Now his rumpledfacelookedlikeitcouldusea

press as badly as his suit. Iloosened his tie and openedhis collar. He moanedsleepily, but didn’t seeminterestedinopeninghiseyes.

“You’re completelyatmymercy,Christos. Think of allthe things I could do to you.Draw a mustache with amarker?” No, that remindedmeofTiffany’syachtandherpainting.“Shaveyourhead?”Whywould Iwant to get ridof that perfect hair of his? I

wouldn’t be able to run myhands through it. “Oh, forgetit. How about I give you astriptease then let you haveyourwaywithme?”

Yeah, that sounded likewhatthedoctorordered.

Christos moaned sleepily.Hedidn’tseemtoagree.

“How about I let yousleep?”

Silence.I wasn’t sure how drunk

Christos was, but I didn’t

want to risk him choking onhis own puke. I grabbed hiswristandpulledhimontohisside, just in case. I had toreallyputmybodyintoit,hewas so heavy. I had a goodsweat going by the time Ifinished. Who knew all thatmusclecouldweighsomuch?

I blew a wisp of hair outof my face when I wasfinished. “Sleep tight, agápimou.I’llbedownstairs.”

As I walked toward the

bedroomdoor, I rememberedmyparents’recentphonecall.Ipulledmyphoneoutofmypurse and looked at it. Theyhadleftmeavoicemail.

The phone that had keptChristos out of jail was nowthe phone threatening to putmeinadifferentkindofjail.

Screwmymomanddad.Theycouldwait.Idroppedmyphoneinmy

purse with a scowl and lefttheroom.

Screwthem.

Chapter10

SAMANTHA

I leftChristos to sleepoffhisdrunk.

Spiridonpouredme a cupof tea in the kitchen and wemadeourway into the livingroom.

As tired as I was, all the

stressofthepastseveraldayshad my thoughts bouncingaround insidemyskull likeathousand ping pong balls. Ineededtounwind.

I stretched out on thecouch while Spiridon satdown across from me in hisleathereasychair.Hetoldmestoriesabouthisartcareerforhours.

The living room was theperfect location becauseSpiridon’sglorious landscape

paintingshung all aroundus.Theyset theperfectmoodashewowedmewithtalesfromhis life as a world famouspainter. He recalled all thecelebrities he had met, thecountries he had visited, andtheawardshehadwoninthecourse of his illustriouscareer.

Spiridon had lived anamazing life I couldn’t helpbut envy. Art was in hisblood. As was success. Art

and success were also in thebloodofhis sonNikolosandhis grandson Christos. TheManos family was trulyblessed.

The Smith family hadn’tbeen nearly so lucky. Ohwell. Even if my upbringinghadbeenblandandmediocrebycomparison,atleastnowIgot to be around the Manosfamily.MaybeIcouldabsorbsome of their good luck. Iwas still young. There was

still time for my life to turnoutawesometoo.

Close to midnight,Christos clomped downstairsinto the living room andcollapsed on the couch nexttome.He stillworehis shirtand tie and his slacks. Evenwith his hair a mess, helookedreadyfor thecoverofGQ.

“He’s risen from thedead,” Spiridon chuckledfrom where he sat in his

leatherchair.Christos clutched his hair

in both hands. “I feel likesomeone has driven a spikethroughmyhead.I thinkI’mstillbuzzed.HowmuchdidIdrink?”

“Youprobablyneed somewater,” I suggested.Experience had taught methat water was a hangover’sworstenemy.

Christos groaned, “I thinkIgotdehydratedduringcourt

today. I was too stressedabouteverythingelsetothinkaboutwater. Those bourbonsatdinnerwent straight tomybrain.”

“I’llgetyousomewater,”Spiridonsaidashestoodup.

“Icandoit,”Isaid.“No, you sit with my

grandson.” He smiled as hewalked out of the livingroom.

“Christos,didyoupukeonthebed?”Iasked.

Hechuckledandsnuggledup against me on the couch.“No. Like I said, I didn’tdrinkthatmuch.Ithinkitwasthe dehydration. I was loopyafter threedrinks.Thatneverhappens. I’ll be better after Igetsomewater.”

Spiridon returned with ahugeglass.

“Thanks, Pappoús,”Christos said. He gulpeddown the entire glass inseverallongswallows.“Let’s

see if it stays down,” hewinked then set the glass onthe coffee table. “Can I useyour blouse as a bib if I spitup?”

“Eww!”Igiggled.“That’sdisgusting,Christos!”

Hechuckledashenuzzledhis nose against my neck.“Gack!” he grunted,pretendingtopuke.

“Stop!”Ilaughed.“I think I’ll be heading to

bed,” Spiridon smiled,

standingup.“It’sbeenalongdayandIthinkyoutwoneedsometimealone.”

“Good night, Pappoús,”Christossaid.

“Good night, paidí mou,”Spiridon said as he rubbedChristos’ shoulder. “Andgood night to you to,koritsákimou,”hesaidtomeasheleaneddownandkissedthetopofmyhead.

Myparentsneverdidthat.I would’ve flinched if they

did. But it felt completelynormalwhenSpiridon did it.“Goodnight,”Ismiled.

“See you at breakfast. Ithink I’ll make French toastin the morning.” Heconsidered thoughtfully.“Yes, I’m in the mood forFrench toast. Sound good toyoutwo?”

“Ihaveclass,”Isighed,“Idon’tknowifI’llhavetime.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,”Spiridonsaid.

“Oh, duh!” I had been socaughtup in thestressof theday, more like the stress ofthe last two weeks, I’d losttrackofwhatdayitwas.

“See you two in themorning,”Spiridonsaidashewalkedupstairs.

Christos rubbed his noseacrossmycheek. “Mmmm. Imissedyou,agápimou.”Hishand slid acrossmy stomachandhookedaroundmywaist.Hepulledme intohimashis

hottongueslidintomyear.“Christos! Your

grandfather’s like ten feetaway!”

“He doesn’t care,” hemurmured.

“Ido!”“Thenlet’sgooutside.”“What?”“There’s plenty of

comfortableloungechairsoutthere.I’llgetsomeblankets.”

“I don’t know, Christos.It’s late. And you’re tired.

I’mtired,nowthat I thinkofit.”

He lifted his head up andlooked me in the eyes withhis amazing blues. “Yousure?”

Who was I kidding?Christos was the mostamazinglyhandsomemanI’dmetinmyentirelife.Hewasbreathtakingly beautiful. Myheart accelerated and mybody temperature spikedseveral degrees just looking

intohiseyes.“Wecangotosleepifyou

want,”hesaid.“Ahhh,maybewecanstay

upforalittlewhile?”His dimpled grinwidened

overhisbeautifulwhiteteeth.His lips looked so soft and Ireally needed to lick them.But his grandfather wasupstairs and itwas a straightshot from the living room toSpiridon’s bedroom. I didn’twanthimtohearus.“Outside

isgood,”Igrinned.Christos drank another

huge glass of water in thekitchen before grabbingblanketsfromacloset.

Wewentoutontothedecktogether.

Theskywasalmosttotallyclear, a black velvet blanketoverhead. A few scatteredclouds drifted lazily past theglowing moon. Christos ledme to a circle of chaiseloungersonthefarsideofthe

swimming pool that had agreatviewofthedarkocean.Distant waves crashed in asilver drizzle against theshore.

Christos whipped ablanket out and it billoweddown on a lounger built fortwo.We crawled on top andhe spread the other blanketover us. It was almost warmenough without the topblanket,butitwouldn’tbeascozywithoutit.

Wesnuggledtogether,ourarms and legs entwined.There was no way I couldimagine cuddling under thestars in Washington D.C. inFebruary. Not without awinter sleeping bag, longjohns,woolcap,andmittens.

“Excitingday,”Isaid.“Yeah,” Christos

chuckled. “Who knew mygirlfriend could makeSherlock Holmes lookincompetent.”

“Thanks,”Igrinned.“Youknow, it’s still Valentine’sDay.”

“That’s right. HappyValentine’sDay,agápimou.”

Snuggled under theblankets together, I feltunbelievably peaceful in hisarms. All the troubles of theworld were far away.Whatever they might havebeen,theywerenoconcernofmine.

I realized that Christos

was gently stroking the sideof my cheek with his hand.Swirling energy flowed outfrom his fingers across myface, relaxing away myremainingtension.

His thumb slid acrossmylower lip, tugging gentlyagainstit.Imoanedsoftly.

“You never got yourValentine’s Day kiss, agápimou,”hemurmured.

I remembered all theflowers and candles and

chocolateshe’dgivenme theday before. And the lovemaking that had followed,him inside me, inside mymouth.Andhowallmystuffwasmovedintothehousethenext day. I was living withmyboyfriend!Woohoo!

Over the last fewmonths,I had experienced so manyfirsts with the most perfectman in the world. Christosnever ceased to amaze me.He brought somuch joy and

excitementintomylife.Iwastheluckiestgirlintheworld.

“I love you, Christos,” Isighed. “You have no ideahowmuchIloveyou.”

“If it’s even close to howmuch I loveyou,agápimou,Ihaveaprettygoodidea.”

Myheartstillmeltedeverytime he told me that, everytimehecalledmeagápimou.

“My heart is yours, agápimou,” he murmured. “Italwayswill be, and I believe

it always was. I just had toendure the torture of waitingforyou to finally showup inmy life. It was a longwait,”he grinned. “But now thatyou’re here, I can’t imaginelifewithoutyou.Withoutus.”There was a vulnerability inhis eyes that warmed myheart.

“Oh,Christos,”Isighed.He leaned towardme, his

lower lipbrushingacrossmyupper.Thatslightcontactwas

enough to cause a heatwaveto blossom in my chest andmy mouth to tingle withanticipation. When our lipsgently touched, his tongueslidinsideandcaressedmine.HungerformoreovertookmeandI fell intoourkiss like itwas the first time all overagain.Myheartracedasheatpoured down intomy core. Ibreathed him in, inhaling thelife forceof love that flowedfrom him into me, and back

out again. Our bodies unitedin a perfect exchange of ourdesire for eachother andourneedtobeneeded.Ourheartswere beating in an intimaterhythm, completing aneternal,infiniteconnection.

Christos’ intense desire totouch me accelerated intoalmost a desperate thing.Hishands were all over mybreasts, my ass, caressingacross my stomach, mythroat,touchingallthetender

sensitive places that onlyChristos had ever touched. Itwaslikehecouldn’ttouchmeintimately enough, as if hisfingers searched desperatelyfor my very soul so that hecould hold onto it and neverletgo.Myheartwassoopento him in that moment, Iwelcomed his need. Iimagined my own soulflowing into his body tominglewith his. Iwas his totake,toembrace,tocaress,to

hold,tolove.I murmured, “I need you,

agápimou.”He responded by

unbuttoning my blouse withintoxicated languor while helickedmy neck, the curve ofmy jaw, the lobe of my ear.He tugged the tails of myblouse out of my skirt andunbuttoneditslowly.Thenheplanted his warm palmsfirmly on my taut stomachbefore sliding both hands

overthesatincupsofmybraandsqueezingmycleavage.

“Your breasts are perfect,agápimou.Iswear,wheneverI’maroundyou,just thinkingabout them gets me hard. Ialways want to touch themandgrabthem.Theydrivemefucking crazy. I’ve neverbeensoobsessedwithbreastsinmyentirefuckinglife.”

For a second, I wasstartled by his crudelanguage. But there was a

humor to his words, alightness, an unabasheddesire. After a moment, Irealized that Christos wasexpressing his joy. Hissimple,unadulteratedjoy.Forme. For my breasts. Hiswords had an innocence andhonesty to them thatwarmedmyheart,aninnocencethatIcouldn’tdeny.

I encircled his neck withmy arms and smiled up athim. “They’re all yours,

agápimou,”Imurmured.“Really?”heaskedalmost

shyly.Itwassounlikehimtobeshy.Buthewas.Forme.

I nodded and smiled athim. “For you, agápi mou.Onlyforyou.”

He smiled wide while heunsnappedmybrainthefrontand it popped free, releasingmybreasts.Hiseyesgoggledand the grin on his facewasnowgigantic, likehe’dneverseen breasts before. “Fuck,”

he grinned, “look at them.Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”He looked like he haddiscovered a treasure chestworth trillions of dollars.Maybehehad.

I glanced down at mybreasts.They looked likemyregular old breasts. I wasn’tgoing toarguewithChristos.Iftheylookedliketreasuretohim, so be it.My own smilewidened.

Iwasallhis.

He brushed his fingertipsacross my nipples andmoaned,“Fuck, just touchingyour nipplesmakesmewanttocomeinmypants.”

Him? The butterfliestakingwinginmychestmademe want to come in mypanties.Mynipplestightenedinto hard buds. Christosleaned down and flicked onewith his tongue until it waswet and slick and straining.Then he showered the other

with similar attention whilemassaging both with hishands.

Myeyeswere rolling intothe back of my head as thefamiliar whirlwind in mychest coiled me into a tightknot of ecstasy. Every timehe kissed and caressed mybreasts like this, I wastransportedoutofmybody.Idon’t know if I had anorgasm or not, but it reallydidn’t matter. The pleasure

wasimmeasurable.After a time, he paused

andsatbackonhisheels.Hegazed longingly down at mychest. “Fuck!” he smiled,staring atmy swollen, heavybreasts and my engorgednipples. “You are a work ofart,agápimou,”hesighed.

Christos wasexcruciatingly happy now, ahappy bomb waiting to gooff.Hishappinessflowedintome, and Iwelcomed it. I felt

relief washing over me.Christos’ joy was cleansingmy soul, purging all thehorrible stuff that had led upto today. The anxiety andworryandfearwereallgone.Water under the bridge, afadingmemory.

Joy was what lay aheadformeandmyman.

He laid down beside me,propped on his elbow. Hegrinned, “Do you have anyidea how fucking hot you

lookedincourttoday?”“Mmm?” I moaned, still

halfdreamywiththepleasurecirclingbetweenmysensitivebreasts.

“After my case wasdismissed, all Iwanted to dowas hike up your skirt andthrow you on top of thatdefensetable.”

“With an audience?” Isnickered.Icouldn’tdecideiftheideawastotallyweirdoratotalturnon.

“I’m sure we could’veasked the judge to clear thecourtroom,”hesmirked,“Forasidebar.”

“You mean the one inyour pants right now?” Igiggled. His cock was a hotrod of iron pressing againstme through his slacks. “Ithink your sidebar needssomeattention.”

I rolled ontomy side andreacheddowntounfastenhisslacks. Then my fingers

snaked past thewaistband ofhisboxerbriefsandfoundhisheat.Thetipwashotandtheshaft throbbed with need. Iwrapped one hand aroundhim and slid softly up anddown.

Hemoaned in response tomytouch.

“Youlike?”Iasked.Hemoanedagain.Thatwasayes.I crawled under the

blanketandhehelpedmeget

his pants and boxer briefsdownfarenoughforhiscockto pop free of the highzippered slacks. Under theblanket, I hunched over himintotaldarkness.Iwasgoingto have to use sonar, braille,or both.Whowas I kidding?There was barely enoughroom under the blanket forme and his cock. I couldn’tmissitifItried.

I tookhimintomymouthandwenttowork.Thewetter

Igothim,theslickerIlicked,thewettermycrotchbecame,the hotter I throbbed downbetweenmylegs.

I couldn’twait any longertohavehiminsideme.

I surfaced from under theblanketandgavehimasultrysmile while slowly strokinghis manhood hidden beneaththeblanketwithonehand.

Christosunzippedmyskirtwithpracticedease.Ithinkheknew his way around

women’s clothing better thanI did. Under thecircumstances, that was justfine. He helpedme slide outofmyskirt, thenIpulledmypantyhose down frantically.My core was clenching withneed.

Christos dove under theblankets and went for mycrotch. He slid around anddown between my legs andliftedmeupwithbothstrongarms. His warm breath

washed acrossmywet folds.Then his hot mouth was allovermy core a second later.Myeyes rolledback intomyhead once again as pleasureeruptedfrommycenter.

I was bucking into himsecondslater.Ineededthissobadly I was on the verge ofpassing out with desire. Itdidn’t take long for apowerful orgasm to overtakeme. I squeezed my legsagainst the sides of his head

asIcameagainsthisface.Mythighs and stomach quiveredas my head lifted off thelounger. I didn’t cry outbecausewewereoutside,andI couldn’t escape the feelingneighbors were near, but Icouldn’t stop myself frommoaning low and long, overandoveragainasmyorgasmcoursedthroughme.

When the spasms ofpleasure started to subside,Christos snaked his way up

my body, his chest slidingacross my stomach as helevered himself up on bothpowerfularms.

“Fuck,” Christosmurmured while I floated inpost orgasmicbliss, “you aresoakingwetdownthere.”

I nodded at him throughhalfhoodedeyes.

His head hung down andhekissedmepassionately,hisface still covered in mywetness.His tongue slid into

mywaitingmouthashiscockslidhome.Hewasinsideme.Deep inside,hisheatburningme from the inside out. Hebegan a steady rhythm,pumping his manhood intomywomanhood.Hefilledmeup completely.His cockwasa perfect match. He thruststeadily and I floated towardanother hot climax minuteslater.Imoanedloudandlongasmybodyreleasedyetmoretension.

I think maybe I wascarrying more stress than Ihadrealized.Itfeltsogoodtoletitallgo.

“Wow,” he whispered,“you’reon fire tonight.”Stillinside me, Christos proppedhimself up on his arms andthe blanket slid down hisback,poolingbehindhim.

I felt a cool breeze acrossmybreasts.Ilookedupatthemoonand the stars twinklingoverhead. Such a beautiful

view.“You okay down there?”

Christos asked, slowing hisrhythm.

That was when I realizedthatnotonlyweremybreastsexposed to the world, whichwasn’t entirely new for me,but IhadChristos’ throbbingcock inside my soppingpussy.

We were having sexoutside. Passionate, hot, wetsex. I’d never done that

before.I nervously noted my

outdoor surroundings. Howloud had I been moaning?Was it possible that theneighbors had mistook mymoans for air raid sirens andignoredus?OrhadtheybeenlisteningandsnickeringwhileI came? Was someonewatching with binoculars?What about the squirrels inthe trees?Theysleptoutside.Surely we’d woken them.

Andtheraccoons.Theywerenocturnal. They’d probablybeen watching during theirlunchbreak.Andwhat abouttheManintheMoon?Hehadan unobstructed view theentiretime.

I remembered some oldblack andwhite silentmoviewhere the Man in the Moonhadanactualface.WherehadI seen that? Probably theinternet. Wherever it was, Iremember he’d looked pretty

pervy.I’msureI’dgivenhimagoodshow.

Iasked,“Canyoupulltheblanketbackup?”

Christos raised hiseyebrows and his thrustsslowedtoastop,“Aren’tyougettinghot?”

Sowhat ifIwasbroiling?Atleastitofferedcoverfrompryingeyes.“Alittle,”Ilied.“Why?”

“I’m dying under thisthing.MindifIgetridofit?”

“Uhhh…" I stammered,“what about the Man in theMoon?”

“Huh? Did I misssomething?”

“Hecanseeeverything,”Iwhispered.

“What are you talkingabout?”

I pointed behindChristos.He turned to look at themoon.

Christos laughed, “Yeah,that guy is a total creeper.

He’s always looking throughbedroomwindowsaroundtheworld,watchingpeopledoit.Imagine all the times he’swatchedpeoplefuckinginthehistory of man? Before manlearned to hide in caves orbuild the first grass huts?Geez, the moon has seen itall. I think that means hedoesn’t care. We’re just twomore people amongstbillions. He’s probablybored.”

“Okay,Igetyourpoint,”Ismiled. “You can dispose ofthe blanket andwe’ll behavelikeprimitiveman.Sexunderthestars.”

He threw the blanketaside.

Now we were reallyexposed. I was naked fromhead to toe, under the nightsky,mylegsspread,Christosandhis hugeness deep insideme.

Screw it. I didn’t care if

theMan in theMoon or thesquirrelsortheraccoonswerewatching with binoculars ornot. Iwasn’tgoing to letmyworries ruin the mood. I’dhad a bunch of orgasmsalready. Christos deservedhis.

“Please continue, goodsir,”Iquipped.

I was in heaven asChristos’ cock slid cozily inandoutofme.

He leaned forward and

kissed me affectionately. “Itotallyloveyou,agápimou.”

“Me too,” I sighedpleasantly.

Igazedintohiseyesasheacceleratedhisthrusting.AllIsaw was his love, hisdevotion, and his passion forme. His joyous look fromearlier had now eased intototal,relaxedpleasure.

“Agápimou,” hemoaned.“Iloveyou…”

Before I knew it, I was

overtaken by his mountingecstasy. He increased histempo and I fell completelyinto his unbridled desire forme. We weren’t just havingsex outside, we werefucking.

AndIlovedit.Letthewholeworldlisten.

Ididn’tcare.“Take me, Christos,” I

hissed.Herespondedbypounding

into me. The desire in his

eyes ignited into burningpassion.

Each time he thrust, hegrunted, “You. Are. The.Perfect. Woman. In. Every.Way.Imaginable…”

He continued to fuck me,grindinghispelvisintomine,for a long time. It feltincredible. Hot, wet pleasurestormed through my body,bouncing from head to toe.My body broiled withecstasy.

My own pleasure builtback up to maximum andsoonIwasfloatingoutofmybody, up into the stars. I feltconnectedtoeveryplanetandevery solar systemandeverystar I could see above me. Inever noticedwhether or notthe Man in the Moon waswatching.Itdidn’tmatter.Hetoowasapartoftheuniversethatheld the infinitepleasurethat circulated between myheart and Christos’, and the

hot heat that explodedbetweenourlegsaswecametogether.

IwasonewithChristosaspowerful orgasms torethroughbothourbodies.

===Christos and I spent the

weekend relaxing together.Most of it was spent in ournewbed.ThenitwasbacktothegrindonMondaymorningforbothofus.

I had a little matter of

visiting the Financial AidofficesatSDUtoattendto.Ihad no intention of changingmy major from Art back toAccounting like my parentshad demanded. Thatmeant Ihad to get a bigger studentloannowtocovertheportionof tuition they had beenpayingpreviously.

Afterdriving tocampus, IwalkedintotheFinancialAidoffices and put my namedown on the list. While

waiting for my name to becalled, I doodled in mysketchbook.

A little while later, awoman with curly hair whoworeafrillyblouseandkneelengthskirtcamewalkingoutof a hallway. “SamanthaSmith?”sheasked.

“Me!”Iwavedandstuffedmysketchbook intomybookbag before walking over tojoinher.

She led me down the

hallway to a room full ofcubicles.We stopped at hersand she motioned for me totake a seat. There were catposterspinnedupalloverthewalls of her cubicle, andframed photos surroundinghercomputer.Shealsohadastuffed cat wearing aminiature SDU hoody thathad a zipper and littledrawstringsonthehood.

“Hi” she said as she satbehind her desk. The name

placard on the front of thedeskread:SheriDenney.Shesmiled at me and said, “Myname’s Sheri. What can Ihelp you with today,Samantha?”

“I’m going to need moreloan money for SpringQuarter or I’m not going tobe able to paymy tuition,” Isighed.DidIsoundlikeIwascomplaining? I didn’t meanto.

“I’m sorry to hear that.

CanIseeyourStudentID?”Ipulled it out andhanded

it to her. She typed my infointo her computer. “It lookstomelikeyou’vereachedthemaximum federal loanamount already, based onyour parents’ income andyour calculated financialneed.”

“ButIneedmoremoney,”Iscoffed.

She folded her hands onher desk. “I’m sorry,

Samantha. But you have tounderstand, the federalgovernment and theuniversity consider it yourparents’ responsibility to payfor college. The loans areintended to subsidizewhatever amount yourparents can’t cover. Andyou’re expected to work tohelp pay for anything leftover. I see on my computerthat you have a work studyjob?”

“I do, at the campus artmuseum,but it doesn’t comeclose to making up thedifference I’m going to oweforSpringtuition.”

“Have you consideredfinding a second job offcampus?”

“I had one, but it didn’t,uh…work out. It was at aconvenience store. I smelledlike hot dogs every time Icamehomefromwork.”

She grimaced, “Hot

dogs?”“Yeah. I’ll never eat one

again. I’m traumatized,” Igiggled. “It totally gets inyour hair, worse thancigarettesmoke.”

“Sounds likeyou’rebetteroff without that job,” shewinked.Sheriwasnice.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’mlookingforanotherjob.ButIhaven’tfoundoneyet.Itmaytakeawhile.Jobsarescarce.”

She nodded

sympathetically, “The jobmarketistoughrightnow.”

“ButevenifIdofindone,I know it probably won’tcovertherestofmytuition.”

“How did you cover thedifference Fall and WinterQuarters?”

I frowned, “My parentspaid.”

“Aren’ttheygoingtohelppayforSpring?”

I held my palms up infrustration. “It’s complicated,

but…no.”Compassion knitted

Sheri’s brows, “I’m sorry tohear that. It happens moreoftenthanyoumightthink.”

“So what can we do?Without my parents’ help,there’s noway I canpaymytuitionontime.”

“You could pay inmonthly installments,” sheoffered. “Would that help?It’s three equal paymentswith the first one due in

March.”Ididthemathinmyhead.

“With the loan money I’msupposed to get for Spring,I’llhaveenough tocover thefirst payment. But I won’thave enough to make thesecondandthird.”

“At least that gives yousome time to find anotherjob,”Sherisaidhopefully.

“Yeah,”Isighed,“butI’mnot going tomake thousandsof dollars by April, and

thousandsmorebyMay.”Sheri winced, “That

soundslikeaproblem.”“You’re telling me,” I

groaned and clapped myhands onmy knees. “I don’tknowwhatelsetodo.”

“Thefirststepistalkingtoyour parents. Try to workthrough whatever it is that’scoming between you andthem.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.It’s been an ongoing

discussion since I started atSDUlastfall.”

“But you’re still talking.That’ssomething,right?”shesmiledoptimistically.

“Maybe‘discussion’istoostrong a word,” I sighed.“More like them giving meordersthattheyclaimIrefusetoobey.”

Sheri rolled her eyes. “Iknow how that goes. I wasthere once myself. My momand I had it out all the time

whenIwasateenager.”“So you know what I’m

talkingabout?”Itfeltgoodtohave someone who couldrelate.

“Do I ever. But thatdoesn’t mean you can’t getthroughtoyourownparents.”

“Believeme,Itried.”She took a deep breath

whilenoddingherhead.Ihalfexpectedher tokeeppushingmeto talk tomyparents,butshe didn’t. Instead, she said,

“If you absolutely can’t getyour parents to understandwhere you’re coming from—”

I shook my heademphaticallyno.

“—andnothingisgoingtochange their minds, there istheoptionofoverridingyourdependencystatus.”

Isatupontheedgeofmychairhopefully.“Really?”

“Yes. But you have tomeet certain criteria,” she

cautioned.“What criteria?” I was

sure I could meet somethingorother.Criteriaandmewerebesties.Wewentwayback.

“Are your parentsincarcerated or presumeddead?”

Maybe me and Criteriaweren’tascloseasI’dhoped.But the idea of my mom ordad in jail was hilarious. Icouldn’t decide if my momwould rule her cell block or

be shived in the showerbecauseshewassuchabitch.My dad would probably belike Andy Dufresne in TheShawshank Redemption anddo everyone’s taxes whileoutsmarting the warden. Asfor presumed dead, did itcount that theywere dead tome?Atleastitfeltthatway.Isighed.Probablynot.

“Notoboth,”Isaid.Sheri’sfriendlyexpression

suddenlywent serious. “This

is difficult to ask, but wereyou physically or sexuallyabused by either one of yourparents?”

“No. But does mentalabusecount?”Ijoked.

I could tell Sheri didn’tfindthatfunny.

“Sorry,”Isaid.“That’sokay.Don’tworry

about it. I know you’reprobably very stresseddealingwith all thesemoneyissues when all you’d rather

be focusing on is yourstudies.”

“Youcansaythatagain,”Isighed.

“Next criteria. Are yourparentsunabletobelocated?”

I had no interest in everseeing them again, but thatwasn’twhat shemeant. “No.I mean, yes. They’re inWashingtonD.C.”

“And you weren’tadopted?”

“No.” But sometimes it

felt like I was adopted byrobots.

Sheri sighed heavily.“Well, unfortunately thatmeans we won’t be able tooverride your dependencystatus.”

My shoulders sank and Islumped down in the chair.“Oh.”

“Butyoumightqualifyasindependentalready.”

“Oh?”Ismiled.“Yes. If you are twenty-

four, you wouldautomatically be consideredindependent,butIseehereonthecomputerthatyouhaven’tyetturnedtwenty.”

“No,” I sighed. “Not untilnextschoolyear.”

“And you’re not anorphan, or ward of thecourt?”

“DoyoumeanawardlikeRobin is a ward ofBatman’s?”Iaskedhopefully

She grinned. “Well yes.

But you don’t happen toknow any superheroes, doyou?”

“One,” Igrinned, thinkingof Christos. “But he doesn’thave a costume. He hastattoos.Doesthatcount?”

She chuckled, “Sadly, no.Maybeifyougothimtowearacostume?”shewinked

“Probablynot,”Isighed.“Any chance you’re a

veteran?”“No.”

“Agraduatestudent?”“Still an undergrad.Geez,

I’mnothing,aren’tI?”She smiled. “I wouldn’t

say that. I’d say you’re abright young woman with afinancial hiccup. We canwork through it. You don’thaveanylegaldependents,doyou? Any children or aginggrandparentsyoucarefor?”

“No. But I could getpregnant,ifthatwouldhelp,”Isaidsarcastically.

“Iwouldn’tadviseit,”shesaid with amusement.“Besides, even if you gotpregnant tomorrow, youwouldn’t have the baby untilFall Quarter, so yourdependent status wouldn’tchange until then. Thatwouldn’t help you pay yourSpring tuition, now wouldit?”Shewinkedatme.

“Iguessnot.”She leveled a serious but

compassionate look at me.

“Don’t get pregnant,Samantha. If you thinkworking two jobs is tough,having a child is ten timesharder. I know what I’mtalkingabout.”Shepickedupa photo from her desk andspun it around forme to see.Itwashersmilingwithalittleboy and girl. Both kidsweregrade school age. “Don’t lettheir cuteness fool you. Liketoads, lizards, and demonspawn, the second they

realize they’re larger thanyou,theywilltrytoeatyou,”shegrinned.

“Gotit.Nokids.”“Gosh,” she sighed,

“there’s only one otheroption.”

I winced. “What? Do Ihave to be a member of theclergy or something? I’dtotally become a nun if itwouldpayforschool.”

“No,”shesmiled,“justtheopposite.You’renotmarried,

areyou?”A bullet of surprise

knockedme into the back ofmy chair. “Did you saymarried?”

“Yes.”“As in, wed? As in,

hitched?”She chuckled, “I did.Can

I take it that you have ahusband?IonlyaskbecauseIdidn’t see a ring on yourfinger.”

I didn’t see a ring onmy

finger either, but the ideamade me woozy in the bestway possible. I leanedforward in my chair andrested my elbows on Sheri’sdesk. My brain and heartswirledwithpossibilities.

What if Christos and Iweremarried?

Whatif?I suddenly wanted to do

the happy dance on SheriDenney’s desk.But itwasn’tlike I could ask Christos to

marryme,couldI?No.Suchthings weren’t done. I couldhint. I could hint like crazytwenty times a day. ButChristoshadtodotheasking,assuming I didn’t scare himawaywithallthehinting.

Sheri raised her eyebrowsexpectantly. “You aremarried,aren’tyou?”

“No,” I sighed. “Not yet,anyway.But Ihavea seriousboyfriend.”

She deflated a little.

“Don’t rush into anything,Samantha. I don’t want youcoming back in heretomorrow with someadventure story about howyou drove to Las VegastonightandgotElvistomarryyou and your boyfriend at adrivethruweddingchapelforahundreddollars.Marriageisa serious commitment.Don’ttakeitlightly.”

“Iknow,”Isighed.Sherirestedahandonmy

forearmandlookedmeintheeye.“I’mnotsayingdon’tgetmarried,I’mjustsayingdon’trush into it. Get marriedbecause you love each other,when you’re ready. Notbecause you need somefinancialaidmoney.”

I really liked Sheri. Shewasn’t so hard core like myparents, trying to controleverythingIdid.MaybeShericouldadoptme?No.Shehadtwokidsalready.

“In the meantime,” shesaid, “try talking to yourparents again. It’s your bestbet.”

“I don’t know.Ever sinceI changed my major to art,they’ve been flipping out.And my mom thinks myboyfriendisabadinfluence.”

“I see,” she nodded. “Iargued with my mom aboutboysall the timewhen Iwasyourage.”

“Really? What

happened?”She grinned

conspiratorially at me andleanedforwardtowhisper,“Imarried the boy we arguedaboutthemost.”

“See! Maybe I shouldmarrymyboyfriend!”

She rolled her eyes. “Iknow it sounds like gettingmarriedwillfixeverything.Itdoesn’t. There’s moreproblems, just different ones.Now, you said something

about changing your major.Whatwasitbefore?”

“Accounting. But that’sjustwhatmyparentswanted.I changed my major to artbecause that’s what I’vedreamed about doing since Iwasagirl.”

Sherismiled,“IwantedtobeadancerwhenIgraduatedfrom high school. Gettingmarriedandhavingkidsputastop to that. Don’t get mewrong, I love my husband

dearlyonallthedaysheisn’tdriving me nuts, and I lovemy kidsmore than anything.But I never got to move toNewYorktobeadancerlikeI had always dreamed.” Shegave me a serious look.“Samantha, you have tochoose. If youwant to be anartist,youmighthavetowaitonmarriage.”

“But my boyfriend is anartist! And he’s successfultoo!” A sudden rush of

optimism and hope sweptthrough me. It felt like mylife was suddenly comingtogether, despite everythingmy parents were doing tostand in my way. “Maybe Ican have my boyfriend andan art career and getmarried!”

“Maybe you can,” Sherismiled. “But please, please,don’t rush out and tie theknot. Try talking to yourparents first. If they helped

you before, it’s because theyloveyou.”

Iwasn’tsosureaboutthat.Loved me like fire loved toburn things, maybe. Groan.ButIbetnotlikeSherilovedher kids.Theywere lucky tohaveherasamom.

She continued, “Maybe ifyou explain to your parentshow serious you are aboutart?”

“Ihave.Theydon’tthinkIcan make any money doing

it.”“Canyou?”“Yes.Myboyfriendmakes

tons of money selling hispaintings.”

“Then you need to showyour parents that you canmakemoneyasanartisttoo.”Sherihadstarsinhereyes,asif she were suddenly livingmy dream with me. “This isyourchancetobethedancerInevergottobe.Yougobeanartist, Samantha. Live your

dream. You’re young, andthere’snobettertime.”

“You’re right! I’m totallygoingtodoit!”

She laughed, “Andmaybeyou’ll evenmarry your artistboyfriendsomeday.”

“Someday,”Iswooned.I think it was already

spring time in my tummybecause I could feel flowersblooming and an army ofbutterflies spreading theirwings inside my heart. That,

oreverycellinmybodywasgettingreadytoexplodewithsuddenhappiness.

Forthefirsttimeinweeks,I felt honest to goodnesshope.

I was dizzy as I walkeddrunkenly out of theFinancialAidoffices.

Everything was finallyfallingintoplaceforme!

AllbecauseIhadChristosinmylife.

Chapter11

CHRISTOS

“Mmmm, Christos, myneck is so stiff. Can youmassage for me?” Isabellaasked in her broken andaccentedEnglish.

Never in my life had anaked hottie sitting five feet

away from me asking for amassage been so utterlyfuckingannoying.

Since I’d taken the lastfivedaysofffrompainting,Iwaswaybehind,andIhadtojuggle all the models’schedules. Hence, Isabellabeing in the studio todayinstead of her usualWednesdaysandSaturdays. Icould have had Isabella herelast Saturday, but I’dwantedto spend the weekend with

Samantha.Not some randommodel,nomatterhowhotshemayhavebeen.

Isabella made a blatantshowofrubbingherneckandworking a hair toss into themix. “You rub my neck,Christos,” she insisted, “so Ifeelmuchbetter.”

Thepose shewasholdingwas an easy one. Any othermodel I’d worked withwouldn’t have beencomplaining.

Isabella was up to herusualgames.Shewaslookingfor any excuse for me totouch her, especially whenshe was naked andvulnerable. Any normal manon theplanetwould’ve takenIsabella’s cue and had theirhands all over her lusciouscaramel skin and dark maneofhairasecondlater.

Iwasn’tanynormalman.I sighed and set my

brushes down. “Why don’t

you take a break?” Isuggested. “Put your robeonandwalk around for awhile.It’ll help you loosen up.Maybe do some jumpingjacks.”

She frowned. “What isjumpingjack?IsJackafriendofyou?”

I reminded myself thatPortuguese was her firstlanguage.Icrackedasmile.Itwas kind of funny when Ithoughtaboutit.Howhadthe

word jack met up withjumping in the first place? Ihadnoidea.

“What is funny?” Isabellasmiledcoquettishly.

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing.Try doing some neckrotations. Like this,” Idemonstrated moving myhead in circles. “And someshouldershrugs,”whichIdid.

Isabella stood up,revealing her naked bodyfrom head to toe in all its

perfect glory. “Massage isbetter,”shemoaned, takingatentativesteptowardme.

“I’ve gotta take a leak,” Ilied,hopingitwouldruinhermood.

She cocked her head, notunderstanding.

Subtletywas not going towork with the languagebarrier.

“Bathroom,” I said, “I’vegottogotothebathroom.”

“Oh.”

“Walk around while I’mgone. Neck rotations willhelp.” I raised my eyebrowswhilerollingandnoddingmyhead.“Gotit?”

“Yes,”shepouted.Instead of using the

bathroominthestudio,Iwentinto the furthest guestbathroom at the back of thehouse. I passed by mygrandfather’s office on theway. He was sitting at thecomputer. I stopped and

leanedagainstthedoorframe.“That girl never quits,” I

sighed.“Who? Isabella?” my

grandadasked.“Yeah. She keeps

throwingherselfatme.”My grandad leaned back

in his chair and clasped hishandsbehindhishead.A slysmile spread across hismouth. “Want me to handleher?”

“Go for it,” I chuckled.

“I’llbebackinanhour?”“Anhour!I’llneedatleast

three,”hejoked.“Deal. But you have to

finishmypainting forme,” Ijoked.My grandadwas fullycapable of doing the workandmakingIsabella’sportraitlookawesome.Buthehadn’tpicked up a brush in a longtime.

“Hah!” he chuckled. “If Ihave towork for it, forget it,paidímou.”

“All right, Pappoús.You’reoff thehookfornow.But if she throws herself atme one more time, I’mcarrying her in here anddropping her in your lap.Naked.Canyouhandlethat?”

He blurted a laugh as Iwalkedoutoftheroom.

Instead of going to theguestbathroom,Iwentoutonthe balcony attached to mybedroom to enjoy the viewfor a few minutes. I hadn’t

needed to take a leak in thefirst place. While I wasstanding outside, my phonerang.

Brandon.I rolled my eyes. He

probably wanted to bitchabout my unfinishedpaintings.

“What’s up, man?” Ianswered.

“Christos!” Brandon saidenthusiastically. “I wasbeginning to worry about

you. You haven’t answeredmy calls for the last fivedays.”

“Iwasbusypainting.”“Excellent. Can I assume

you were busy completingsome of your existingpaintings?”

“Totally.”“Whichonesaredone?”“Most of them,” I said

evasively.There was a pause.

“Okay…ahhh, it doesn’t

matter which ones. Hey, areyouatthestudiorightnow?”

“Yeah. I’m paintingIsabellatoday.Why?”

“How’sitcomingalong?”“Great.”“Mind if I come take a

look?” Brandon asked, “andbring a prospective buyerwithme?”

Great. The last thing Iwanted was an audiencewhileIwasworking.“Whoisit? Mrs. Moorhouse?” She

wasalwaystryingtostickhernose into art studios all overSan Diego. It made her feelspecial.Whatever.

“No. It’s StanfordWentworth. He flew in fromNewYorktoseeyourwork.”

I grunted out a sigh.StanfordWentworthwas oneof the richest art patrons inthe world. He owned a vastcollectionofworldrenownedartworkrangingfromthePre-Renaissance iconography of

the 14th and 15th centuries,to the Impressionists likeMonet and Degas in the late19th century, to livingmasterslikeChuckCloseandJulian Schnabel. Wentworthwas always on the hunt fornewtalent.Ifheboughtyourwork, he could make yournameandyourcareerforlife.

I’m not surprisedWentworth wanted toinvestigate my work,considering that he’d bought

a number of my dad’spaintings and my grandad’sovertheyears.

“Couldn’t you havewarned me Wentworth wascoming?”Iasked.

“I didn’t know,” Brandonpleaded, “the man literallycalledmefromtheairportanhour ago. He flew in on hisprivate jet and told me hewanted to see you at work.What was I supposed to tellhim?Flybacktomorrow?”

I chuckled. I couldn’tblame Brandon. If you werean artist, getting a call fromWentworthwaslikegettingacall from the President, ormaybetheQueenofEngland.“Fine. You can come bywhenever.Whendoyouthinkyou’llbehere?”

“Within the hour.Wentworth is already here atthe gallery. He’s gettingantsy. And you know thedrill. What Stanford

Wentworthwants…”“Stanford Wentworth

gets,”Ifinished.“Yeah,yeah.We’ll be here. I’ll leave thedoor unlocked.Oh,Brandon,oneotherthing?”

“What?”“Did you kiss his right

shoe or his left when hewalkedintoday?”

“Both,” Brandonchuckled. “I’ll see youshortly.”

Iendedthecall.Thething

that amused me aboutBrandon was that he wasnever predictable. Neverentirelyanasshole,butneveryour best friend. It workedwell for a businessrelationship. The longstanding, vaguely personalrelationship between hisfamily and mine never gotcomplicated. It was alwaysbusinessfirst.

I went to the office towarn my grandad that

Wentworthwascoming.“No shit,” my grandad

said. “I haven’t seen Stan inyears.”

“Yes, shit,” I quipped.“I’m sure he’ll be happy tosayhello.”

Iwentbacktothestudio.Isabella stood in front of

one of the French doors,bathedinsoftlight.Shetrulywas ridiculously beautiful,even in her short butt lengthrobe. Her hand rubbed her

neck as she did neck rolls.Maybesheactuallyhadastiffneck. “Christos,” shemurmured, “you massagenow?”

“No time, Isabella.We’regoing to have some specialvisitors.”

“Who?”“Brandon is bringing a

famousartbuyertothestudioin an hour. Guy’s name isStanford Wentworth. He’sgoing to want to see me

working.”“I work better after

massage.”Poor thing. Weren’t there

any eligible men whereIsabella lived in LosAngeles? Maybe I’d have toturn her loose on Lucas orLoganSummer. Iowed thema solid after they’d help memove Samantha into thehouse.Thatgavemeanidea.“Isabella, you know I have agirlfriend,right?”

Isabella pouted, butnoddedacknowledgment.

I walked up to her andpulledmyphoneout.“Checkthis out.” She watchedexpectantly as I thumbedthrough my photo galleryuntil I landedonapictureofLucasandLogansmilinglikeidiots.“Seethesetwoguys?”

Isabella’s face lit up in asmile.“Oooh,handsome.Aretheyfriendsofyou?”

“These guys are brothers.

Lucas and Logan Summer.Both of them are single. I’llmake you a deal. You dowhatItellyouwhilethatguyWentworth is here, and I’llset you up with Lucas orLogan. Take your pick. Orpickboth,”Isnorteda laugh,“it’suptoyou.”

Shefrowned,butwasstillsmilingatme.“Fortrue?”

“Yeah. For true. Deal?” Iheld out my hand for her toshake.

Sheslidhertinyhandintomineandshook.“Imeetyourcutefriends?”

“Totally.”“Ok.”“Awesome. I gotta get

stuffreadybeforeWentworthgetshere.Hangtight.Anddomore neck rotations andshouldershrugs.It’llhelp.”

===WhenStanfordWentworth

arrived with Brandon, mygrandadanswered thedoor. I

could hear them chatting inthe foyer from the studiowhereIwaspaintingIsabella.It sounded like Wentworthhad brought someone withhim. I didn’t recognize thevoice.

I wanted to look busyworking when Stanfordwalked into the studio, so Ileft them to their small talkand concentrated on paintingIsabella.

You couldn’t miss

Wentworth’s voice. Hesounded like he belongedbehind a podium with ateleprompterandanaudienceof five thousand adoringconstituents.

“Spiridon Manos,”Wentworth said. “Always apleasure. It’s been years, ifI’mnotmistaken?”

“Ithas,”mygrandadsaid.“Mr.Wentworth just flew

in this morning,” Brandonsaid.

“Oh, then you must betired from traveling,” mygrandad said. “Would youlike something to drink,Stanford?”

“Since my assistantFredrickwillbedoingall thedriving today, I think I’llindulge. What have you gotwithsometooth?”Therewasa tinge of amusement inWentworth’svoice.

“Let’s stroll over to thebar and see,” my grandad

said.I heard some shuffling

around and clinking ofglasses in the living room. Iknew that StanfordWentworth was in hisseventies.Thestorywentthathe’d made his fortuneinvestingincomputersbeforeitwastheobviousthingtodo,and he’d gone into cabletelevision big in the 1980s.For the last 25 years, he’ddevoted all of his time and

money to the world of art,where he’d enjoyed furtherfinancialsuccess.

“I don’t believe I’ve seenany of these paintingsbefore,”Wentworth said. Hewas referring to all of mygrandad’slandscapeshangingin the living room. None ofthemhadeverbeendisplayedinanygalleryshows.

“No,” my grandfatheranswered.“Thisismyprivatework.”

“It all looks fabulous.Have you considered sellingthem?” Wentworth asked.“The Private Collection ofSpiridonManos?”

There was a long silencewhile I pretended towork inthestudio.Isabellawasposednaked in front of me, but Iwas too worried about whatWentworthmightdoorsaytogetanyrealpaintingdone.

“I’m too old for the artbusiness,” my grandad

sighed. “It’s a young man’sgame.”

“Balderdash,” Wentworthsaid. “I’m older than you,Spiridon,andI’mstillinit.”

“But we’re on oppositesides of the game board,Stanford.”

“Touché. I’llmake iteasyfor you. I’ll give you sevenmillion for everything in theroom.”

I think I could hearBrandon gulping all the way

fromwhereIsatatmyeasel.“Thank you, Stanford,”

my grandad said, “but no.The memories in thesepaintingsareworth ten timesthat. Many of them werepainted when I was a youngman,orwhenmysonwasbuta child, or when I had mygrandson sittingonmyknee.Icouldn’tpartwiththem.”

“Ifyouchangeyourmind,give my office a call. But Ipromise, my offer will have

changed, and not to youradvantage,Iassureyou.”

Nice. I hadn’t yetmet theguy,andalreadyIdidn’t likehim.

“Enough of that,”Wentworth grumbled. “Now,shall we see the young artistatwork?”

“Ifhe’snottoobusy,”mygrandad said a bitdefensively.

“I’ll go check,” Brandonsaid. He rushed into the

studio a moment later, apainedexpressiononhisface.“You ready for the dog andponyshow?”hewhispered.

“Do I have a choice?” Imumbled.

“No,” Brandon saidsharply.

Fanfuckingtastic.Stanford Wentworth

ambledintotheroom,flankedby his assistant Frederick,Brandon,andmygrandad.

Wentworth was a large,

tallmanwitha thickheadoftightly maintainedaerodynamic silver hair. Hewore an expensive suit andimposingtie.

Frederick was similarlyslickly suited. Wire rimmedglasses were attached to hisfaceandacellphoneearpiecewas attached to his ear. Heraisedhishandtohisearpieceand pressed a button.“Frederick Whitlockspeaking?”After a pause, he

said, “He’s busy at themoment.” Pause. “I’ll check.Mr.Wentworth, it’s CouteuxGalerie in Beverly Hills.Theywant toknow if you’recomingbythisafternoon?”

“Tell themI’ll comeby ifI come by,” Wentworthbarked.

Nice.Wentworth surehadawinningpersonality.

Frederick relayed themessage over his earpieceway more politely than

Wentworth had said it. I hadnodoubtFrederickmorethanearned whatever Wentworthpaidhim.

I pretended to paint astheywalkedtowardmyeasel,mixing paint on my palette.Isabella briefly glanced atthem, but maintained herpose. I had explained to herearlier in detail that weshould continue workingwhileeveryonewalkedinandwatched.

I noticed WentworthblatantlyeyeballingIsabella’snakedness. He positionedhimself to get the bestpossibleviewofherexposedbreasts. His overt desire wasassubtleasavolcano.Heslidhishandsintohispocketsandarchedhisback,thrustingouthis pelvis. I wouldn’t havebeen surprised if he startedjingling his change like hehadajackhammerrunninginhis pants. Total douche. I

liked him better and better.Not.

Iwould’vethrowntheguyout except for the fact hecouldruinmyartcareerwiththe snap of his fingers. Theone downside to sellingpaintings for ten grand orfifty grand or more was thatyouwerealwaysdealingwithrichshitheads.

Whatever.It’snotliketheguyhadhishandsonIsabella.If he crossed that line, I’d

breakhisfingers.ButIsabellawas a big girl, and I’m surethis wasn’t the first timeshe’d been ogled by an olddude.Sheworkedasamodel,after all. I could only hopeshe’d learned how to dealwithit.

Wentworth let out a bigsighandpulledhishandsoutof his pockets. I’m sure bynow he’d come in his pants.Fucking perv. He walkedaroundbehindmyeaseltosee

whatIwasdoing.Inoddedathim.“Don’tmindme,”hesaid.

“Pleasecontinue.”The way he said it

soundeddangerouslyclosetoa command. I’m surehewasusedtotellingpeoplewhattodo 24/7. I rolled my eyesbefore glancing at Isabella.She seemed relieved that Iwas now positioned betweenher and Wentworth like ashield.

I had been in the processof painting Isabella’s hips.Thejointwherethelegcomesout of the pelvis was alwaystricky. Beautiful women hada softness, but you had togive it just the right amountof subtle structure or else itlooked like carnival balloonsstuck together. I’d alwaysbelievedthatsoftnesswasthesecret of feminine beauty.Not hard muscle. All thatmodern shit about women

having eight packs and gunsfor arms was ridiculous. Ifyouwantedtofuckaguy,gofuckaguy.

Iloadedupmybrushwithamixtureofburntsiennaandahintofburntumber.Isweptthebrushacrossthecanvasatthe hip joint in an elegantcurve.

“Mmmm,” Wentworthnodded.

Iignoredhim.I needed to hit one of the

planes on the front of thepelviswithalightermix,soIwent back to my palette andaddedahintofzincwhite.

As I was about to applythe paint to the canvas,Wentworthwent,“Hmmm.”

Wasitgoingtobelikethisall day? I almost turned andtossed him a glare, butdecideditwasabadidea.SoIscumbledthepaintontothecanvas instead. Then I tookout a cleanbrushandused it

to soften the edge betweenthelightanddarkareas.

“Uh huh,” Wentworthmumbled.

Oh man, this was killingme. I set my brushes downandwipedmyhandsonarag.I took a step back from myeasel.

Wentworth immediatelystepped in, getting his noseinches from the canvas. Asimple “May I?” would’vebeen nice. Nope. What

Wentworth wanted,Wentworthgot.He inspectedthe hip joint I’d just paintedlike a jeweler. Somebodygive that guy a loupe so hecould examine themoleculesinthepaintmixalittlebetter.

He stepped back to viewthe whole painting andnodded thoughtfully. Icouldn’ttellifheapprovedorwhat. Then he lungedforward, getting in close ontheportraitagain.

Thisguywasanut.He continued lunging in

and out for several minutes,examining different parts ofthe painting in detail. Whenhe was finished, he steppedbackandstoodbesideme.

“I like it,” he saidthoughtfully, “but it needswork.”

Was he kidding? Wehadn’t even been introduced.Yeah, he knew who I was,andIknewwhohewas.But,

fuck,therewasthisthingthathad been around forthousands of years calledcommon courtesy. I guesswhen you got rich enough,shit like that went out thewindow.

IglancedatBrandon,whogave me a sympathetic lookthat said, “Yes, he’s crazy,but he’s a hundred timesricher than he is crazy, sosuckitup.”

I shook my head

minimallyandrolledmyeyesforBrandon’ssake.

He shot me a warningglare.

I sighed. Time for me tobehave.

“Yes,”Wentworthsaid,“afewrevisionsandI thinkthiswillbeserviceable.Theheadis good, but have youconsideredalteringthepose?”

I raised one of myeyebrows at least threeinches.

Mygrandad chuckled andwalked out of the room. Icouldtellhewasoffendedformebythewayhelaughed.

IguessI’dmissedthepartwhere Wentworth had beenhitting the crack pipe like ahighclasshookerafterablowjob bender. The guy was alunatic. Oh, I forgot.Wentworth did whatWentworthdid.

He said, “This is goodwork. It’s not great. I

wouldn’t pay more thanfifteen thousand for what Iseehere.ButIbelieveifyouwere to change the pose tosomethingmore elegant, youcould get it up to fiftythousand.”

More elegant? Was heblind?EverythingIsabelladidwaselegant,andmypaintingcapturedthat.

Before I had a chance totell Wentworth to go fuckhimself, he asked, “What

other paintings do you haveonhand?”Heturnedawaytoinvestigate, and the secondhisbackwastome,IrifledaglareatBrandon.

Brandon ignored it.“Christos,”hesaidpleasantly,“can you show Mr.Wentworth the otherpaintings you’ve beenworkingon?Iknowyouhaveseveralinprogress.”

Thanks a bunch of fuck,Brandon. Wentworth started

digging through some oldcanvases I had leaningagainst the wall like heowned the place. I had torestrainmyself fromplantingmybootinhisass.

“The new paintings areoverhere,”Isaid,pointingtothe drying rackwhere I keptthe canvases of Avery,Jacqueline,andBeccathatI’dcompleted a few weeks ago.Theystoodinthetallverticalslots of the drying rack,

which kept dust off thepaintingswhiletheoilscured.I carefully slid out the firstone. “They’re still wet,” Iwarnedsubtly,halfexpectingWentworth to run his fingersallovertheartlikeheownedit.

Instead, he glanced at thefirst painting, then noddedcommandingly,“Next.”

Yes, master. I slid itcarefullybackintotherack.

I noticed Frederick

answeringhisearpieceagain.“Mr. Wentworth, it’sMadelynCornettwithJah—”

“Can’t you see I’m busy,Frederick?” Wentworthgrumbled.

“Yes, Mr. Wentworth,”Frederick said before turningawaytohandlethecall.

Whatever Wentworth waspaying Frederick, it wasn’tenough. The guy needed araise. My suggestionwould’ve been for Frederick

to find another boss, but thatwasjustme.

“Next,” Wentworthinsisted, looking at meexpectantly.

Man, Wentworth neededan attitude adjustment in ahurry.I’dbemorethanhappyto take him to the garagewhereIkeptmytoolsandnoonewouldhearhimshoutingforhelp.

Islidoutanotherpainting.ThiswasofJacqueline,andI

wasprettyhappywithit.“No.Next.”Ipulledoutthelastone.He shook his head and

turnedaway,lookingfornewdistraction.

What a charmer. And Iwas doing whatever he saidlike a servant.Who the fuckdidhethinkhewas?Iwantedto tell him he could take hismoney, light it on fire, andstick it up his ass. I didn’tneed him. There were other

artbuyersoutthere.Wentworth’s eyes fell on

Samantha’s easel in thecorner.Hewalkedover to it.Samantha’s painting of threeCallaLiliesinavasesatonit.“What’s this?” Wentworthasked.“It’snotyours,isit?”

“That’s my girlfriend’spainting,”Isaid.

“It’s terrible,” Wentworthchortled.

He turned away andstarted walking toward the

door before I could respond.He stopped in front of theIsabella portrait on his wayout and said, “If you changeup your painting of thisbeautiful young model like Isuggested, you might havesomethingwith it.Frederick?It’s time to go.CallCouteuxGalerie and tell them therewasn’t anything worth mytimeinSanDiegotoday.”

I ground my teethtogether. Wentworth had

never once called me byname. He was prick royalty.King ofAllDicks. I debatedwhether or not Frederick orBrandonwouldturnmeinifIbeatWentworth to death anddropped his body in a ditchsomewhere.

“Did you see those CallaLilies?” Wentworth quietlyasked Frederick as theyneared the doorway leadingbackintothehouse.

“I did not, sir,” Frederick

repliedquietly.“They were god awful,”

Wentworthchuckledquietly.“Hey!” I shouted at his

back. “Fuck you,Wentworth.”

Wentworth stopped in histracks. He turned aroundslowly,likeanoldgunfighterathighnoon.“Excuseme?”

“You heard me,Wentworth.Fuck.You.”

Wentworth blinked. “Youdo know who I am, don’t

you,boy?”“Ido,butnotbecauseyou

introduced yourself like anormal person,” I growled.“You came into my houselikeyouownedtheplaceandyou’ve been acting like anentitled dick since you gothere.Idon’tneedtotakeshitfrom you. And I don’t needyourfuckingmoney.”

Wentworth narrowed hiseyes. “Do you think a bunchof curse words and petulant

puffery is going to rile me,boy?I’vewatchedthelikesofyou come and go countlesstimes in my life. At the rateyou’regoing,intwentyyears,no one will remember yourname.They’llrememberyourfather’s and yourgrandfather’s, but not yours.Allyouhadtoshowmetodaywas nothing but boorishscribbles. You’re not a realartist, boy. At best, you’re acopyist.Yourworkislifeless.

Ithasnoarttoit.Takeapagefrom your father’s or yourgrandfather’s career, andmaybe you’ll makesomethingofyourself.”

“Fuck off,” I scowled.“And get the fuck out ofmyhouse.”

“Yourhouse?”Wentworthlaughed.“I imaginethatyourgrandfatherwas the onewhopaid for this house with hisownefforts.Notyou.Maybeone day, you’ll amount to

something.ButallIsawheretodaywasgarbage.I’llforgetabout you themoment I stepintomycar.”

Wentworth walked out ofmy house with Frederick onhisheels.

I’d never met a biggerprickintheartbusinessinmyentire life. Wentworth notonly took the cake, heshoveled his cake down histhroat like a glutinous troll.Why had I gotten into this

businessagain?“Whatthefuckwasthat?”

I asked Brandon, who stoodontheotherendofthestudio.

Isabella stoodbetweenus,nowinherrobe.Shemust’vethrownitonthesecondIwasbusy with Wentworth. Icouldn’t blame her forwanting to cover up in frontof his hungry lizard’s stare.She hugged the robe tightlyaround herself and shivered,“Thatmanabigjerk.”

Brandon looked torn, likehe wanted to rush afterWentworth and lick theman’s asshole untilWentworth scratched himbehind the ears. “Myapologies, Christos. I’venever met Wentworth inperson.Ihadnoideawhattoexpect.Ishouldreallygotalkto him.”Brandon jogged outoftheroom.

Aminutelater,Iheardcardoors chunking shut and an

engine starting. Brandonmust’ve left the front dooropen. Ihearda cardriveoff.To my surprise, Brandonwalked somberly back intothestudiolookingdefeated.

“I’m going to need a ridebacktoLaJolla,”hesaid.

“Huh?”Isaid.“We drove here from my

galleryinWentworth’scar.”I considered telling

Brandon he could walk backafter bringing that prick into

my house. Lucky for him Iwasinnomoodtopaintaftertoday’s episode of TheStanfordWentworth Show. Itold Isabella she could leaveearly and asked if she coulddrive Brandon to La JollabeforeshewentbacktoL.A.

Shesaidyes.When they were gone, I

stomped into the living roomand grabbed a bottle ofbourbon from the bar. Itwasa forty dollar bottle of Basil

Hayden’s. It had a smoothcaramel flavor I enjoyed. Iwasn’t in the mood foranythingtoofancy.I’dgottenmore than enough high endbullshit from Wentworthalready.

I walked out to the deckbehind the pool and tippedthe bottle back whileenjoying the view of theocean from one of theloungers.

Yeah,Iwasdoneworking

for the day, if not for themonth.

There was only one thingonmymind as Iworkedmyway through my bottle ofbourbon.

Wentworthwasright.Those paintings inside

were nothing more thanillustrations.Theydidn’thaveanyheartinthem.

Wentworth had seen itinstantly.

Fuck.

I sloshed more bourbondownmythroat.

===SAMANTHA

IwalkedacrosscampustothelecturehallforSociology.I was in a good mood aftertalkingtoSheriDenneyaboutmyfinancialaidoptions.

MarryingChristos?Wasthatarealpossibility?Iwasafraidtothinkabout

it too much in case I jinxed

myself.Sociology with Professor

Tutan-yawn-yawn was theperfect cure. The lectureturned into a sleepy blur. Imay or may not have takennotes.Afterclass,Istoppedatthe Toasted Roast to freshenup my Americano. I hadn’tslept enough in the past fourdays,andIwasgoingtoneedcaffeine if I wanted to getthrough History withoutsnoring.

When I walked into thelecture hall and sat down, afamiliarfacegreetedme.

Justin Tomlinson, theeditorofTheWombathumornewspaper. He was as boyband cute as ever. “Hey,Samantha,” he grinned, “wemissedyouonFriday.”

“Oh no! I totally forgotaboutyourmeeting,”Ismiledsheepishly.“I’mtotallysorry,I was…ah, super busy withhomework.” Justin didn’t

need to know about myharrowing trip to thecourthousetosaveChristos.

“No worries,” he smiled.“Everyone liked your stuff.You should join us at themeeting this coming Fridaysoyoucanmeeteverybody.”

“Youmean I’m not blackballed for missing my firstmeeting?”Iquipped.

“Naw, we’re pretty laidback. You should totallycome by. Same time, same

place.”“4:20 pot time? Toasted

Roast? Wait, aren’t toastedandroastedbotheuphemismsforgettingstoned?”

“Prettymuch,”hewinked.“Maybe I should draw a

pot smokingwombat foryouguys?”

He cracked a smile, “I’dlike to seehowyouhandle apotsmokingwombat.”

“Cookies and potatochips,”Isaidflatly.

Hewasconfused.“What?”“Don’t wombats get the

munchies like everyone elsewhenthey’rehigh?”Ismiled.“If I had to deal with a potsmoking wombat, I’d givehim cookies and potatochips.”

“Totally,” he chuckled. “Ihaveafeelingyou’regoingtofitrightin.Doyouthinkyoucan have some sketches ofPotty the Pot SmokingWombatbyFriday?”

“His name is Potty?” Iarchedaneyebrow.

“Itisnow,”Justinsmiled.Wait, had I just

inadvertently named theirmascot?MaybeIhad.“CanIdo something combiningtoilets and pot smoking?MaybehavePottyonthejohnwhile he’s smoking a big fatspliff?”

“Youcandoanythingyouwant.Runwithit.There.Are.No.Rules,”hegrinned.

Wow,Ilikedthesoundofthat. “Okay. I’ll have somedrawingsonFriday!”

“Awesome.”I couldn’t wait to tell

Christos. I had my first realliveartassignment!

Chapter12

SAMANTHA

“You have to draw awhat?” Christos asked. Hewassuperdrunk.

“A pot smoking wombatsitting on a toilet, for TheWombatnewspaper,”Isaid.

We were in Christos’

studio, where my newdrawing tablewas. Icouldn’twaittostartsketchingcartoonwombats. I thought ChristoswouldbeworkingwhenIgothome from SDU, but themodel was gone and he hadbeen sitting in front of hiseaselwithabottleofboozeinonefist.

Christos slowly swiveledhis glassy eyes in mydirection. “Do you want metosneakintothezooandsteal

oneforreference?”“What,awombat?”“Yeah.Icouldgoallninja

and climb over the fence atnight. I know a way in,” henodded ultra seriously. Thenheheldhispalmtothesideofhis mouth and whispered,“There’s a grade school onthe north side of the SanDiego Zoo and theirplayground goes right up tothebackofit.”

Iwrinkledmynose,“Does

thezooevenhavewombats?”“Probably. We should

totallytakeoneandkeephimas a pet. I’ll name himWomby the Wombat.Wouldn’t that be totallycute?”

“I guess?” As in, itsoundedlikeaterribleidea.

“We can climb right overthe fence,” Christos slurred.“Let’s you and me go rightnow.I’lldrive.”

“Ahh, you probably

shouldn’t be driving orclimbing ninja style oranything else tonight.Maybeyou should lie down forawhile?”

“But the wombat will getaway!”

I chuckled, “I’m sureWomby will be fine fortonight.”

Christos giggled fluidlyand leaned his head againstmy arm, “You like the nameWomby,don’tyou?”

Hereekedofalcohol.“It’s perfect,” I smiled

indulgently.In a high voice, Christos

baby talked, “We’ll make awittle bed forWomby wightindaconerofdastudio.”

“Why don’t we make abed for Womby right now?Youcantestitout.”

“’Kay,”heslurred.I led Christos into the

living room and helped himonto the couch. I took his

bootsoffandcoveredhim inablanket.After grabbingmysketchbook, I sat in theleather chair opposite himand turned on the readinglight. I went to work on mysketches of Potty the PotSmoking Wombat. It tookabout tensecondstorealizeIdidn’t know what a wombatlooked like. Maybe Christoshadbeenontosomethingwithhis wombat kidnappingmasterplan.

Or I could just look for apictureontheinternet.

I dug out my laptop andreturned to the living room.With dozens of wombatphotos on the screen andmysketchbook at the ready, Idove into cartoon dreamlandas I drew page after page oftoilet sitting pot smokingprofligatewombats.

Whoknewwombatswerealmostascuteaskoalabears?I’dbeenexpectingsomekind

of bat monster, but it turnedout wombats had the samebigblacknosesaskoalas,andtheirearswerethesetinylittlebuttonthings.

Socute!===

“Areyousurethisisokay,Sam?” Romeo askednervously as we walkedacross campus toward theStudent Center on Fridayafternoon.

It was just after four

o’clock and we were on ourway to The Wombat staffmeeting at Toasted Roast.ThesunwasoutanditwasawarmendofFebruaryday.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Ireasoned enthusiastically.“That guy Justin made itsound like anyone couldsubmit stuff toTheWombat.He said some of the artistswork with writers on thecomic strips. I don’t knowanyone funnier than you,

Romeo.”“WhatifitturnsoutJustin

was just hitting on you andtheydon’tneedmorewriters?They’renotgoingtoneedmygay super powers then,” hesaid anxiously. “I become aliability.”

“Relax, Romeo. I’m sureit’llbefine.”

“Okay. But if somethinggoeswrong, don’t expectmeto shoot rainbows out of myfingertips and save the day,”

hewarned.“Noproblem,”Ichuckled.

“AtnotimewillIrequiretheuse of your rainbow superpowers. But Imay call uponthemlater.Deal?”

“Deal.Butyouknowhowshooting too many rainbowsdrainsme,”hegrinned.

“What happened to thatinfamousRomeostamina?”

He smiled, “It’s all afacade,Sam.OnceIshootmyrainbowload,ittakesatleast

aweektorecharge.Don’ttellanybody, or my rainbowreputationwillberuined.”

“Your secret is safe withme.” Icrossedmyheartwithmyfingers.“Hey,Ibetifyoufound a bunch of unicorns itwouldspeedupyourrainbowrecoverytime.”

Romeo rolled his eyes.“You’vebeenhangingaroundwith Kamiko and watchingway too much AdventureTime. I wasn’t talking about

cartoon rainbows. The onlyplaceIcangoinSanDiegotorecharge my rainbow isHillcrest.”

“Is that why you’ve beengoingthere?”

“Ofcourse.”We walked across the

StudentCenterquad.Outside theToastedRoast

there were a ton of freetables. This late in the day,most of the students weregone, especially on Friday.

The only time it was evercrowded at the StudentCenter in the afternoon waswhen SDU had a bandplaying in the quad, but thatusually happened in the fallorspring.

It was almost 4:20, so Ilooked around for JustinTomlinson.Hewavedfromagroupof tables thathadbeenpushed together. Five otherstudentssataroundhim.

Me and Romeo walked

overtojointhem.“Hey, Justin,” I said to

him.“Everybody,mynameisSamantha. This is my friendRomeo.”

A girl with black plastichipster glasses said to mesarcastically,“Shouldn’tyournamebeJuliet?”

There was a long, drawnoutmomentofsilence.Ithinkshe was being a bitch, but Iwasn’t one hundred percentsure.IthoughtJustinhadsaid

everyone on the paper waslaidback?

Romeoglaredatthebitchygirl with the hipster glasses.In a sarcastic voice, he said,“I have rainbow superpowers. I promised Sam Iwouldn’tusethem,butIwillif I have to. They workespecially well on hipsterbitches.”

I winced, expectingeveryone to frown and turntheir backs on us, or maybe

justbooandhissuntilweleft.Justin raised an eyebrow,

and in a serious tone said,“Ever since Keith used hissuperpoweredfartsatthelastmeeting, we voted to makethis a superpower free zone.We all agreed his superpowered farts had lost theircomedic effect,” Justingrinned, now obviouslyjokingaround.

“But not their horridstench,”snickeredthesecond

girl, who had a nose ring,dark hair, and lots of blackeyeliner.

One of the two guyssitting at the table smiledguiltily and rolled his eyes. Iimagined he was Keith, thesuperpowered farter.Hehada thick dark under-beard. Itwas just the beard part withnomustache.Hehada lotofbeardforayoungguy.

The other guy, who wassnickering atKeith, had long

black emo hair that drapedoveroneofhiseyesandwasdiedredatthetips.

“So,” Justin smiled atRomeo, “even if you triedshooting rainbows, which Iwouldpay to see, your superpowers won’t work here atthemeetingbecauseofallthemagical fart repellant ineffect.”

“Oooh,” Romeo said,superexcited,“wheredoyouguysgetyourfartrepellant?I

hearthatstuffisexpensive.”“Costco,” Justin winked.

“Webuyinbulk.”Keith rolledhiseyesonce

again.Everyoneelse laughedandsmiled,exceptforthegirlwith the hipster glasses,whofolded her arms across herchestandgrimaced.

Everyonewas laughingsomuch,me andRomeo joinedin.

Keith of the Underbeardsaid,“What?ItoldyouguysI

had beans for lunch so Icouldn’t be held criminallyresponsibleforbadgas.”

“Dude,” Emo Hairchuckled, “those were beerfarts.Don’tdenyit.”

“At4:20?”Keithasked.“Iwas so not beer fart drunkthatearly.”

“Bullshit!” said the girlwiththenosering.“YouwerewastedlastFriday!”

“Maybe by 5:20, but Iassure you I was not beer

farting at 4:20,” Keithsneered.

They all shared anotherlaugh, even Hipster Glasses.Clearly,theykneweachotherwell.I’dbeenexpectingsomekind of exclusive boy’s clublike in those college partymovies likeAnimalHouse. Ihadn’texpectedtwogirls.

“All I want to know is,”the girl with the nose ringsaid,chuckling inadvanceofwhat she was about to say,

“who would win in a fight?Keith with his toxic farts, orRomeo and his rainbows. Iwant to see them go head tohead.”

“Keith’s farts wouldtotally win,” Emo Hair said,deadpan.

Nose ring laughed andKeithrolledhiseyes.

“All right, guys,” Justinsaid. “Samantha, Romeo,meet Keith, Micah, Alyssa,and everyone’s favorite SDU

hipster,TammyLemons.”They all waved as Justin

calledtheirnames,exceptforTammy, who made a sourface.

Micah was the guy withthe red-tipped emo hair.Alyssahad thenose ringandwore a T shirt that had apicture of a Tyrannosaurusrex saying “Rawr!” Thecaption below read, “Rawrmeans ‘I love you’ indinosaur.” Tammy Lemons,

of course, was the girl withthehipsterglasses.

Aside from Tammy, Ilikedtheseguys.

“Pull up a chair,” Justinsaid.

MeandRomeosatdown.“So,” Justin said, “you

guys remember thosedrawingsofSamantha’sthatIemailedeveryone?”

“Yeah,” Keith nodded,grinning.

“Totally,” Micah

chuckled.“Funny stuff,” Alyssa

smiled.“They were okay,”

Tammy shrugged. Nosurprisethere.IthinkTammywas going to take awhile tothawout.Whatever.

“Well,” Justin continued,“IaskedSamanthatoworkupsome drawings for a newWombatmascot.”

“We already have one,”Tammysaidsnidely.

Yeah, she was a bitch. Iwasnowonehundredpercentsure.

“But it’s just a plain oldwombat,” Alyssa said. “It’sboring.”

“Didyoubring somenewdrawings for us?” Keithaskedme.

“I did,” I said and pulledoutmy sketchbook. I openedit up to the first wombatsketchandsetitinthemiddleofthetable.

Thegroup started flippingthrough my drawings. Therewereatleastadozen.Itdidn’ttake long before the groupwas grinning and laughing,exceptforTammy,ofcourse.Tammy mostly frowned atmyart.

“That one looksconstipated,”Micahsmiled.

“Maybe he should drinkmore beer,” Alyssa quipped,“then he’d always have beerdiarrhealikeKeith.”

Everyonegroaned.“It wasn’t beer farts,”

Keith said defensively whilethe group continued turningpages of my sketchbook,fascinatedbymyartwork.

I’d never experiencedanything like it. I’d sort ofexpectedthemtonodpolitelyand not say anything aboutmyartatall,ormaybetellmeI wasn’t very good, not beobviously entertained andamused.

“Have you ever seen ablunt so fat?” Micahmarveled, referring to thegiant joint in the nextdrawing. “That’s like anentireounceofganj.”

“The only time I see thatmuch weed in one place iswhenIbuyafreshouncethatyou haven’t gotten into yet,Micah,”Keithgroused.

“Dude,that’sbullshit.YoustillowemeabunchofbluntsfromoverChristmas,”Micah

scoffed.Keith shook his head and

scowlsmiledathim.They continued turning

pages, and found somethingamusingabouteachdrawing.

Ireallycouldn’tbelieveit.I restrained the huge grinwanting to jump onto myface. They actually likedmyart!

When they finishedlooking at the last drawing,Justin said, “Maybe we

should take a vote on whichonetouse in thenexteditionof The Wombat as ourofficial logo. What do youguysthink?”

“I vote we don’t use anyof them,” hipster glassesTammyLemonssaid.“Idon’tlikeherdrawings.”

Did Tammy not realize Iwas right here? Yeah, shewas a Bitch with a capitalButtplug.

“Don’tworry, Samantha,”

Alyssa smirked, “Tammy’son the rag this week. She’snotusuallythisbitchy.”

I smiled at Alyssa, butcouldn’t think of anappropriateresponse.ForallIknew, they all loved Tammylike a BFF, despite her sourpersonality. I didn’t want tooffend by saying the wrongthing.

“IthoughtIsmellediron,”Romeo said in response toAlyssa’s rag gag about

Tammy. He absentlyexaminedhisfingernails.

Alyssa grimaced andleaned forward. Her headbonked against the table top.She started chucklingheartily, rolling her foreheadfromsidetosideonthetable.

Keith whipped out hisphone.“Ifthisturnsintoacatfight, I’m filming it.” HepointedhisphoneatTammy,whowasscowlingatRomeo.

“What?” Romeo said

defensively to Tammy, “Ihaveanacutesenseofsmell.”

Tammy flipped Romeooff.

“Is that what you use toplug it up?” Romeo asked.“Nowonder it doesn’twork.Fingersaren’tveryabsorbent,and it won’t do any good ifyou don’t keep it in yourhole.” He rolled his eyesdramatically. “Even I knowthat.”

Alyssasatupabruptly,her

eyes wide. “Oooohh, damn!Nohedidn’t!”

“Yes. I did,” Romeoinsisted.

Keith and Micah bothsuppressedsnickers.

“Settle down, guys,”Justin said. “No need for agrudge match with the newgirlonherfirstday.”

Icouldn’ttellifJustinwassaying I was the new girl orRomeowas.

Alyssa leaned against

Tammy and put a friendlyarmaroundher.“Don’tworryTammy,westillloveyou.”

Tammy shook her headand frowned. “You guys aredicks.”

“You started it, Tammy,”emoMicahchuckled.

“Whatever,” Tammysnorted.

Justin said pleasantly,“Whydon’twesendtheseoutto the rest of our artists, andhave everyone vote in a few

weeks? How does thatsound?”

The group noddedagreement.

Justin continued, “And ifany other artists want to dotheir own version of awombatmascot, theycanputtheir art in the mix. Thatincludesyou,Tammy.”

So Tammy Lemons thehipsterbitchwasanartisttoo.Iwascurioustoseewhatshecameupwith.ForallIknew,

she could bewaybetter thanme, or worse. I didn’t reallyknow.

“Agreed?”Justinasked.Everyonesaidyes.Justin took pics of my

wombat sketches with hisphone like before.“Samantha,I’llemailthesetoeveryone,andputyouontheCC list, so you can See Seealltheotherentrants.”

“Did you just say ‘SeeSee’?”Alyssaasked.

“Yeah, why?” Justingrinned.

“Because that’s LameLame,”shesneered.

“Do you have somethingagainst the crippled?” Keithasked,quickasawhip.

“The crippled?” Alyssaasked,confused.

“The lame?” Keith saidsuggestively.“Thelamehavefeelings,too.”

Alyssa said sarcastically,“Itwistedmyanklelastweek

goingdownsomestairs.Doesthatcount?”

Keith shook his head,“Afraid not. The lame havefeelings too, and your use ofthe term normalizes theirstruggles like they don’tmatter.”

“Fine,” Alyssa sneered.“Then I meant to say theDumbDumb.”

Keithshookhishead,“theintellectuallychallengedhavefeelingstoo.”

Alyssa frowned, “Well,thenwhothehellcanImakefunof?Snails?”

Keith arched an eyebrowthoughtfully, “That wouldwork.AsfarasIknow,snailshaven’t yet made any noisesabout fair and equitabletreatment.”

“That’sbecausetheydon’thave any mouths,” Micahsnickered.

“When did it get sopolitically correct around

here?” Alyssa asked. Sheturned to Justin and said,“Justin, I want to apologizefor saying that you wereLame Lame. I would like toretract that statement andchange it to, ‘you are SnailSnail’.” She looked to Keithforapproval,“Better,Keith?”

“Much,”Keithsnickered.“Ass,” Alyssa said

offhandedlytohim.“I have a donkey, and he

feels real bad right now,”

Micah said, “his ears aretotallyburning.”

Alyssawaddedhernapkinand threw it at Micah whilehecackled.

“All right, you guys,”Justin said. “Samantha,whenI email your drawings toeveryone, I’ll put you on theSnailSnaillist,”hequipped.

“Okay,” I smiled. I reallylikedtheseguys.

“Equal rights for snails!”Micah mocked, pumping his

fisthighoverhead.Fortherestofthemeeting,

everyonediscussed topics forthe next issue of TheWombat. Well, except forTammy Lemons who mostlysat sulking with her armsfoldedacrossherchest.

Romeofitrightinwiththerest of the group andcontributed lots of funnyideas.By theend, Justinwasencouraging him to write asamplepieceforthepaper.

“Are you sure?” Romeoasked.

“Totally,” Justin said. “Ifyoucomeupwith somethinggood,we’llput it in thenextish.”

“Sam and I talked aboutdoingacomicstriptogether,”Romeosaid.“CanIdothat?”

“Whatever you want,”Justin smiled at him. “It’scoolwithme. Is it coolwithyou guys?” Justin asked thegroup.

Everyone except Tammyagreed.

“I promise,” Romeo saidto Tammy, “I won’t writeanything nasty about you oryour period.” He soundedsincere.

“Whatever,”Tammysaid.“Come on,” Romeo

pleaded comically, “you’renot still mad, are you? Ipromise,Ineversmelledyouriron.”

Alyssa winced and

chuckled.Tammyhuffedouta sigh,

“Fine.Whatever.”When the meeting was

over,Romeowalkedmebackto my car. The sun hadalready set, but the sky wasstillpinkon thehorizonoverthe ocean,whichwas visiblefromtheNorthParkingLot.

“Thatwent prettywell,” Isaid.

“Except for NastyTammy,” Romeo chuckled.

“Whatabitch.”“Maybe she’s just

defensive because you and Iwere invading her clique offriends,”Isuggested.

“Maybe she’s justoffensive because shesmells.”

“You didn’t really smellheriron,didyou?”

“No,” Romeo laughed,“but it seemed like the rightthingtosay.”

“Ihopeyoudidn’tpissher

off.”“Don’t worry about it,

Sam.What’sshegoingtodo?Rig the vote so they don’tchooseyourdrawing?”

Ishrugged,“Idon’tknow.Maybe?”

“Who cares if she does?It’s just a stupid schoolnewspaper.”

Hewasright,butIsortoflikedtheideathatImightwina drawing contest. It wouldbe one more piece of

evidence I could show myparents that Iwasn’t an idiotfor pursuing art. If I evertalkedtothemagain.

I still hadn’t listened totheir voicemail, and I wasstarting to think maybe Ineverwould.

===I dropped my highlighter

marker on my textbook indefeat. “Mads,” I sighed,“I’m totally going to bombmySociologyfinal.”

Madison and I werestudyingintheMainLibrary,which was super crowdedbecause it was right beforefinals week. Madison hadarrivedearlyandhadsecureda study room hours ago, sowe had some privacy. Butjust outside our door, everystudy carrel in sight wasoccupied. There were evenstudents sitting on the floorstudying, leaning against thewalls.Itwasthiscrowdedon

everyfloorofthelibrary.“I thoughtyouwereacing

Sosh?” Madison saidsympathetically.

“That’s because the lasttime we talked was like thebeginning of the quarter.”Madison and I had barelyhung out since I’d droppedmyAccountingclasses.“I’vebeen tracking my grade allquarter and it’s hovering onthe edge of the toilet bowl,about tofall in. If Idon’tget

a hundred onmy Sosh final,you can flush my assgoodbye.”

“I know what yourproblem is,” Madison saidconfidently.

“What?”“Christos has made you

cum dumb,” she said matterof factly, “making itimpossible for you toconcentrateonanythingotherthanhiscock.”

“What?” I scoffed. “Are

youtotescraycray?”“Easy on the cray cray,

SamSam.Itoldyouwehaveto stop talking like thirteenyear olds because it’s totesinappropes,”shegrinned.

“So what if I like talkinglike a thirteen year old? Ithink it’s totes adorb,” Igiggled. “You’re just totesjellythatIknowmoretotismsthanyou.”

“That’s totes fa’ shotes,”she grinned, then shook her

head. “Now you’re makingme do it!” she laughed.“Stop!”

“Don’t be totes ridics, I’llnever stop. I’m the totestesswiththemotestess.”

Madisongroaned.“Ohmygod,thatisawful!Youreallyarecumdumb!”

“Maybe dumb, but notbecauseoftoomuchcum.”

“What, aren’t you andChristosdoingiteveryday?”Madisonaskeddoubtfully.

I blushed like a beacon.“Mads! Must you be soblunt?”

“I’m trying to get to thebottom of things. Where allthecumis!”

I frowned, “What, likeanal?”

Madison leaned back inher chair and laughedmelodiously.

I threw my highlighter ather. “Shut up!You’re a totalhorndogtonight!Hasn’tJake

been taking care of yourbusiness?”

Madison grinned, “Oh, hetotes has been taking care ofmybusiness,”shewinked.“Iswear,allIcanthinkaboutissex!Moreandmoresex!Sex,sex, SEX!! I admit it! JakehasmadeMEcumdumb!”

Webrokeintoagigglefit.Inoticedpeoplewere staringat us through the windowedwallsofourstudyroom,butIdidn’t care. It felt good to

release some of my stress. Ileaned back in my chair andsighed after our laugh attackpassed.

“Was it good for you?”Madisonasked.

“What,mylaughgasm?”“Yeah,”shesmiled.“Totesmagotes,”Isighed.Madison groaned and

threwmy highlighter back atme.Itbouncedontothefloor.

“DidItellyoumyparentsaren’t helping pay for my

tuition anymore?” I asked,staring at the ceiling, “And Ican’t get any more loanmoney to make up thedifference?”

“YoucanworkformeandJake at the surf shop,”Madisonsaid.

“Really?”“When it finally opens,”

shesighed.“Oh. When’s that gonna

be?”“I’m working on it. Not

for awhile. But I totallypromise, you’ll be our firstemployee.Whenwe take thecompany public, you’ll be amillionaireovernight.”

“Thanks,Mads.ButIneedmoneysooner.”

“There’s alwaysstripping,”shesaidcasually.

“That’s totes forbodst.There’s no way I’m takingmyclothesoffforabunchofdrunken fraternity mouthbreathers,orwhoevergoesto

thoseplaces.”“I think it’s usually serial

killersandguysthatsmell.”“Doserialkillersandguys

that smell get along?” Imused.“Ordotheyhateeachother and stick to oppositesidesofthestripjoint?”

“I think the strip jointseparates them into twosections with a smell proofbarrierbetweenthem.”

“Would I get to pickwhichsideIstrippedon?”

“Probably not. I think itgoesbyseniority.”

“With my luck, I’d bestuck in the stank tank,” Igrumbled.

“Wait,areyousayingthatyou’dpreferbeingcoopedupwith a bunch of odor donorsover stripping for smell-freeserialkillers?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Iprotested.“Idon’twanttobekilledbymyclientele.”

“After being locked up in

the smell cell for an eighthour shift, you’d be beggingfor murder,” Madisonlaughed.“IknowIwould.”

“I’d wear a gas mask!Problemsolved,”Igrinned.

“Nobody wants to watchstrippers with gas masks,”Madisonchuckleddubiously.

“Come on,” I insisted,“guysdon’t go to strip jointsto admire the strippers’beautifuleyes.”

“Youmightberightabout

that,”Madisonsaid.“Totes mascrotes,” I

giggled.“Stop!” she begged. “I

think my brain is officiallyoverdosed on totes quotes.Maybe we should take astudybreak?”

“Itotesconcotes.”Madison leaned over and

threatenedtosmackmeintheface.

“Okay!” I pleaded, “Nomoretotes!”

We left our stuff in thestudy room and took theelevator to the ground floorandwalkedoutside.

“Mads,doyouwant togogetcoffeeatTotestedRotes?”Iquipped.

“DidyoujustsayTotestedRotes?”Madisongrowled.

I started running beforeshe could catch me andpummelmyass.

Shechasedmeallthewayto the Student Center. We

laughedtheentiretime.===

Myblankbluebookstaredup at me, challenging me towrite something that wasn’tinane.

Itwasfinalsweek.Grrr.I was sitting in the

crowded lecture hall for myAmerican History 2 final. Ihad to write several essayanswers to various questionsabout 19th century America

in the span of three hours.Timed essays? Whose ideawas that? What happened tomultiplechoice?Groan!

The one nice thing aboutblue book examswas all theextraspacefordoodling.DidIgetextracredit fordrawinga picture of AbrahamLincoln?Probablynot.

I scanned through the listof questions. Which one toattackfirst?

Discuss the War of 1812

and its economicconsequences. I could barelyremember what happened in2012.HowwasIsupposedtowriteaboutwhathappenedin1812?

Discuss the instigatingfactors and the politicalaftermath of the Mexico-AmericanWar.Didn’titstartover drug trafficking? No?Well, I was pretty sure afterthewarwasover,theU.S.gottokeepNewMexico,but the

Mexicans got to keep OldMexico. Thatwas enough ofananswer,right?Maybenot.

There was one question Iwas happy to answer. It wasabout the James Gang, as inJesseJames.ArealAmericanoutlaw. I remembered thephoto of Jesse James in ourreadings about his gang. Iwasnotsurprised todiscoverthat he was quite handsome.If they’d made a movieversion about Jesse James

back in the old days, hecould’ve played himself. I’dwondered if he had tattoosbeneath his cowboy outlawgarb. I knew one thing forsure,ifhe’dbeenalivetoday,he would’ve ridden amotorcycle.

I did my best to b.s. myway through the examquestions for over two hoursbeforeIfinallygaveup.

I trudged down to thebottomofthelecturehalland

droppedmybluebookonthepileoffinishedexamsalreadyon the table, then I trudgedbackupthestairs.

Justin Tomlinson waswaiting for me outside thelecture hall. As always, heappeared fresh from a boybandmusic video, or like hehad just finished hostingSaturday Night Live. Justinflashedhismatineeidolsmileat me. “How’d you do?” heasked.

IslumpedmyshouldersasI walked toward him androlled my eyes. “Kill menow,”Igroaned.“TheT.A.’swill recognizemy blue bookbecause it’ll be the one withallthefliesbuzzingarounditdue to all my stinky b.s.answers.”

He chuckled, “Thatgood?”

Isighed,“How’dyoudo?”“Itwentprettygood,butI

can’tsayforsureuntilgrades

comeout.”Ithinkhewastryingtobe

supportive. He’d probablyaced it. I said,“Idon’tknowabout you, but I’mdesperately in need ofcaffeinebeforemynextfinal.Do you want to get somecoffeeatToastedRoast?”

“Sure,”hesmiled.We walked toward the

Student Center together andchatted the entire way. Eversince Justin had first

approached me in Historyclass, I couldn’t decide if hewas being flirty or not.Unlike Hunter Blakeley,whose flirtations were assubtle as Britney Spearsclimbingoutofalimousineina short skirt, Justinwas hardto read. Whatever. I wasn’tgoing to worry about it. IfJustin was interested in mebeyond my art contributionsto The Wombat, he wasn’tletting it show or get in the

way, which I totallyappreciated. If it became aproblem,I’ddealwithitthen.

“Have you guys votedabout which drawing to pickfor Potty the Pot SmokingWombat?”Iasked.

“Not yet. I think peoplewere too busy studying forfinals. I want to giveeveryone a chance to submittheirowndrawingsbeforethevote.”

“That’s cool,” I said,

hidingmydisappointment.Iwasreallyhopingoneof

my drawings would getpicked because I was prettysure my final grade forHistory was going to suckdonkey balls. When thegrades for Winter Quartercame out next week, I wasgoing to need some goodnews to offset the inevitablebad.Because,soonerorlater,I would have to talk to myparents, asmuchas I loathed

theidea.ItwouldbeniceifIcould

show them some proof thatmydesiretobecomeanartistwasn’tcompletelyidiotic.

Onsecondthought,Idon’tknow what I was worryingabout. It wasn’t like myparents could do anythingmorethantheyalreadyhadtomakemylifemiserable.

Chapter13

SAMANTHA

“Spring Break!” Romeo,Kamiko,Madisonandmyselfall squealed as we clinkedwine glasses together. Westoodonthebackyarddeckatthe Manos Mansion. I hadinvited them all over for a

house warming party. Theweather was perfect for it.SanDiegowashavingaheatwave.Itwasseventy-two,theskies were blue, and only afew cotton candy cloudspuffedabove.

Wine splashed out of ourglasses onto our naked toes.Madison and I were inbikinis, already working onourtans.

“Where’s your swimsuit,Kamiko?”Madisonasked.

“In my bag,” she saidbashfully. She wore boyshorts and an AdventureTimebabytee.

“Yougottaget that rockinlittle body of yours tannedup,”Madisonsaid.“Youlooklike you spent all winterinsidestudying.”

Kamiko groaned, “I didspend all winter insidestudying.”

“And painting,” Romeoadded.Heworeablackshort

sleeve tee and black jeans. Ithink it was his version ofswimwear.

“That’s right!” I smiledatKamiko. “Are you stillworking on paintings forBrandon’s ContemporaryArtistsShow?”

“You bet I am,” Kamikoscowled.“I’mnotlettingthatstupid Brandumb bring medown.I’mgettingmyartintohisshowevenifitkillshim.”

“Him?”Iasked.

“Yeah,” Kamiko smiledmischievously,“ifIdon’tgetapainting intohis show, I’mgoingtoassassinatehimwithmy ninja skills while he’ssleeping.”

“Does that mean you’regoingtoseducehimintobed,thenkillhim?”Romeoasked.

“Ew,” Kamiko grimaced,“why would anyone want tosleep with a jerk likeBrandumb?”

“I often wonder the same

thing,” Christos said as heandJakewalkeduptojoinus.Both of them had beers intheirhandsandworenothingbut low riding board shorts.Their rippledabsVeeddowntothewaistbandsoftheirlowridingswimsuits.Theywereasixteen pack attack ofmuscledmanliness.

Romeo openly ogledChristos and Jake. “I justcame in my pants,” he saidcasually.

Christos rolled his eyesandsmiledwidewhilegivingRomeo a good natured fistbump.

“Ew!” Kamiko grimaced.“TMI,Romeo!”

“Admit it, Kamiko,”Romeo goaded, “the secondyouhaveamomentaloneandyourfingersarefreetoroam,the first thing on your mindwill be a slowmotion replayofChristosand Jakewalkingup with their abs flexing. I

know that’s what I’ll bethinkingabout.”

“Dude,” Jake joked, “ifyou keep talking like that,I’m going to put my shirtback on. I totally hate beingtreatedlikeasexobject.”

“Yeah, right!” Madisonsaid. “I don’t think I’ve everseen you wearing a shirtexcept at my parents’Thanksgiving!”

“True,” Jake smiledthoughtfully.

“And you had to borrowthat one!” Madisoncontinued.“Doyouevenownanyshirts?”

“Nope,” Jake grinned. “Ineverneed‘emwhenallIdoissurf.”

“Yougivesurfbumsabadname,” Madison smiled athim.

Jake wrapped his armaround Madison, “And youloveit.”

Madisonrolledhereyesat

me and said, “Men. Whatwould they do without theirpreciousegos?”

“Hey, Madison,” Romeosaid,“ifyougettiredofJake,letmeknow.”

“Back off, buddy,”Madison grinned. “He’s allmine.”

“Women,”JakequippedtoChristos, “what would theydo without our preciousegos?”

“I’ll drink to that,”

Christos said as he clinkedbeerswithJake.

“Romeos,” Romeo said,“what would you all dowithoutme?”

Everyone chuckled as wetoastedagain.

“Spring break!” Madisonsquealed.

“Spring break!!!!”everyoneelseshouted.

===Shish kebabs sizzled on

the grill as Spiridon turned

everything over. “Meat’sready,” he said, “come andgrabaplate.”

We all lined up andSpiridonservedeveryone.

Christoswas busy puttingout more pita bread to gowith the fresh hummus he’dmade. I noticed he had yetanotherfreshbeerinhishandand was already buzzed. Ohwell. It was Saturday. Hecould enjoy himself for theweekend. His paintings for

Brandon could wait untilMonday.

Onceweallhadplatesfullof food, we sat down at atable under a big sunumbrella andSpiridon joinedus.

“Wow,” Kamiko smiled,licking her fingers whichwere sticky from eating thejuicyshish-kebab,“Thisissoyummy!”

“Thanks,” Spiridon said.“There’s more if you want

it.”Romeoleanedintomeand

whispered, “Is Spiridonsingle? Because I’ve alwayshadathingforhotoldermen.IfChristoslooksthatgoodinfortyyears,you’llneverleavethe bedroom. I know Iwouldn’t.”

I chuckled and shook myhead. “Geez, Romeo. Youhaveaonetrackmind.”

“What?” Romeo saiddefensively.“He’shot!”

“He’s not gay.Even if hewas, I wouldn’t want youdating my boyfriend’sgrandfather.”

“Oh, pishposh.Wecouldtotallydoubledate.”

I shook my head, “Eatyourlunch,Romeo.”

Afterlunch,wealljumpedin the pool. Except forRomeo and Kamiko. Therewas a small diving board atthe deep end, so I dove offandswamtotheotherendof

the pool in one breath. Bluegreenglimmersdancedacrossthe bottom of the pool as Ibreast strokedmyway to thefar wall. I still kept up myrunning regularly, and thepoolwasn’tolympicsized,soitwasn’t too hard to swim itin one breath. But I wastotallyreadyforairwhenmyheadpoppedoutof thewaterattheend.

“Lookatyou,AquaGirl,”Kamikosmiled.

“Youshouldputyour suiton,Kamiko,”Iencouraged.

“I don’t want to leaveRomeoalone,”shesmiled.Ina low voice, she said, “hekeeps staring at Christos’grandfatherlikehe’sgoingtoeathim.”

“I think Spiridon canprotect himself. You shouldgetinthepool.”

“Maybelater,”shesmiled.Christos and Jake took

turns doing flips off the

diving board. I think theirgoal was to splash as muchwateronmeandMadisonaspossible.Wemovedtothefarend of the pool and cheeredthemon.

Romeo and Kamiko werealsoeggingthemon.

Christos climbed out ofthe pool after his last jump,water dripping down histattooed muscled body, andstrolled to the diving board,where Jake stood ready to

dive.“Show us what you’ve

got,”Christossaidtohim.Jake took a few quick

steps on the short springboard and launched himselfforwardasfarashecouldandlanded in a cannonball. Hemade huge splash and waterrained everywhere. When herose out of the water he didthat wet hair flip thing thatmade him look like he wasfilmingaTVcommercial for

men’scologne.Madison and I were

leaningagainstthewallintheshallowend.

I nudged her andwhispered, “Do you thinkJakecouldbeanyhotter?”

“No,”shesmiledproudly.I laughed. “You know,

he’s totally spoiled all othermenforyou.”

“I know!” she grinned.“He better marry me or I’llend up a lonely spinster. No

othermancanholdacandle.”I winked at Madison,

“Well, I can think of oneman.”

“Dude!” Christos shoutedat Jake, “that was nothing!Checkthisshitout!”Christoshollered as he backed up afewstepson thedeckbehindthespringboard.Hesoundedalittleslurryfromdrinking.

“What’s he doing?” Iasked Madison, suddenlyconcerned.

Shenarrowedhereyesandturned to look atChristos. “Idon’tknow.”

“Christos?”Isaid.“Maybeyoushouldn’t—”

Before I could doanything,Christosrantowardthe board and leapt onto it,continuing to accelerate. Hehopped and landed on thefrontedgeoftheboard.Forasecond,Ifearedhewouldsliprightoffandhurthimself.Buthe didn’t. The board bowed

under hisweight and hewasflung high into the air at anangle. Instead of headingtoward the middle of thepool, he was sailingdiagonallytowardthecementside. Everything thathappened next happened inslowmotion.Hisbodyturnedlanguorously in a forwardflip. But he was going tooslow to get his feet backunder him. His head wasaimingrightatthesideofthe

pool. Oh my god, he lookedlike he was going to hit itheadfirst.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—

My heart jumped intomythroat and my eyes poppedoutofmyhead.

CRACK!!At the last second,

Christos’ back flopped ontothe surface of the water,making that sickeningslapping sound you hear

whensomeonedoesthemostpainfulbelly flopofall time,except on his back. He hadmissed the cement side byinches, yet he still sankslowlyintothewater.

Kamiko gasped, “Ohno…”

Was Christos okay? Ididn’t know. I swam towardhim as fast as I could tocheck.

The backyard had gonesuddenlysilent.

Romeo stood up from hischair where he sat in theshade like hewanted to helpsomehow.

Jake had swum over tocheckonChristostoo.

Iwas about to dive underthewater topullChristosoutwhen he slowly rose to thesurface head first, bubblingwater out of his mouth.“Man,” he laughed, “thatfuckinghurt.”

“Are you okay?” I asked

nervously.“I’mfine,”hesmiled.“Whatthefuckwasthat?”

Jakeasked.“Did you miss it?”

Christosquipped.“Icandoitagainifyoudid.”

“No!” I shouted. “Wedon’t need to see it again.Maybe we should be donewiththedivingboard?”

“That sounds like a goodidea,” Madison said, nowfloatingbesideus.

Weall climbedout of thepool and everyone stoodaround Christos. I think wewereallstillshaken.

“Are you okay, C-Man?”Romeoasked.

Christos nodded, “I’mgood.”

Spiridon had been insideand came walking out ontothe deck. “Does anybodyneedanything?”He’dmissedthewholething.

“Maybe some towels?” I

suggested.Spiridonnoddedandwent

inside. He returned with astackoftowels.

After toweling off,everyone laid out on theloungers in our dampswimsuits. Romeo andKamiko sat under a sunumbrella around a circularglasstable.

Ten minutes later, I thinkmy heart was still doing adrumrollinmychestbecause

of Christos’ brush withdisaster.

Christos stood up andstopped at the foot of mylounger.Heasked,“Youneedanotherbeer?”

I shook my head, “I’mgood.”

“Anybody else?” Christosaskedthegroup.

“I’lltakeone,”Jakesaid.When Christos was gone,

Madison leaned over to meand muttered, “Is it just me,

or is Christos drinking toomuchtoday?”

“Younoticed?”Iwinced.“Yeah,”shescoffed,“butI

wasn’t worried about it untilhis back flop. I don’tremember him drinking thismuch before. Has somethingbeenbotheringhim?”

“I think he’s just blowingoff leftover steam from histrial.”

“Oh,” Madison saidthoughtfully.

AfewdaysafterChristos’court case had beendismissed, I’d asked if heminded me telling Madisonandthegangaboutit.Hesaidhe didn’t care. So I’d giventhem a rundown of all thehair raising events over fishtacosacoupledayslater.

I said, “Do you think Ishould talk to him about hisdrinking?”

“Maybe you should,”Madisonsaidseriously.

I resolved to have aconversation with Christosabout it tonight. In themeantime, I just needed tokeephimoutof thepoolandoff the diving board until hesoberedup.

I eased back onto mylounger and closed my eyes,letting the warm sun washover me. I should’ve beenmore relaxed, but somethingnagged at me, like I wasmissing some obvious

looming threat that wouldinevitably injure Christos ortake him away from meforever.

But I couldn’t figure outwhatitwas.

===When people were ready

for a shade break fromtanning, Romeo and Kamikoasked Christos for a tour ofhis art studio, which neitherof them had seen. Christostookeveryoneinsidetocheck

itout.“Wow,Christos,”Kamiko

marveled, “these paintingsare even better than the onesyousoldatyoursoloshowatCharboneau.”

“Thanks,” Christos saidcasually, leaning against thenude portrait of Jacqueline,which he’d pulled out of thedrying rack. I’d metJacqueline several timeswhile Christos was paintingher.Shewasnice.

I felt better now thatChristos was far from thepool. There wasn’t anythinghe could really hurt himselfon inside the studio. But Ikept a close eyeonhim, justin case. I didn’t want himknocking over an easel byaccident and ruining apaintingorsomething.

“Yeah, Christos,” Romeosaid,“thesenewpaintingsareawesome.”

Christos frowned

seriously, “Even better thanmy painting of Tiffany withthemustacheyouadded?”

Romeolaughednervously.“Your painting of her wasawesome, but you have toadmit,themustachemadeherlookwaybetter.”

The anger melted fromChristos’ face and he smiledatRomeo,“Yeah,totally.”

Romeo heaved a sigh ofrelief. I think he still feltguilty about triggering

Tiffany’s tirade on NewYear’sEve.

Madison rolled her eyes.“Tiffany was totallylameballsthatnight.”

Ihadtoagree.Whatatripthat had been on Tiffany’syacht. If Ineversawthathotair ho-bag Tiffany again, itwouldbetoosoon.

Christos clinked his freshbeeragainstRomeo’sglassofwine, then gulped downseveralswallows.

I sighed to myself. Howmuch was Christos going todrink? I’d resolved that aslong as he wasn’t driving ordiving,Iwasn’tgoingtostophim.Hewasovertwentyone.Hecoulddrinkallhewanted.Ifheendeduppassedoutonacouch,somuchthebetter.Iwouldn’thavetoworryabouthimbreakinghisneck.AllI’dhave todowasmakesurehedidn’tdrowninpuke.

Christos pushed the

painting of Jacqueline backintothedryingrack.Thenhetried to pull out another one,butitseemedstuck.

I think the real problemwas that Christos was toofumbly drunk to manage ithimself.

“Let me help,” I said,steppingforward.

“I’ve got it,” he said,wrestlingwithit.Suddenly,itpopped out of the dryingrack. Because of how he’d

been standing, he stumbledbackward and threw hishandsouttokeephisbalance,causing him to release thepainting, which startedtipping forward.At the sametime, Christos bumpedheavily into the table behindhimwhichwas coveredwithpainting supplies. The tablerocked and a glass jar sittingon the corner containing abunch of brushes fell to thefloor and shattered on the

concrete. Wooden brushesclatteredanddanced.

I was laser focused onstopping the falling painting.I clenched my teeth, andlungedforit,butKamikowasin the way, and I would’vehad to put my foot rightthrough the middle of thecanvas to reach the fallingedge because it was so tall.TherewasnothingIcoulddotostopit.

Iwasexpectingtheworst,

but the painting acted like abig sail. It was so light, itcaught enough air to cushionitsfall.Itlandedsoftlyonthefloor of the studio. Phew.Disasteraverted.

“Whoops,” Christosslurred.

Romeo quickly bent topick up the painting, aconcernedlookonhisface.

“Don’t worry, it’s dry,”Christos reassured fromwhere he now sat on the

floor.Icouldtellhefeltabitstupid for his drunkenclumsiness.

I helped Christos to hisfeetandhedustedoffhisass.

“I’llgetabroom,”hesaid.I squatted and started

pickinguppaintbrushes.“Be careful of the glass,”

Madisonsaid.Christos returned with a

hand broom and dust pan,“I’vegotit.”Hesquattedandsweptupthemess.

Trying to defuse theawkwardnessofthesituation,Kamiko said, “Err, ah, whoare all the women in thepaintings, Christos? They’reallsobeautiful.”

“Brandon hired them,”Christossaidasheshook thelast of the glass out of thedustpan and into awastebasket. “They’re allkind of bland, don’t youthink?”

“Totally,” Romeo joked,

also trying to lighten themood. “Maybe you couldpaint somehotmuscledguyswithbigdicks?”

“Dicks and fine art don’tgo together,” Christoschuckled.

“Thatissosexist,”Romeogrowled. “I wantmore dicksin fine art! Dicks, dicks,dicks! I want to see themexploding all over the placelike fire hoses!” Romeo wastrying his hardest to make

people laugh, but it wasn’tworking. Discomfort stillfilledtheair.

Kamiko said, “So,Christos,howmanypaintingsdo you still have to do foryourupcomingshow?”

“I don’t know,” hedismissed,“abunch.”

“Who else are you goingtopaint?”Madisonasked.

“More of Brandon’smodels,” Christos saidapathetically.

“Why don’t you paintSamantha?” Madisonsuggested.

“Because Brandon wantsnudes. That’s what sells,”Christossaid.

“I’ll pose nude for you,”Romeosaidenthusiastically.

“Who would buy a nudepainting of you?” Kamikoasked.

“I would!” he said. “I’dpay a million bucks for apaintingofme.”

“Do you have a milliondollars?”Kamikoasked.

“No,”hesighed.“Exactly,” Kamiko

frowned.“Christos, I think you

should paint Romeo,” Iwinked at Romeo. “He issuper sexy. But with clotheson. That’s when he’s at hissexiest.”

“Thank you, Sam,”Romeo smiled at me, thenglared spears and arrows at

Kamiko. “At least someonearound here has good taste,”hehissed.

Kamikorolledhereyes.Christos laughed, “I’ll

keepitinmind,Romeo.”At least no one was

makingabigdealoutofhowdrunkChristoswas.

===A dog barked softly

somewhere outside ourbedroom the next morning.The winter sun was up,

brighteningthebedroom.“Somebody shut that

fucking dog up,” Christosmoaned. “It sounds like it’sbarking insidemy head.”Heslidhisheadunderhispillowand pulled it tightly aroundhisears.

“Do you need somewater?”Iasked.

Hepeakedoutfromunderthe pillow. “Can you addsomevodkatoit?”

“No.Thebarisclosed.I’ll

getyousomecoldwaterfromthe fridge.” I threw on myrobe and padded downstairsto the kitchen. When Ireturned with the glass,Christoswas sprawled out inbed face up with the pillowover his face, the blanketpushed down to his waist,revealinghisrippledabs.

I considered resting thecoldglassonhisstomach,butthatwouldbecruel.Isatnexttohimandrestedmyhandon

his abs instead. Yum. Evenhungover, he was ten timessexierthanmortalmen.

He sat up and drank thewaterthirstily.

“Thanks,” he sighed. “Icouldusefivemoreofthose.”

“Do you want me to getthepitcherforyou?”

“No,thanks,Icangetit.Imighthavetocrawl,butIcandoit,”hegrinned.

“Christos, is everythingokay?”

He blinked and looked atme seriously. “What do youmean?”

“Uh, um, you’ve kind ofbeendrinkingalotlately.”

Christos’ brows drewtogetherinafrown.

I winced, expecting anargument.Memories of shortfused Damian Wolframgnawed at the edges of myawareness.Iremindedmyselfthat Christos wasn’t ahothead. He might be

drinkingmorethanheshould,but never once had he raisedhis voice at me, or shown asinglesignofanger.Thatwasone thing I loved aboutChristos.Heneverseemedtoget angry. He knew how tohandle his emotions like anadult. Ihoped thisdiscussionwouldn’tbetheexception.

“Yeah,”hesighedandlaidhisforearmacrosshiseyes.

“Do you want to talkaboutit?”

“Maybelater?”At least he didn’t get

angryatmeforbringingitup.Maybe I should’ve waiteduntilhewasn’thungover.

“Do you want somebreakfast?”Iasked.

“Sure.”“How about I make you

breakfast in bed? You’realways doing all the cookinganyway.”

He lifted his forearm offhis face and smiled at me

withhisdimplesandbrilliantblue eyes. “Soundsawesome.”

“Eggs and toast?” Isuggested.

“Perfect,”hesaidsleepily.“Youwaithere,andI’llbe

backinajiffy.”Iwentdowntothekitchen

and made breakfast for bothof us. When I brought itupstairs on a tray, Christoswasfastasleep.

I didn’t have the heart to

wakehim.===

When Monday morningrolledaround,Iwokeuptoanemptybed.I threwonarobeand went downstairs to findChristos.Iheardslashingandrattling noises as Iapproachedthestudio.

I leanedmy head throughthe door to the studio, afraidofwhatImightfind.

Christos stood behind thebig canvas of Isabella,

practically attacking it bythrowingbiggobsofpaintatitwithaloadedbrush.

“What are you doing?” Iaskedtentatively.

Betweenslappingpaintonthe canvas, Christos said,“Getting the canvas…”WHACK! “…ready forIsabella…” SPLAT! “She’sgoing to be here…”GLOP!”“…atten.”

I walked around behindChristos and the canvas. The

painting of Isabella wasalmost entirely covered inwet brown paint. The onlypart that wasn’t covered wasthe face. “Oh my god,Christos,”Igasped,“whatdidyoudotoyourpainting?”

Now he was working theblobsofpaintintothecanvaswith a big brush. “It neededsomework…”SMEAR!“…alot of work.” SCRUB! “I’mgoing to change…” RUB!RUB! RUB! “…the pose.”

Hetookastepbackfromthecanvastoassessit.

“But it was almostfinished,” I said, feeling anoverwhelming sense ofdefeat. He had put atremendous amount of workinto this painting. It hadlookedamazingtomebefore.Nowitseemed,Idon’tknow,ruined. “You’re startingover?”

“Yeah.”“Why? It was beautiful.

Kamiko and Romeo andMadisonandJakeallthoughtit was amazing. I thought itwasamazing.”

He grimaced, “It wasn’tworking.”

Isighed.Ohwell.Iwasn’ttheonewho’d soldhundredsofthousandsofdollarsworthof paintings. I trusted thatChristos knew what he wasdoing.Besides,itwastoolateto do anything about it now.He really did have to start

over,nomatterhowfaritputhimbehindonhisdeadline.

Since I had the week offand Christos had to work, Idecided to spend the day inthe studio with him. WhenIsabellaarrivedandtheywentto work, I sat down at mydrawing table to work onsome cartoons for TheWombat based on ideasRomeoandIhaddiscussed.

IsabellagotundressedandChristos had her sit in a

variety of different posesuntil he found one he liked.They all looked good tome,but based on Christos’brooding demeanor, I couldtellhewasn’thappywithanyofthem.

Once he started painting,he sighed audibly at leastonce every five minutes. Hewasn’tenjoyinghimself.Toobad the weather was so niceoutside.Itwastheperfectdayto get out of the house and

take a road trip or dosomething relaxing in SanDiego.Therewereahundredoptionsoffunthingstodointown, but Christos needed towork. He didn’t need to addmorestressbylosinganotherworkdaytoday.

So I sat quietly at mydrawing table andworked. IfChristoshadtoworktoday,Iwouldtoo.

After painting Isabella forhalf an hour, they took a

break. Christos walked intothe living room and returnedwith a glass of bourbon andthe bottle. When he wentback to work, it seemed likeevery time I looked over, hewas taking another swallowofliquor.Icouldn’tdecideifthe bourbon was helping hismoodormakingitworse.

I contemplated findingSpiridonandaskinghimifhecould throw away all hisboozeor at leasthide it until

after Christos’ gallery show.Too bad that wouldn’tactuallysolveanything.

Aroundoneo’clock,Iwasreadyforabreak. Isetdownmy pencil and closed mysketchbook. “Does anybodywant a sandwich orsomething?”Iasked,standingbehindChristos.

Christos laid down hisbrushes like they weighed aton each. “Sure,” hemumbled, sounding

exhausted. I knew itwas thestress.

“May I break, Christos?”Isabella asked demurely inherPortugueseaccent.

“Sure,” he huffeddismissively and walkedthrough the French doors tothebackdeck.

“Isabella,” I asked, “doyouwantasandwich?”

“Please,”shesmiled.Itwasn’tatallweirdtome

anymore that Isabella sat

naked in front of myboyfriend on a regular basis.The jealousy I’d felt the firsttime I’d been in the roomwith Christos painting hernude had shrunk to almostnothing. It helped that sheseemedtohavelostinterestinhim,whichwas odd becausebefore she’d been all overhim. Maybe she had met acuteguyofherown.“I’llgomake those sandwiches,” Isaid. “Care to joinme in the

kitchen?”She followed me and we

chatted while I pulledingredients out of therefrigerator.

“Have a seat,” I said,motioningtothechairsatthekitchentable.

“Oh,nositting.Isittingallday. Now I stand,” shesmiled.“Standinggood.”

“How’s the modeling upinLosAngeles?”

“L.A. is good. I busy, all

thetimebusy.”“That’sgood,”Ismiledas

I pulled a loaf of sourdoughout of its paper sack andslicedoff severalpieceswitha bread knife. “I imagineyou’remakinggoodmoney?”

“Very good. Also nice towork here with Christos. Nocameras.HemakemeperfectwithoutthePhotoshop.”

“Yeah,” I grinned.“Christos is an amazingpainter.”

“I thought I heard you inhere,” Spiridon said as hewalkedintothekitchen.

“Do you want asandwich?”Iaskedhim.

“Please,” he smiled.“Isabella, can I get youanythingtodrink?”

“Agua, por favor?” shesaid. “Oh, uh, I mean thewater,please?”

“Wehaveplentyofágua,”hewinkedatherashepulledout the pitcher from the

fridge.A loud crash echoed in

fromthestudio.I jumpedwhere I stoodat

thecounter,“Whatwasthat?”“I don’t know,” Spiridon

said,settingthepitcherdown.“I’llgolook.”

Therewasanothercrash.“Fuck!”Christosshouted.Was he hurt? I dropped

the knife I’d been using toslice a tomato and ran pastSpiridonintothestudio.

Christos held the paintingofIsabellaoverhishead.

“Christos! What are youdoing?”Igasped.

He smashed the paintinginto the cement floor,splintering one corner of thewood frame. Then he bentover, grabbed the brokenpieces of the frame, and torethecanvashalfwaydown themiddle.

“Stop, Christos!” Ipleaded.

“Ican’tstandthispieceofshit!”Hesnatchedthebrokenpaintingoff the floor, bargedpastmeandstompedthroughthe house to the front door,which he ripped open. I wassurprised he didn’t yank thedooroffthehinges,hepulledsohard.

Withagrowl,hethrewthefloppy remains of the ruinedpainting out into theentryway. He shouted aprimal roar and chased after

it, kicking at the heaped ruinofthebrokencanvas.

I jogged up behind him,“Christos, stop! This isinsane.”

“No, it’s a PIECE OFFUCKING SHIT!!!” Heclutched one corner of theremains of the painting inbothhandsandbeatitagainstthedrivewaylikearug.Witheach swing, he shouted,“PIECE! OF! FUCKING!SHIT!!!”

I backed off.Hewas in arage, There was no point intrying to stophim. Icouldn’teven if I’d wanted to.Christoswastentimesbiggerandstrongerthanme.

Christoscontinuedbeatinghis painting to death. InoticedSpiridon and Isabellastandingbehindme.Spiridonhadapained,sadlookonhisface. Isabella’s eyes werepoppingoutoftheirsockets.

A car I didn’t recognize

turned down the drivewayand drove toward us whileChristos pulverized the lastshredsofthepainting.

Christos was yelling,totallyoblivious.

The glare from the skyoverhead made it impossibletoseewhowasinthecar.

Christos bundled up thewad of torn canvas and theshattered wooden frame. Hethrew everything over theroofofthegaragewithafinal

primal roar. “PIECE OFFUCKINGSHIIIIIIT!!!”

The car doors of therandom sedan opened andtwooccupantssteppedout.

“Sam?” my mom askednervously, “is everythingokay?”

Oh,fuck,nofuckingway.“Are you all right, Sam?”

mydadasked.Christosstormedbackinto

the house, shouting “GODDAMNUSELESSMOTHER

FUCKING PIECE OF SHITPAINTING!!!”

Istaredatmyparents.Myfuckingparents.Howthehelldidtheyfind

meinSanDiego?Maybe I should’ve

checkedthatvoicemailthey’dleftweeksago.

Chapter14

SAMANTHA

Spiridon walked into theliving room from the kitchenand handed a glass of freshsqueezed lemonade to mymom.Shesatnexttomydadon the couch in the Manos’living room. I sat on the

leatherchairoppositethem.“Thank you, uh…

Spiridon?” my mom said,taking the glass from him.Shehadn’tgottenused tohisname. I could imagine herthinking it sounded hippiedippie.Whatever.

“This is good lemonade,”my dad said after takinganotherswallow.

“Thank you,” Spiridonsmiled.“There’splentymore.A warm day like today is

perfectforit.”I never imagined my

parents inside this house.Ever. It felt wrong, like myprivacywasbeinginvadedinthe worst way possible, likemy hope for a new life wasbeing undermined by theirpresence. I wished theywould go. Like, now. Ibeamed ESP suggestions tomymom:youleftthestoveonDad left the back door

unlockedyourpipeswill freezeand

burst because you didn’tleave the faucets on a slowdripGOTHEFUCKHOME!!!Nothingworked.Ohwell.

MaybeIshouldjusttellthemto leave?Icouldsay,“Mom,Dad, you guys are such bigjerks, I was thinking youcould turn around and flyback toD.C.,okay? It’sonlya six hour flight.” Yeah,

maybe not. I sighed tomyself,freshoutofideas.

“How are you twoenjoying thewarmweather?”Spiridonasked.“Ibetit’snotthis warm in WashingtonD.C.”

Mymomsmiledherofficeasskissing smile, “Iwas justtellingBill on the drive overthat the weather is so nice,maybe we should movehere.”

Myeyesbulgedoutofmy

head.No,pleaseno. I buriedmy chin inmy chest, hopingtohidemyexpression.

Dad said, “It was a smartmove for you to choose SanDiego,Sam.”

I nodded in mundanehorrorasmylipspeeledbackovermyclenchedteeth.

Mymomchuckledfakely,“YounevertoldusSanDiegowassonice,Sam.”

Maybe because you neverasked? Duh. All my parents

cared about was whether ornot I was taking all myAccounting classes in theright order and getting A’s.The weather? Irrelevant. Mydesire to become an artist?Irrelevant. My wonderfulboyfriend? Irrelevant. Myparentswereintotaldenial.

“If you had,” my momgrinned, “wewould’ve cometo visit sooner,” shechuckled.

Yeah,becausemeandmy

mom were totally besties.Was she insane? I waswaiting for Rod Serling towalkoutfrombehindapieceof furniture and welcome usalltotheTwilightZone.

I searched around thearmrests ofmy chair for oneof those James Bond controlpanels. I was hoping therewereejectorseatsbeneathmyparentssoIcouldshootthemthroughtheceiling.Ormaybetrapdoors that dropped down

to a dungeon filled withravenous grizzly bears or asharktank.Ihadn’tyetfoundthat control panel, but theleatherchairhadrivetsonthefront of the armrest, so Ibegan meticulously pressingevery single one. I was sureoneofthemwasthetrapdoorbutton.

“Sam, what are youdoing?”mymomscoffed.

“Nothing,” I saiddefensively as I folded my

hands in my lap. Sadly, Idon’t think any of the rivetswereswitches.

Mom turned to Spiridonand chuckled, “Sam alwayswasfidgety.”

Dad joined in with thegood times. “I rememberwhen Sam was a baby, shealways wanted to play withmyoldaddingmachine.OnceIshowedherhowtomakethepaper tape spool out byaddingnumbers together,she

couldn’t get enough of it.She’d play with that addingmachine until she’d used upthe entire roll of tape. Itwasthen that I realized mydaughter’s love for numbers.Justlikeherfather.”

I rolled my eyes.Was heserious? My dad was sooblivious. I don’t think herealized that adding machinehadbeenfarmoreresponsivetomethanheeverhad.Iwasnow convinced the stork had

dropped my baby basket offat the wrong house nineteenyears ago. Maybe my realparents were wizards likeHarryPotter’smumanddad.I rubbedmy scalp, hoping tofind a lightning bolt scarhiddenthere.Nope.

“Are you okay, Sam?”Mom frown-smiled. “Haveyoubeenusingyourdandruffshampoo?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Igroaned. Where was my

magic wand? Oh yeah,Christoshadtakenitwithhimwhen he went for a walkearlier. Yes, the wand in hispants. I repressed a secretsmile.

“What’s so funny?” Dadasked.

Ineededtotakesomespyclasses so I could learn tomake my secret smiles moresecret.“Nothing,”Igroaned.

“Where didChristos go?”mymomasked.

“I think he went for awalk,” Spiridon said. “He’llbebacksoonerorlater.”

Christos had stormed pastmy parents after they’darrived without saying hello,andgoneout thedrivewaytowho knew where. I couldn’tblamehim.Iwasn’thappytoseemy parents either. Itwasfor the best.My parents hadbeen in shock for at least ahalf an hour after watchingChristosmurderhispainting.

Wanting to change thesubject away from Christosand his outrage, I said, “So,how’d you guys find thehouse?” I’d never told themtheManos’address.

“That was easy,” my dadsaid.“Wecalledthemanagerat your apartment and askedhim for your forwardingaddress. Since we’re yourparents, and we co-signedyour lease, he was happy tooblige.”

Great. Thanks, Mr.Manager. What a great guyhewas.Traitor.

“You’re not staying atSamoula’s apartment, areyou?”Spiridonasked.

“Who?”mydadfrowned.“I’m sorry,” Spiridon

smiled. “Samoula is anickname I use for yourdaughter.It’sacommonthingin Greek families tonicknameeveryone.”

Mom grimaced. I don’t

thinkshelikedtheideathatIhadanickname,likeSpiridonwas taking some sort ofparental ownership of me.“We call her Sam,” sheinsisted.

Spiridon nodded, “That’swonderful.”

Did that mean he wasgoing to stop calling meSamoula?Ihopednot.Ilikedmy nickname. Maybe he’duseitaftermyparentsleft.

“At any rate,” Spiridon

continued, “where are youtwostaying?”

“We’re staying at theMotel6 inHotelCircle,”mydadanswered.

“What? That’s half wayacross the city!” Spiridonlaughed. “You can’t staythere.”

“The price wasunbeatable,” Dad saidnervously, “and I found acoupononline—”

Spiridon cut him off with

adismissivegrin.“Youcan’tstayinahotel.You’refamilyand we have plenty of roomhere in my house. I won’thave you and your wifestaying in some rundown notell hotel. I hear that placerents rooms by the hour.”Spiridonchuckled.

No tell hotel?SincewhendidSpiridonstartdishingoutthe jokes? I kind of liked it.HegotawesomereverytimeIhungaroundhim.

“Oh, no,” my dadcorrected Spiridon, missingthe humor completely, “Iassure you, Motel 6 doesn’trentroomsbythehour.”

“Are you sure, Dad?” Isaid dryly. “This is SanDiego. We do thingsdifferentlyonthewestcoast.”

My dad frowned andshook his head. “Motel 6doesn’t rent rooms by thehour. I know better.” Heglanced at Spiridon, as if

seekingagreement.I arched a doubting

eyebrow at Dad. “You’resure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” heinsisted, “Motel 6 is not aflophouse.” I could tell hewasstartingtogetangry.

Whatever.“Idon’tcareifyouhavea

suite at the Hotel Del,”Spiridon said. “You areSamoula’s parents and youcan stay here with us.” He

winked at my dad, “And wehave the cheapest rates intown.”

My dad perked up at thatandturnedtoMom.“Whatdoyou think, Linda? We couldsave several hundred dollarsifwestayhere.”

“I don’t know, Bill,” shesaid skeptically, “we’vealready checked in and Iunpackedmybags.”

“It’llonlytakeaminutetocanceltherestofourstayand

packyourbags,”mydadsaid.Rest of their stay? Geez,

howlongdidmyparentsplantobehere?Despitetheearlierfailure of my ESP, I triedagain.Istaredatmymom.Say no, say no, say NO,

SAYNO!!!!!Momsighedandthrewher

handsupindefeat,“Fine.”Wow, my ESP had

backfired.IneededsomeESPlessonsASAP.

“It’s settled then,” Dad

said. “I’ll call the motel andlet them know we won’t beneeding the room aftertonight. Spiridon, may I useyourphone?”

Asalways, inmyparents’world, cell phones didn’texist.

“Of course,” Spiridonsmiled, “it’s in the kitchen.”Spiridon led the way for mydad.

I restrained a groan.Whydid Spiridon have to go and

invite my parents to stay?Yeah, I knew Spiridon wasall about family. I was too,justnotmyfamily.

WithSpiridonandmydadoutofthelivingroom,itwasjust me and my mom sittingalone together. I couldn’thave been happier. I startedpressing the rivets on theleather chair again, lookingfor the one that triggered anescapehatchundermyasssoI could get the hell out of

here.Mymomwaspinchingthe

bridge of her nose with hereyes closed. I knew thisroutineofherswell. I’d seenit a hundred thousand timessince I was a kid. After thenose bridge pinch wouldcome the rubbing of hertemples with her fingers.Then she’d slide her palmsdownhercheeksintoaprayerposition beneath her chinwhile she stared heavenward

forguidance.While her eyes were

closed, I punched both myfists in her direction andflipped her off. I openedmymouth wide and silentlyscreamed, “Go the fuckHOOOME!!!” I’d alreadydeterminedmyESPneededalittleboost.

My mom suddenlystopped massaging hertemples and her eyes poppedopen.

I instantly dropped myhands into my lap with asheepish grin. Had shenoticed? I couldn’t tell forsure, but she didn’t act likeshehad.

Mom closed her eyes andwent back to rubbing hertemples.

This was going to be alongSpringBreak.Yeah, I’dalways fantasized aboutspending my first evercollegeSpringBreakwithmy

parents.Groanballs.

===“Everything is taken care

of,” my dad said when hewalked back into the livingroomalmostanhourlater.“Icanceled our room at theMotel6aftertonight.Wecanpick up our bags thisevening.”

Spiridon followed himintotheroom.

“Idon’tknow,Bill,”Mom

said.“Areyousureyoudon'twant to stay the night at thehotel since we alreadyunpacked?”

Sounded like a great ideatome.

Dadsmiled,“Spiridonwasshowingme the guest roomsupstairs. They’re much nicerthan the Motel 6. And thedeckoutsideisbetterthanthepoolatthemotel.We’llhaveplentyofprivacyhere.”

Yay!But Iwouldn’t have

any.Were there any giant

meteors in outer spacehurtling toward San Diego?They couldn’t get here soonenough.

“Plus,” Dad continuedwith a big smile, “the priceherecan’tbebeat.”

My mom huffed out asigh. I knew she could onlytake so much of Dad’sbargain hunting before shewas sick of it. “Fine, Bill.

Whateveryousay.”The front door opened

quietly and Christos walkedinto the living room. “Hey,everyone,”hesaidsoftly.

I jumped out of my chairand ran to him to see if hewasokay,butslowedhalfwayacross the room because myparents were here. Theirpresence always, I don’tknow, restrained me. Istopped a foot away fromChristos and didn’t even

touch him with my hand oranything.“Hey,”Isaid.

“Sorry about the sceneearlier,” Christos smiled. “Iwashavingabitofaproblemwithoneofmypaintings.”

Spiridon noddedsympathetically, “I’ve beenthere many times myself.Sometimes a painting goessouth in the middle of theprocessand there’snotmuchyou can do with it short ofstartingover.”

“You’reanartisttoo?”Mydadaskedinnocently.

“Yes,”Spiridon said. “Allof the paintings hanging inthisroomaremine.”

It was weird, becausetherewere literallydozensofthemsurroundingus,andmyparents hadn’t said a wordabout them since they’dwalked in. That just went toshow how much my parentspaid attention to art. It wasnearly invisible to them. Just

likemyloveofart.Theyhadnoideaitexisted.

“There’salotofpaintingsin here. Don’t you ever sellthem?”Dadasked.

“Ido.Asamatterof fact,I’ve sold over a thousandpaintings in my career,”Spiridonsaid.

“Is that how you paid forthishouse?”mydadasked.

Yeah, my dad was worldrenownforhissocialgraces.

Spiridon smiled

indulgently,“Yes.Everythingyou see in this house waspaid for by the sale of myart.”

Go,Spiridon!Tellit!Thiswasexactly thekindof thingmyparentsneededtoseeandhear.Anactualmansion,waybigger than my parents’house,boughtandpaidforbyarealliveartcareer.

“Sowhyhaven’tyousoldthe paintings in this room?”Dadasked.

“I love them toomuch topartwiththem,”Spiridonsaidthoughtfully.“Eachoneholdsa special meaning for me.They’re touchstones thatremindmeofmomentsinmylife I never want to forget. Icouldnever sell them, at anyprice.”

“Oh,”Dadsaid.Hehadnoidea what Spiridon wastalking about. Spiridon mayaswellhavebeenspeakingaforeign language when it

cametotalkingaboutfeelingswithmydad.

“They’re very nice,” mymom said curtly. “You’re avery gifted artist, Spiridon.I’msureifourdaughtercouldpaint as well as you, shewouldsellpaintingstoo.”

Because I was turnedaway from her, my mom’swords literally stabbed meright inmyback.Fortunatelymy mom couldn’t see myface burning with sudden

rageandembarrassment.Hadshe seen my anger, shewould’ve told me to get ahold of myself and stopacting like a child. I gaveChristosapleadinglook.

“You haven’t seen any ofSamantha’srecentpaintings,”Christos said to my mom.“She’scomealongwaysinceImether.Herartisticgrowthhas been unreal. Yourdaughterisepicallytalented.”

Takethat,stupidMomand

Dad!“She really is good,”

Spiridonsaid,walkingovertome to rest his hand on myshoulder.“Withmygrandsontutoring her, she gets betterevery day.” He flashed asmileatme,“Isn’t that right,Samoula?”

Now I was blushing astearsofjoythreatenedtopourdownmyface.Inodded.TheManos men were defendingmeagainstmyevilparents!I

wanted to jump for joy. Iwanted to happy dance allovermy parents’ faceswhilehungrysharksnippedat theirtoes.Yippee!

“You should see some ofherpaintings,”Christossaid.

ThenextthingIknew,wewereallinthestudio.

“This entire room is apainting studio?” my mommarveled. “It’s as big as ourhouse!”

My dad looked around,

taking everything in. “Iwouldn’t say it’s as big,” hesaid defensively. “Perhapstwo-thirdsthesquarefootage.Maybelessifyouincludeourgarage.”

Yeah,whatever,Dad.“And these are your

paintings, Christos?” mymomasked.

“Yeah,”hesaidcasually.I could tell Christos was

still somewhat buzzed fromall the bourbon he’d been

drinking before my parentsarrived. But now he washappy drunk, not angrydrunk.

“You sure like to paintnaked women,” my momscoffedjudgmentally.

Icouldn’t takemyparentsanywhere.

“It’s art, Mom,” I said.“You know, like Rembrandtand Botticelli andBouguereau.”

“Who?”shefrowned.

“William-AdolpheBouguereau? The nineteenthcentury French realist?” I’dlearned a thing or two aboutartistsfromhangingoutattheManoshouseallthetime.

Mymom shook her head.“I’msorry,Idon’tknowwhoyou’retalkingabout.”

“He’s really good. Youshouldcheckouthiswork,”Isneered. “One ofBouguereau’s paintings ishanging in the San Diego

Museum of Art in BalboaPark.It’sawesome.”

“Areanyofyourpaintingshanging in the San DiegoMuseum of Art, Spiridon?”mydadaskedsnidely.

“Yes,” he smiled, “in thepermanent collection. As aretwo of my son Nikolos’. Iimagineonedaysoon,oneormore of my grandson’s willjoin them,” Spiridon said,pattingChristos on the back.“And who knows, if she

keeps at it, maybe one ofSamoula’s will end up theretoo.”

I think I heard a shameplane fly over my parents’headsandstartdroppingsuckit bombs all over them. Toobad the explosions weren’tfatal. But the confused lookson my parents’ faces mademerejoice.

Mom motioned atChristos’ paintings as if theywere garbage. “I assume all

these nudewomen are actualpeople?”

“Yeah,”Christossaid.Mom nodded, “Was that

youngwomanwhowas hereearlier one of the nudewomenyoupaint?”sheaskedacidly.

“Yeah,”Christossaid.“And what,” Mom

continued,“shejust takesherclothesoffforyou?”

Christosshrugged,“That’susuallythewayitworks.”

My mom huffed, as ifChristos was forcing womenlike Isabella to strip for himwhile he watched with hispants around his ankles anddid nasty things to himself.She said accusingly, “Youknow, you’re setting thewomen’s movement backthirtyyears.”

“They’remodels,Mom,”Isaid. “They get paid. It’s ajob.”

“To take their clothes

off?”shescoffed.“Yes!”Igrowled.Mymom shook her head.

“That’s not art. That’spornography. I hope youwould never considerdebasingyourselfbydeigningtostrip forChristos. Ishouldhope I’ve taught you betterthanthat.”

I rolled my eyes.“Whatever,Mom.”

There was a pregnantpauseastheroomwentsilent.

I’m sure my mom wouldaccuseChristosofgettingthepause pregnant after havingpaid it to model for himnaked.Dirtypause.Everyoneknew the pause had noshame. Pause was a whorewho had sex for money. Irolledmyeyes.Mymomwassuchaprude.

“You should show yourmom and dad some of yourdrawings, Samantha,”Spiridonencouraged.

Under any othercircumstance, I would neverhave showed my art to myparents. Not after all thosetimes in high school whenthey’dsnarkedabouthowbadmyartwas.ButwithChristosand Spiridon at my sideshowering me withsupportive lovingcompliments, I felt likenothingtooterriblybadcouldhappen. I should’ve knownbetter.

I walked over to mydrawing table where mysketchbook sat. “This iswhere I work,” I saidrandomly as I picked up mysketchbook.

Mymomputherhandsonherhips.“Itlookslikeyou’reall moved in, aren’t you,Sam?”

Ohyeah,myparentsandIhadn’tyethad thediscussionabout my new livingarrangements. Icouldn’twait

todiscussthetopicfurther.Maybe I would’ve talked

to them about my movealready if every conversationwith them didn’t turn into aminefield. Iswear, Icouldn’tsay a single wrong thingaround my parents withouttriggering yet another one oftheirbullshitbombs.Ineededmoresuckitbombstodefendmyself. Too bad the shameplanewasoutofthearea.

I clutched my sketchbook

to my chest, suddenlyreluctant to open it. I’m suremyparentswerereadytolobinsult bombs with abandon.Was there any point inshowingthemmyart?MaybeIcouldchangethesubject.

“I haven’t seen yournewest work,” Spiridon said.Bynewest,hemeantthestuffI’d drawn in the last fewdays. Lately, he’d beenasking toseemysketchesonadailybasis.Healways said

nice things and offered melittlepointershereandthere.

Spiridon motioned withhis hand, so I gave him mysketchbook, opened to theWombat sketches I’d donerecently. He blurted outlaughter and Christoschuckledoverhisshoulderastheyflippedthroughit.

“Thesearehilarious,agápimou,”Christossaid.

“Your daughter has adefinite talent for

cartooning,” Spiridon saidbefore handing thesketchbooktomyparents.

Mymomtookonelookatmy cartoons of Potty thePotSmoking Wombat andgrimaced as if someone hadshownhercrimescenephotosof a beheading. She didn’tsay a word. She just noddedabsentlyasmydadturnedthepages.

Mydad,ontheotherhand,surprised me. “Not bad,” he

said.“Thesedrawingssortofremind me of Dennis theMenace, but not nearly asrefined.”

I had to pause. That wasactuallysortofacompliment.My dad loved Dennis theMenace. It was one of hisfavorite comic strips and hestillreaditdaily.

“But I don’t see how youcan make any money withthese,” Dad finished. “HankKetcham has the Dennis the

Menace market all lockedup.”

I think from now on,whenever I thought of thephrase, “thinking outside thebox,” I’d picture my dadliterally building a woodencrate around himself withhammer and nails, and as hewasabouttolowerthelidonhis own head forever, he’dsay “Bye bye, everybody. Ifyou need me, I’ll be insidemybox.WhereIlivewithall

my thoughts. Which, by theway, are the only thoughtsworthhaving.”I’dgladlynailthelidshutforhim.Iglancedaround Christos’ studio forhammer and nails. Drat. Ididn’tseeany.

Christos’ phone rang,distracting everyone. Hepulleditoutofhispocketandexaminedit.“Excuseme,”hesaid to everyone, “I need totakethiscall.”Hewalkedoutofthestudio.

“What could be soimportant he had to answerhis phone while he’sentertaining guests?” Mommuttered sourly, as if wecouldn’t hear what she wassaying.

Because, yeah, this wastotally entertaining.Maybe ifyour idea of fun was aweekend of water-boardingfollowed by hourlywhippings.

Killmenow.Please.

===CHRISTOS

I walked out the Frenchdoors of the studio to theback deck with my ringingphoneinhand.

Russell Merriweather wascalling.

Fantastic. I’d debatedansweringitinthestudioandputting the phone on speakerso Samantha’s parents couldlistenin.Yeah,right.I’msure

they’dwant tohear all aboutthe recent civil chargesHunterFuckingBlakeleyhadslappedonmy ass.After herparents heard all the gorydetails, maybe I could getthem up to speed about myrecent criminal trial.Samantha’s parents wouldtotally love me after hearingaboutthatshit.

When I was half wayaround the swimming pooland out of ear shot from the

house,Ianswered.“Whatup,Russell?”

“Christos! How are youenjoyingfreedom,son?”

“Freedomrocks,”Ijoked.“Yes it does. I’m

somewhat inclined to itmyself.” I could hear thesmileinhisvoice.“Thegoodnews for you is, if you’resmart,youcanenjoyasmuchfreedomasyourheartdesires.Allyouhavetodoisstayoutoftrouble.Youthinkyoucan

dothat?”“I can give it a shot,” I

chuckled.“Don’tshootanything,”he

laughed, “just stay out oftrouble. As in, no fighting.Feelme?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Isighed.

“I’m serious, son. Nofights. As in, none. Zero.Nada.”

I shook my head andchuckled. “Man, you’re as

subtleasbrassknuckles.”His voice turned

humorous again.Russellwasnever long on lecturing. “Idon’twant you crying tomeon the phone at three in themorning, waking my ass upto tell me that you’re in thecan again. I needmy beautyrest,”helaughed.

Russellalwaysputmeinagoodmood.Notonlywasheabadassattorney,hewasthenicest guy. “You know,

you’re pretty cool for an olddude,”Isaidsarcastically.

“Watch your mouth,” hesaidwithgoodhumor,“Icanstill whup your ass, youngman.”

“What, you trying to getmeinmorefights?”

“Iwon’tpresscharges, soit’s okay. And I will kickyour ass into next year if Ifind out you’ve so much asgivensomeoneadirtylook.”

“All right, all right,” I

smiled. “No fighting. Sowhat’ssopressingyouhadtocall me so late in the day?Shouldn’t you be relaxingbehind a bloody steak at theYardHousebynow?”Igazedat ruby clouds glowing infront of the golden sunhovering above the PacificOcean. My grandad’s househadthebestdamnview.

“My dinner has beendelayed because your palHunter Blakeley may have a

valid claim against you, myboy. It turns out, he does infact do a fair amount ofmodeling, and his brokennose has been costing himjobs.”

I shook my head. Ishould’veknownHunterwasatotalpussy.“What,doestheprick want? A bunch ofplasticsurgeryorsomeshit?”

“That’s putting it lightly.Healsowantslostwagesandsubstantialpainandsuffering.

You should see the bills hisattorneyissendingmeforthehigh class shrinks HunterBlakeleyhasbeenvisiting.”

“Shrinks?” I rolled myeyes. “Why, because he hasPTSD after the viciousbeatingIgavehim?”

“Youtookthewordsrightoutofmymouth.”

I sighed, “Do you haveanygoodnews?”

“I’m brimming over withgood news,” Russell joked,

“I’mtheSantaClausofgoodnews.”

“Well?”“I need the contact

information of your friendJake. I need to get hisdepositionandaddit intothemix. Also, I’ve got peopletalking to the Hooters waitstaff, see if they cancorroborate your story thatHunter was in cahoots withthreefriends.”

“Ofcoursehewas.”

“Not according to hisstatement. He’s making itsound like his friendswatched the incident from ablock away while yourougheduppoorHunter.”

“Fuck. His buddies wereready to jump in until I putHunter in his place. The guyisatotalliar.”

“Aliarhemaybe,butifIcan’t prove he’s whistlingDixieonthestand,thejuryisgoing to have a hard time

believingyoursideof things.Remember, this isn’t acriminal trial, where theprosecution has to convincethejurybeyondallreasonabledoubtthatyou’reguilty.Thisis a civil trial. If Hunter’sattorney can convince thejury that it’s 51% likely thatyou’re at fault, instead of anevenfifty-fifty, theywillruleagainstyou.That’snotmuchelbow room forus.Even if Ipresent the greatest defense

of all time, Hunter’s caseneed only be one percentmore convincing than ours,and you’re gonna end uphaving to pay damages. Andright now, Hunter’s attorneyis asking foryour leftnutontopofalltheotherdamages.”

“Maybewe can send himmyleftnutandcalliteven,”Igrinned.

Russell chuckled, “Lasttime I checked, the nutmarket is in a recession, and

you won’t get a quarter ofwhatyou’rehopingfor.”

“Fine. I keep my nut andyouwinmycase.Deal?”

“I’ll do my best. But I’dstart looking into prosthetictesticles. I hear you canhardly tell the difference,”Russelllaughed.

“Thanks, man. You’re allheart.”

“Don’t worry, son. I’lltake care of this. I’ve gotplentyofpeople looking into

things. We’ll track downHunter’sfriendsanddragthetruth out of themwith pliersandtongs.”

“Youdothat.”“I’llhavemoregoodnews

the next time we talk,”Russell said. “Oh, and oneotherthing.”

“Yeah?”“No.More.Fights.”“I hear you loud and

clear.”“Then my job is done.

Now, I have a steak waitingfor me with my name on it.I’vegottorun.Bye.”

“Later, man.” I ended thecall.While I felt fortunate tohave Russell watching myback, as always, his expertservices weren’t going to becheap.Attheratethingsweregoing,Iwasgoingtorunoutofmoneybeforethiscasewasover.

ToobadI’ddestroyedthatpainting of Isabella. I

could’ve gotten at least tengrandforit.

Whatever.Stanford Wentworth had

beenright.Thatpaintingwasapieceofshit.Iwasn’tgoingtolosesleepoverit.

I walked inside to joineveryone.

MaybeSamantha’sparentscouldcheermeup.

Ha.Ha.Ha.===

SAMANTHA

“Does anybody need arefill on their lemonade?”Spiridonasked.

Everyone, includingChristos,was standing in thekitchen.

“I don’t know about therest of you,”my dad said ashe looked at his watch, “butwith the three hour timedifference, I’m starving. Areyou ready to eat, Linda?Remember, we still need to

stop by Motel 6 to get ourluggageatsomepoint.”

My mom sighed heavily.“Sure.”

She sounded so happy tobe here. The feeling wasmutual.

“Is there a CheesecakeFactory around heresomewhere?”mydadasked.

Leave it to my parents toflyacrossthecountryandeatat the same chain restaurantthey always went to back

home. Their sense ofadventure made ChristopherColumbus look like ahomebody.Not.

“Yeah,” Christos said, “Ithink there’s one near HotelCircle.”

“That’s near our motel,”mydadbeamed.“Wecankilltwobirdswithonestoneandgetourluggageafterdinner.”

Dad could kill three birdswithonestone ifhesmashedmeover theheadandputme

outofmymisery.Thenanideahitme.“Why

don’tweinvitemyfriends?”Isuggested. “Then you canmeet all the cool people I’vemetinSanDiego!”

“I was thinking it wouldjustbeyou,yourmother,andI,”Dadsaidsoberly.

“Iagreewithyourfather,”mymomsaid.

I knew what they werethinking. They wanted tocornerme and berateme for

beinganidiotuntilIchangedmy major back toAccounting.

Itwasn’tgoingtohappen.“I’ll text everybody right

now,” I said, undeterred. Iinvited Madison, Jake,Romeo, and Kamiko. I’dgotten Jake’s contact info, aswell as Spiridon’s, afterChristos’ trial. I hated notbeingable to reachpeople inanemergency.

Ibrieflyconsideredasking

Christos to invite TiffanyKingston-Whitehouse. I waspretty sure her andmymomwould bond over theirbitchery.Intheend,Idecidedwe could dowithout her.Nosurprisethere.

Ipressedsendandcrossedmy fingers that everyonewould be able to join us. Ifthey all showed up, I’d belike the quarterback in afootball game with all theoffensive linemen protecting

mefrommyparents.Iwasn’tgoing to let them blindsideme.Noway.

When we walked out tothe driveway, my parentsheaded toward their rentalcar.

“Sam,”mydadasked,“areyoucomingwithyourmotherandI?”

“I think I’ll ride withChristos and Spiridon,” Isaid. Did I sound snarky?Onlyalittle.

“Suityourself,”Momsaidas she climbed into the car,which I noticed was a silverHondasedan. Just likeDad’scar back home. What asurprise. I’d have thoughtsince he was on vacation,he’d go crazy and rent a redHonda.Nope.

“I think I feel likedrivingtheWoodytonight,”Spiridonsaid. The garage door wasalreadyopen.“Doyoumind,Christos?”

“Notatall,”hesaid.The three of us climbed

intotheclassiccar.Yeah,wewere a million times coolerthanmyparents.

The engine of the 1949Plymouth station wagonpurred as it pulledout of thegarage. Spiridon stopped thecar beside my parents’Honda. My dad rolled thewindow down and Spiridonasked, “Do you know wherewe’regoing?”

“I’ll follow you,” Dadanswered.

Didn’t he know how touse the GPS? I’d seen it intheir car earlier.Ohwait,wewere talking about my dad.Ofcoursenot.

“Don’t go too fast,” mydadsaidnervously.“Iadheretothespeedlimit.”

“Don’t worry, Bill,”Spiridon smiled, “I’ll makesureyoudon’tgetlost.”

IthinkSpiridonwasbeing

toooptimistic.When it cameto most things, my parentswerealreadytotallylost.

Chapter15

SAMANTHA

“This sexy beast can onlybeyourmother,”Romeosaidas he shookmymom’s handin the lobby of theCheesecakefactory.

Romeo actually lifted mymom’s hand to his lips and

kissed the back of it. Shetuggedherhandawaywithahintofdisgustbeforehewasfinished,surprisingRomeo.

“I do have that affect ontheladies,”Romeowinkedather.

Mymom scowled at him.I’m sure she was confused.The only romance in her lifecamefrommydad.Hewasasspontaneous with hisromantic gestures as he waswithhischoiceofrentalcars.

Kamiko, Madison andJake were also here. WithSpiridon and Christos at myside, that made it seven ontwoagainstmyparents.

I had high hopes for theevening.

The restaurant waspacked, so we had to waitawhileforourtable.Madisoncornered my parents andasked them a millionquestions about WashingtonD.C.Ithinkshewastryingto

keep them occupied. Sheunderstood.Shewasmyownpersonal emotionalbodyguard.

When we were finallyseatedandthewaitertookourdrink order, I wasn’tsurprised that Christosordered a double bourbon.With my parents in town, Iconsideredjoininghim.ButIdecided I needed to be alert,in case my parents tried tolaunchasneakattack.Forall

I knew they’d blindfold meand throw me in a packingcratethefirstchancetheygotsotheycouldshipmebacktoD.C.

But Icould tell somethingwas bothering Christos morethan usual. The obviousanswerwasmyparents,butIsuspected it was somethingelse. I leaned over andwhispered to Christos, “Whocalledearlier?IsitsomethingIshouldbeworryingabout?”

“No,agápimou.It’sfine,”hesmiled.

“Yousure?”“You let me worry about

it.Enjoyyourself.”“Whateveritis,itcan’tbe

any worse news than myparents arriving out ofnowhere,”Igroaned.

Christos chuckled. “Truethat.” He rested his hand onmy knee under the table andlookedmeintheeyes.

I couldn’t get over how

handsomeChristoswas,evenin themiddle of his bourbonbuzz.Hisfacewassorelaxedanddreamy,Iwantednothingmore than to fall into hisenchanting eyes right at thedinner table. So what if myparents might see? I eyedChristos’ lusciousmouth andnibbledonmy lower lip.Hislips spread in a wide smileover his immaculate whiteteeth. His legendary dimplesappeared. I teased my upper

lip with my tongue andgiggledsoftly.Iwasgoingtolick those dimples of his, nomatter who was watching. Ileanedforward,aboutto—

“Sam?” my mom blurted.“Whatareyougoingtoeat?”

Dimples? I jolted out offantasylandandfrowned.No,I think my mom meant fordinner. Embarrassment andirritation crackled inside mychest.

Mymom’s voice was her

special gift. Childreneverywhere clamored for mymom to read them bedtimestories and soothe theirnighttime fears with thatvoice of hers. No, seriously.My mom was world famousfor her bedside manner. Shetaught sold-out seminars inmothering to giantauditoriums packed full ofpeople.Seriously.

Not.Thewaiterwasstandingat

the table with his notepad inhand, waiting to take myorder.Ihadn’tevenlookedatthemenuyet.IthinkChristoshad hypnotized me with hisbeautifulblues.Timehadslidrightby.ThatwaseasytodowithChristosbymyside.

The waiter arched anexpectanteyebrowatme.

I glanced down at themenu, “Oh,um, I’ll have theAsianChickenSalad?”

“Excellent,” the waiter

said, “and for you sir?” heaskedChristos.

“I’ll have crab cakes foran appetizer and the grilledrib-eyewithmashedpotatoesandgravy.”

How was it that Christoscould eat like a horse andneverhaveanounceofbodyfat? Itwasridiculous.Maybeall the drinking kept himslim?No,probablynot.Ithadtobeall thesexwehad.Butthat was on hold until Mom

andDadweregone.Sigh.Sometime later, after the

waiter had dropped offeveryone’sentreesandpeoplewere eating and chatting,Romeo said toKamiko, loudenoughforthewholetabletohear,“Ourwaitersure ishot.Did you see the bulge in thefrontofhispants?”

Kamiko frowned,“Romeo!Doyoualwayshavedickonthebrain?”

Romeo grinned, “Yes. I

like them on the brain andanyplaceelseIcanfitthem.”

“Them? As in, plural?”Madisonasked.

“As in, a plethora,”Romeo smiled, “Acornucopia.”

Madisongiggled.JakeandSpiridon chuckled. Christossmiledwhilehechewed.

My parents lookedshocked. They weren’t usedto this sortof talk,especiallynotat thedinner table.Ithad

becomenormaltome.Maybemyparentsneededagoodolddose of Samantha’s SanDiego.Iwasn’ttheirlittlegirlanymore.Iwastiredoftryingto be someone I wasn’t, justto suit them. Ineeded to livemy life my own way, nottheirs. If they didn’t likemyfriends,theycouldsuckit.

“I think Romeo needs adick intervention,” Kamikojoked.

“I assure you, Kamiko,”

Romeo said, “I’ll never kickthe dick. I’m a regularDickaholic, darling. You’llnever catch me at anAlcoholdicks Anonymousmeeting. Not that I’msuggesting you frequent suchmeetings. I know howmuchyouhatethefleshpistols.”

Christos raised hiseyebrows,amused.

“Aren’ttheFleshPistolsaband?” Madison asked.“Weren’t they, like, a punk

bandfromtheU.K.?”“That’s The Sex Pistols,

darling,”Romeocorrected.“The Who?” Kamiko

asked.Romeo shook his head.

“No, that’sRogerDaltry andPete Townshend. I’m talkingabout Johnny Rotten? SidVicious? You have heard ofthem, haven’t youKamiko?”He raised his eyebrowsexpectantly.

Kamiko shook her heard

vigorously.“Whatthehellareyou talking about?” She wastotallyfrazzled.

My parents were evenmore lost. They exchanged aperplexed glance like they’dwoken up in an insaneasylum.

“I know, I know,Kamiko,” Romeo sighed. “Ifit’s not onCartoonNetwork,you have no idea what I’mtalking about.How about—”Romeoloweredhisvoicetoa

conspiratorial whisper andleanedover toKamiko’s ear,“Locally grown…ButterLettuce…”

Kamiko’s eyes lit up likefireworks and she beamed asmile. “Butter Lettuceparty!!!”

Romeo sighed and hunghis head. “I swear, Kamiko,you can’t be more than nineyearsold.”

“What the hell are youguys talkingabout,”Spiridon

laughed. Even he was lostnow, but he wasn’t horrifiedlikemyparents.

“It’s a line from BravestWarriors,” Romeo groaned.“A cartoon.” He said theword ‘cartoon’ like it wasoffensive.

Kamikoclappedherhandsmerrily. “I totally forgot!There’s a new episode ofBravestWarriorsgoinguponYouTubetonight!Ican’twaittowatchitwhenIgethome!”

Romeo shook his head,defeated. He leaned towardmy mom and said, “Ishould’ve left Kamiko withthebabysitter.”

My mom leaned awayfrom Romeo like he hadleprosy or carried a highlycontagious strain of flesheatingbacteria.

Kamiko smacked Romeoonthearm.

My mom jumped in herchair and winced as if she’d

beentheoneKamikohadhit.“Ow!” Romeo shouted,

turningtofaceKamiko.“Who’s the baby now,”

Kamikogrinned.“Why do you have to be

soabusive,Kamiko?”Romeorubbed his arm. “I’m not acartoon,youknow.”

“Maybe if you were, youwouldn’t be such a baby!”Kamikosquealed.

I secretly hoped myparents would be the ones

who decided to slip outunnoticed because of howweird everyone was acting.Let them be theuncomfortable ones for achange.

This was my world,bitches!

Christos leaned over andkissed me on the cheek,“Havingfun?”

“Totally,”Ismiledathim.Ihad thebest friends,and

thebestboyfriend,ever!

===Acid spewed from my

mom’smouth as she said, “Iknew that Christos was nogood the first time I methim.”

Istoodbesideherandmydad outside the elaboratechimpanzeeexhibitattheSanDiegoZooseveraldayslater.

She continued, “He actedlikeaBoyScoutwhenhewasstaying at our house inD.C.,but I knew it was only a

matteroftimeuntilaboylikehimshowedhistruecolors.”

Christos andSpiridon hadgone off to find some drinksfor everybody because wewereallthirsty.Mymomhadsuggestedthethreeofusstayand watch the chimps. Ishould’ve known she wasscheming.

I hadmanaged tomake itthrough almost the entireweek of my Spring Breakwithout getting into any

arguments with my parents.They hadn’t made a peepabout me or my livingarrangements or my Artmajorwhilewe’dgonetoSeaWorld, the San Diego WildAnimal Park, Old Town SanDiego, Pacific Beach,downtown to the Gaslamp,andtoCoronadoIsland.

We’deventouredtheUSSMidway aircraft carrier,which had been Dad’s idea.TheMidwayturnedouttobe

amazing because our tourguidehadactuallyworkedontheMidwayinthe1950sandtold us lots of insider storiesabouthistourofduty.

I think my dad andChristosbondedalittlewhilethey looked at all the jetfighters on the deck andtalked about how fast theywentandallthemissilestheycarried.Iwasgladtolistentotheirman talk if itmeantmydadwasn’t givingme a hard

timeaboutmyart.Theonlytimemydadhad

said anything remotelynegativewaswhenwe’dgonetoBalboaparktoseetheSanDiegoMuseumofArt.Whenwe ended up in front of oneof Spiridon’s paintings, mydad had said, “Well, I’ll bedamned,” as he squinted atthe title card next to thepainting,asifmaybeSpiridonhadbeenlyingaboutit.

Throughallthat,therehad

beennoarguments. I think ithadsomethingtodowiththefact that I made sure I wasnever alone in my parents’presence for even a second.Christos or Spiridon werealways by my side. I hadfantasized that maybeeverything between me andmy parents was fine. Ishould’veknownbetter.Theywere ticking time bombs.Theyhadn’tflownallthewayout to San Diego just for a

vacation.Leave it to my mom to

finally go and ruin things.Hertimerhadtickeddowntozero before my dad’s. Itusuallydid.

Thesecondwewerealoneat the Zoo today, Mom hadtaken the opportunity topounce. Had we beenstanding outside the tigerenclosure, I’m sure thehungry tigers would’vecheered her on and licked

theirchops,waiting to takeabite out of my carcass whenmymomwasdonewithme.

“His true colors?” Dadasked.

“Yeah, Mom,” I said,“whattruecolors?”

“Christos’ drinking,” shesaidwith arch superiority. “Iseethewayhedrinksateverymeal.Every.Meal.”

“What do you care?” Isneered. Christos had beendrinking less since they’d

arrived, and it was the lastthingIwasworriedabout.Atthe moment, my parentsscared me ten times morethanChristos’drinking.

“What do I care?” Momfrowned. “I don’t want youshacking up with analcoholic.”

“I don’t see where that’sany of your business,” Igrowled. I glanced aroundand noticed that for themoment, there were no

people hovering around thispart of the chimpanzeeexhibit. The last thing Iwanted was an audiencewhile my parents treated melikeIwasachild.Atleastthechimpanzeesontheothersideof the glass didn’t seeminterested.

My dad said, “Sam, whoyou’relivingwithiscertainlyof concern to your motherandI.”

“Thanks for caring,Dad,”

Iscoffed.“Don’t talk that way to

your father,” my mombarked.

“Why not? It’s not likeyou guys are doing much inthe way of parentinganymore.”

“I beg your pardon?” mymomsaidstridently.

“Iwenttothefinancialaidoffices, you know,” Igrumbled, “and they toldmethat I can’t get more student

loan money as long as I’myour dependent, because ofhow much money you guysmake. The government saysit’syourresponsibilitytohelppaythedifference.LasttimeIchecked,yourefused.”

“Now,Sam,”mydadsaidwith an edge, “we discussedthis at length. If you arewilling tochangeyourmajorbacktoAccounting,likeyourmother and I asked,we’d behappytopaythedifference.”

“But I don’t want tochange my major back,” Isaid. I did my very best tokeepanyhintofwhiningoutofmyvoice.Whywasit thatI seemed to have regressedaround my parents sincethey’d arrived? I didn’t likehow their presencemademefeel and act fourteen again.Like I was a little kid whodidn’tknowanythingandmyparents had all the answers,whichIknewtheydidn’t.

“If you don’t want tochange your major back,”Dad sighed, “then there isvery little yourmother and Icando.”

“Then why don’t youleave me alone?” I whined.“Why don’t you go back toWashingtonD.C.? I’m doingfineherebymyself.”Ifoldedmy arms acrossmy chest. “Idon’tneedyourhelp.”

My mom chuckled, “Idoubtthat.”

“What do you know,” Igrowled at her. “I have aplacetolive,ajob,andIlikestudying art. And I have anawesome boyfriend whocaresaboutme. Ifyou’renotgoingtohelpme,stoptellingmewhattodo.”

“Areyou sure?”mymomscoffed. “With all thosenaked young women aroundhim day in and day out, it’sonly a matter of time beforeChristos’ eyes start to

wander.Thenwherewillyoube? Without a place to livewouldbemyfirstguess.”

And like a bullet throughwindow glass, my remainingconfidence shattered intouseless fragments. How didmy mom manage to do thatsoeasily?Myheartskippedabeat or ten and my throatfilledwithporcupinequillsasItriedtoswallowadrylumpof dread that wouldn’t godown.

If I’d learned one thingaboutChristos sincehis trial,it was that he didn’t tell meeverything that was going inhis head. Was he thinkingaboutthelongtermwithme?Or was I passing fancy?Maybe he was interested inIsabella, or one of the othernaked women he paintedseven days a week. Theywere all gorgeous models. Iwasn’t. I was just a regulargirlfromD.C.tryingtostudy

art. Why would a stud likeChristosbeinterestedinplainold SamSmithwhen hewassurroundedbysupermodels?

No, that couldn’tbe right.Christos had asked me tomove in with him and hadvoluntarily hauled all mystuff into his house. Thatmeant he was serious, right?Hewas in itwithme for thelongterm.Right?

So why were my mom’squestions making me so

nervous?Ifelttearsbegintowell.I

neededtohidethemfrommymom or shewould use themagainstme and go in for thekill.Before shehadachancetoattack,I turnedawayfromher andmydad towatch thechimpanzees to distractmyself.

One of the older femalechimps had walked over atsomepointandsatbesidetheglass only a few feet away

fromme.Shelookedupatmewith the deepest, darkest,most compassionate eyes I’dever seen, like she waslooking into me,communicating on someprimal level and trying tocomfortme.Shepuckeredherlips at me in a strangegesture.Wasshetryingtotellme something? No, that wascrazy.

A young chimp ambledover to her on all fours and

fellintoherlaplikeitwashisfavoriteplacetohangout.Hewrapped his arms around hismother’s neck and shewrappedherarmsaroundhimwhile making kissy faces athim. She began gentlygroominghim.Helookedlikehewasinheaven.

I wish that mother chimpwasmymomtoo.

“Christosisn’tlikethat,”Isaid timidly. I wiped tearsfrommy eyes before turning

tofacemymom.Amaleficent smile curled

her lips. She looked like theEvil Queen from everystorybookeverwritten.

Oh, boy. I needed someicecream.

“All men are like that,”mymomsaidvictoriously.

Quickas ablade, I asked,“IsDadlikethat?”

A flash of anger dancedacrosshereyes,butshedidn’trespond.

Therewasalong,tinglingsilence.

“Yes,Linda,”mydadsaidwith nervous humor, “am Ilikethat?”

My mom’s eyes widenednoticeably in surprise. Sheflicked a quick glance atmydad,thenchuckledanddrilledmewith her stare, “No, yourfatherisnotlikethat.”

Wheels turned in mymind, “Mom, how do youknow so much about men?

This isn’t the first timeyou’ve mentioned mencheating.Itsoundstomelikeyou’ve had some badexperiences?IfnotwithDad,thenwho?”

Mymomwastakenaback.Heck, I was taken aback. Icouldn’tbelieveI’daskedherthat.

Mom chuckled, “That’snoneofyourbusiness,Sam.”

“Is it any ofmybusiness,Linda?” Dad asked

innocently.“There you guys are,”

Spiridon said, walking upwith an armful of waterbottles.

“We got some ice creambars, too,” Christos smiled,“in case anyone wants asnack.”Heheldoneuptome.“Chocolate dipped vanillawith butterscotch filling. Ithoughtyoumightlikeone.”

“Thankyou,agápimou,”Isaidwarmlyas I took the ice

cream bar and peeled backthewrapper. I leaned againstChristos while I ate my icecream.Heputhisarmaroundme as he ate his and wewatched the chimpanzeestogether.Iwasinheaven.

Christos was nothing likemy mom wanted me tobelieve. The ice cream barhe’d brought me was proofbecause it was the yummiesticecreambarinthehistoryoficecreambars.

Mymomwassuchabitch.===

“When are you going torealizethatyou’llnevermakeanymoney as an artist?”mymomaskedasshesippedhertea on the couch in theManos’livingroom.

Christos andSpiridon hadgone out for dinner to givemy parents and me time totalkalone.I’dbeggedthemtostay, but Spiridon hadinsisted.Ithinkheunderstood

myparentswanted to talk tomeinprivate.

“Your mother is right,Sam,”my dad consoled, likehe was being nice andsupportive.“It’sunlikely thatyou’ll evermake anymoneyasanartist. Ifyoueverhopeto have a career, pay amortgage and a car payment,youneedtopursueasensiblecareerpathlikeAccounting.”

I’d heard this argument athousand times from my

parents, and my dad hadalways provided facts andfigurestobackeverythingup.As a teenager, I had alwaysbelieved them. Every timewe’d argued,my resolvehadcrumbled and I’d reluctantlygivenintotheirideas.

Iwasdonewiththat.This was my world, not

theirs.“Lookaroundyou,Dad,”I

motioned at all of Spiridon’spaintings hanging in the

room. “You heard Spiridonyourself. He paid for thishouse with his paintings.WhatmakesyouthinkIcan’tdoittoo?”

Dad said thoughtfully,“Well,foronething,—”

“Ha!” Mom interrupted,“youthinkafewcartoonscancompare to the paintingsSpiridonhasdone?”

“Icanpaint!”Iwhined.“All I’ve seen is your

horrid cartoons of that

degenerate wombat,” Momcackled. “Whatdoyouknowaboutpainting?”

“I took an oil paintingclasslastquarter,andIgotanA.”

“I’m sure you painted abowl of fruit or two,” shechuckled, “but any beginnercandothat.”

“I’mnobeginner.”Istoodup and stormed out of thelivingroom.

“Where are you going?”

Momsnickered.I stopped in my tracks.

Minding my parents likealways.Liketheirslave.

“Itwasalwayslikeyoutogive up easily,” Mom said.“Your father is right. Youdon’thavewhatittakes.”

“I’m not giving up,” Ibarked. I strode into thestudio and picked up two ofmy best oil paintings. Onewas from my class and onewasthecallaliliesI’ddonein

the studio. I thought theywerereallygood,consideringI’d only been painting forthree months. I shoved themintomy parents’ handswhenIreturnedtothelivingroom.“See?”

My dad held the callalilies at arm’s length. “Thisisn’t half bad,” he saidthoughtfully. He hadn’t saidhalf good, but my dad wasneveranoptimist.

Mom sneered at my

painting of sunflowers sheheldinherhands.“So?Whatis this supposed to mean?”she asked. “It looks like anyotherpaintingofsunflowers.”

“Exactly,” I growled. “Itlooks like sunflowers.And itdoesn’t suck, like you seemto thinkeverything Idraworpaintdoes.”

She shook her head andscoffed.“There’sa longroadbetween a painting ofsunflowers and making any

money.”Dad set the calla lilies

painting on the coffee tablegently.Atleasthedidn’tdropit in the trash. “Yourmotheris right, Sam. While thesepaintings of yours showpromise, I don’t know thatpainting will lead anywhereforyou.”

“Are you kidding?” Iasked,my hands onmy hipsas I stood in front of them.“Look around this room!

Spiridon has paintedthousands of paintings andmademillionsofdollars.Thatsounds like a great careerpathtome.”

My mom smiled smuglyand raised her eyebrows likeshe was the Queen. TheQueen of Evil Bitchery,maybe.Shesaid,“Bill,wouldyoucare toexplainit toyourdaughter in logical terms shecanunderstand?”

What, did she think Iwas

stupid? I huffed and rolledmyeyes.

My dad nodded. “Sam,whatyourmotheristryingtosay, I think, is that Spiridonis,well,howcan Iput this?”Dad spread his hands apartand a pained look tightenedhis features. “Uh, Sam,well,Spiridon is amazinglytalented, and I think, if Ihadto characterize your skill,well I guess, you see, thethingis…”

Momplacedastillinghadon Dad’s knee. “Your fatheris trying to tell you thatyou’re not talented enough.You’re not a Spiridon, orevenaChristos.”

CRACK!Thatwasthesoundofmy

heart breaking in half. I wasfrozeninplacewhereIstood.I couldn’t speak, or evenbreathe, like all of myinternal organs had suddenlyexploded into fragments

alongwithmyheart.Ihadthedistinct impression that ifsomeoneweretocutmeopenright at that moment, they’dfind a hollow person withsmallpilesofredglassshardspooled in the empty feet.Those red shards would bethe broken remnants of mybrokenheart.

Momcontinued,“Not thatI’d want any daughter ofmine painting pornographyfora living likeChristos,but

I have to admit, Spiridon’slandscapesareverygood.”

Iwas sohurtbywhatmymomhadjustsaid,Icouldn’trespond. I stood silently andgaped at the two monsterimpostors pretending to bemylovingparents.Theywereevil. I wanted to run out oftheroom,butIcouldn’tmovewhen my heart was brokenand my insides werehollowedout.

“Idon’tknowthatIwould

say ‘not talented enough’,Sam,”Dad said quietly, “butit’s clear tome that Spiridonand Christos have both beenpaintingforalong,longtime.And I suspect that SpiridonhadalargehandineducatingChristos in art from birth.Sam, you’re starting late inlife. You’re nineteen yearsbehindChristos.More if youfactor in Spiridon’sinstruction. Inmyestimation,for you to pursue art would

be an unsound businessdecision. Conversely, you’vebeen surrounded by numbersand accounting principlessincebirth,”mydadsmiled.

He was so fucking proudofhisaccounting.

He continued, “In thesame way that Spiridon hasgiven Christos a head start,I’d like to think that yourmother and Ihavegivenyoua head start in business.Youarewellsuitedforacareerin

Accounting. You will excelandmake goodmoneywhileyou’reatit.”

Somethingaboutmydad’slogic infuriated me beyondbelief. I’d been hearing it allmy life. He was alwaysmissing the point. I was soangry, I think theheatofmyirritation melted those redglass shards in my feet andthey melded back together.Now my heart was pumpingred hot resolve through my

entirebody.“Youdon’t get it,Dad,” I

said.“Ineverwantedtobeanaccountant. Don’t you seethat?Youdon’t,doyou?Youand Mom have never beenabletoseewhatIwantedoutof life. You just dumped allyour ideas on me like I’dautomaticallylovethem.LikeIwasa juniorversionofyoutwo. But I’m not. I’m adifferentperson.Idon’twantwhat you want out of life. I

have my own dreams, myown ideas. I’m going to livelifemyway.Notyours.”

“Then don’t expect anymore money from us,” mymomlaughed.

“I toldyoubefore,” I saidstridently,“Idon’twantyourmoney. I don’t need yourmoney.I’mdoingfineonmyown.”

“Even if you manage tosell somepaintings,”mydadsaid, “how much do you

reallythinkyou’llearnoveralifetime? You told meyourself that Christos hasmadeoversixfiguresalready.How much have you madesellingyourart,Sam?”

“I DON’T CARE!” Ishouted. “I don’t care if InevermakeANYmoney!It’snotaboutthemoney!IHATEaccounting! I want to dosomething I enjoy. Maybeyou guys like what you do,but the idea of going to the

office every day makes mesick.Ican’tlivelikeyou,andIdon’tcarehowmuchmoneyIdoordon’tmake!”

My mom chuckledsarcastically, “I’m sorry youfeelthatway,Sam.”

“Sam,” my dad pleaded,“Art isn’t awise careerpath.I’m doing my very best asyour father to showyou that.Can’t you see where I’mcomingfrom?”

“Shut up, Bill,” Mom

snapped at him. “You’regiving into her and I won’thave it.” She stood up andglared at me. “I don’t carewhat you think. We shouldnever have let you chooseSan Diego in the first place.But I let your father talkmeout of making you go toAmerican University. Ifyou’d gone there, youcould’ve lived at home andwewouldn’t be in thismess.Youwouldn’tbeshackingup

with some two-bit tough likethis Christos Manos and hishippiegrandfather.”

“They’re not hippies,” Iinsisted.

She took amenacing steptoward me. Her eyesnarrowed viciously. “I don’tcarewhattheyare.They’reabadinfluenceonyou.They’returning you into a rebelliouslittlebitch,andI’mtiredofit.Iwon’t haveyou throwyourlife away because Christos

and his muscles get yourpantieshot.”

I felt hate pouring off ofherinwaves.

I almost crumbled at thatmoment. I almost made acommentabouthowmymomwastryingtodebasemylovefor Christos, like that was abad thing. But thatwould’vebeengoingonthedefensive.

I was tired of my mom’srants. I was going on theoffensive.

Iwasgoingtoattack.Foronceinmylife,Iwas

going to show my parentshowmuchfightIhadinme.

===“You’re just jealous,

Mom!” I growled. “You seethatI’mlivingalifethatisn’tboring and bland! You seethat I have a romanticboyfriendwholovesmewithallhisheart.Andforthefirsttimeinmylife,I’mhappy.”Inarrowed my eyes

accusatorially, “And youcan’t stand it,” I hissedknowingly. “Youwantme tobeasmiserableasyouare.”Isuddenly realized theimplications of what I wassaying, that Iwas comparingmydadwithChristos.Anditwas pretty obviouswhowonthatcontest.

My dad, who wasn’t acomplete idiot, frownedthoughtfully. He opened hismouthtospeak,thenclosedit

withalongsigh.“Don’t start pointing

fingers,Sam,”Momgrowled.“This isn’t about your fatherandI.It’saboutyouandhowyou’vebecomeanungrateful,spoiledlittlechild.”

I laughed in her face.“Don’t you get it? I’m not achild!AndI’mnotspoiled! Ihave a job! I’m paying myown way! You! Aren’t!Paying! For! ANYTHING!!!Whyareyouevenhere?Why

didyouhave to come toSanDiegointhefirstplace?”

My mom’s brows knittogether and her lips pulledbackinaterriblesmile.

Dad’s head hung betweenhisshoulderswherehesatonthe couch. He looked up atme, his face weighed down.“Sam, your mother and Ithink it’s time for you tocomehome.”

I was stunned andconfused.“What?”

“You’vemadeitclearthatthis entire San DiegoUniversityoutingwasagravemistake,” Mom saidconfidently. “You’ve hadyourfunwithyourboyfriend.Ihavenodoubthe’sscrewedyour brains right out of yourears. It’s the only possibleexplanation for your terribledecisionmakingoverthelastseveralmonths.”

Wow, my mom wasoffensive beyond belief

today.The thing thatmade itworsewasthatsheactedlikeitwas no big deal for her totalk to me this way, likeChristos was a worthlessnobody who didn’t matter.She had no idea howimportanthewastome.Howhe had changed my life forthe better. Shewas so out oftouch.

She continued, “Now it’stimeforyoutoleavethatboybehind and get serious about

college.”“I’mnot leavingChristos!

You’recrazy!”“Iamnotcrazy,”shesaid.

“Christos is a distraction.You’ll be better off withouthim.”

My heart ping-ponged inmychestforthefortiethtimein the last ten minutes. Iwasn’t surprised that myparents were trying to ruinmy life. Itwas how they didthings.

“Your father and I havealready looked into it,” shecontinued, “you can transferyour credits from SDU toAmericanUniversityandstartthereinthefall.”

I wanted to launch into atiradeand tellherhowawfulher idea was. But if I did, IknewI’dlosethisargument.Ihad to stay strong. I took along, deep breath. Theneverything fell into place. Iwasn’t a child anymore. I

didn’t need to letmyparentscontrol me. I had a choice.And I was going tomake it.Smirking, I said, “I’m notgoingtoAmerican.”

“Youare,”Momsaidwithcertainty,“andthat’sfinal.”

I think she’d missed thecalm resolve in my voice.“You can’t tell me what todo,” I said firmly. “I’mnineteen.”

“Oh, we can’t, can we?”Mom said archly. “And how

do you plan on paying yourtuitioninthefuture?”

“WiththeloanmoneyI’malready getting and the job Ihave,”Isaiddefiantly.

“Oh, is that so? Are youforgettingthatyourfatherandI have to sign your loanapplication each academicyear for you to renew theloan?”

Oh, shit. My mom hadheadedmeoffatthepass.

Iwasscrewed.

===CHRISTOS

Bloodredsalsablurtedoutof the squeezable red plasticcontainer and drenched mycarneasadaburrito.

“Yousureyougotenoughhot sauce?” my grandadaskedsarcastically.

I chuckled. “You know Ilikeithot.Thisisjustforthefirstbite.”

He smiled and tookabite

of one of his chicken tacos,which had only a lightdrizzlingofhotsauce.

We sat at a table outsidethe Roberto’s on the PacificCoast Highway overlookingthe San Elijo lagoon, havingdinner. It had been mysuggestion we go out andgive Samantha and herparents some space to talk. Ithink Samantha had madesureshewasneveralonewiththem the whole week on

purpose.“Are you worried about

Samoula?” my grandadasked.

“Yeah,”Imuttered.“It’s good we left them

alone. Her parents probablywant to talk to her. I can’tblame them. She is theirdaughter,afterall.”

I sipped on my Jamaicatea. “Do you think they’rearguingrightnow?”Iasked.

My grandad chewed then

swallowed.Hechaseditwitha gulp from his big cup ofhorchata.“Probably.”

Man, Iwish I’dbroughtaflask so I could spike myJamaica with some vodka orwhatever went with hibiscustea. The odd thing was, I’dcutbackonmydrinkingmoreand more since Samantha’sparents had arrived. I’dwantedtospendSpringBreakwith Samantha so she didn’thavetoendureanentireweek

alonewith them. It had beenso easy to forget aboutBrandon and my galleryshow.Asthosepressureshadfadedfrommyawareness,theurge to drink had fadedwiththem.

ButnowthatSpringBreakwas coming to a close, Icould feel all those oldobligationsreadytonipatmyheels. I was itching for adrink. But the real reason Iwanted to get bombed was

because Iwas scared shitlessabout what I’d find when Igotbacktothehousetonight.

Itookabiteofmyburritoand chewed thoughtfully.When I was finished, I said,“I’ve been waiting for herparents to go off on her allweek.Ifyou’dheardthemonthe phone when Samanthatoldthemshewantedtomoveinwithme, you’d be pissingyour pants right now like Iam. They were totally irate

andmadeallkindsof threatsabout what they would do ifshe moved in with us. Iwouldn’t be surprised if weget back to the house andshe’s gone. Probably cuffedandgaggedandthrownintoabig duffel bag so her parentscan haul her ass back to theeastcoast.”

“Relax, paidí mou,” mygrandad smiled. “Samoula isastronggirl. Ihaveafeelingshe’s standing up to her

parents right now. If theythinktheycancornerherandbully her into giving up andgoing home, they’ve bittenoff more than they canchew.”

He took a big bite of histacoandchompedonit.

“I hope you’re right,” Isaidbeforetakingahugebiteofmyburrito.

Icouldn’tbearthethoughtoflosingher.

===

SAMANTHA

A big boulder droppeddown into my stomach,remindingmethatmyinsideswere more intact than I’drealized. Iwasn’t a hollowedouthusk.

Yet.Butmymomwasworking

onit.Shewasright.Withoutmy

parents’signature,Iwouldn’tgetanyloanmoneyatall.I’d

havetoearneverycentofmytuition and books. I’d neverbeable to find jobs thatpaidforeverything.But therewasno way I was going back toD.C. As far as I wasconcerned, San Diego wasnowmyhome.

Maybe I could plug myparents’PINnumber into theform online and sign itmyself? I knew what theirnumberwas.

“And don’t think about

using our PIN to forge theelectronic signature,” Momchuckled. “We’ve alreadychangedit.”

Wow, Mom had read mymind. I wasn’t surprised. I’dlearned most of my dirtytricksfromher.

My dad was leaning hiselbows on his knees. Helooked very tired. “Sam, thiswas our last resort. We’vetried reasoningwith you, butnothinghasworked.Wecan’t

in good conscience let youcontinue as an Art major.Come back home toAmerican University and getyour degree in Accounting.YourmotherandIwillmakesure you don’t have to workandyoucanfocusentirelyonyour studies. Maybe you’lleven find aboyfriendwho isa business major like you.After you graduate, perhapsyou can pursue art in yourspare time.Everyoneneedsa

hobby.”A hobby? He was

completely insane and itwasmakingme insane.Mymomwas crazy too. I don’t thinkthey’d listened to aword I’dsaid all evening. They wereignoring me and trying togrindmedownuntilIagreedtogohome.

My head was spinningfrom all their arguments. Icouldn’t deal with either ofthem. I felt totally betrayed.

My parentswere treatingmelike an infant, like I washoldingmy fingers too closeto the flamebecause I didn’tknow any better. They werewrong.

I’dhadenough.“No!” I shouted and

literally stomped my foot.“I’m not doing it! I’m notmoving back home and I’mnot changing my major! Ifyou don’t like it, tough shit!Getoutofhere!Gohome!”I

pointed to the front doors.“I’m sure the Motel 6 has aroomwaitingforyou.Infact,letmegopackyourbagsandI’lldriveyoutheremyself.”Iturned and marched towardthestairs,headingtowardtheguestrooms.

“YOU COME BACKHERE, YOUNG LADY!”Momroared.

Iignoredher.Untilherhandbitintomy

arm and she whipped me

around.Her other hand clamped

on my other arm and sheshookmeviolentlywithbothhandsasshescreamed inmyface, “YOU’RE MOVINGBACK TO WASHINGTOND.C. WHETHER YOUWANTTOORNOT!!”

After she stoppedthrottlingme,Isneeredather.“Areyouthrough?”

Her eyes burned hot withfiery insanity and her brows

twistedintoarottenknot.Sheshouted, “I’VE HADENOUGHOFYOURBACKTALKING!!”

I glared at her, my lipscompressed into a thin line.“No,Mom,”Isaidcalmly.

WHACK!!Shehadslappedmeacross

themouth.Mycheekstung.“YOUWILL DOWHAT

YOUR FATHER AND ITELL YOU, AND THAT’SFINAL!!”

Iplantedmypalmsagainstmymom’s chest and shovedher as hard as I could. Shereeled backward, her armspinwheeling, and stumbledintomydad.Thetwoofthemfell down on the couch in atumbledheap.

My hands fisted at mysides. I was ready forwhatever she did next. Iwasgoing to punch my mom inthefaceifIhadto.

Hereyelidspeeledbackin

stark horror. Her mouth wasagape like I was the devilhimself. Unfortunately, Iwasn’tthedevilinthisroom.Shewas.

I felt confidence andresolve fill me from head totoe. My heart beat strong inmy chest. I was a rock, andneither of my parents weregoing to budgeme. “I’m notdoinganythingyousay.Mom—”IsneeredwhenIsaidtheword ‘Mom’ “—Linda.

Whoeveryouare.You’re theworst parent ever. You’re abully and you’re a jerk. Goback to D.C. where youbelong. And take your loanmoneywithyou.”

I turned and calmlywalked out of the livingroom.

Chapter16

SAMANTHA

Luggage banged aroundinside the guest room whilemyparentspacked.Afterourargument, I think they’ddecidedtostayattheMotel6.I imagined my momwould’ve been throwing

dishes against thewall, or atme, if it had been her houseand her dishes. Since shecouldn’t, the only thing shecould do was assault hershoes, her clothes, and hertravel kit as she shovedeverythingintohersuitcase.

I stayed inmy roomwithmydoorclosedbecauseIwasconvinced that if I looked atmy mom one more time, Iwasgoing tovomit.My facestill stung and throbbed

where she’d slapped me.Every thump I felt in mycheek steeled my resolve tostay in San Diego and staywithChristos.

Eventually, I heard Momstomping down the hallwaytoward the stairs. She wasleavinginahuff.

Finebyme.A few seconds later, I

heardmydadmumblingashetrudged down the hallwayafter her. My parents were

flying out the next dayanyway, so it really didn’tmatter if theyspent thenighthereornot.Theycouldspendit in a gutter somewhere, forallIcared.

The front door slammedshut. Their rental Hondarevvedanddroveoff.

Goodriddance.I was just glad Christos

and Spiridon hadn’t beenaround to watchmy parents’badbehavior.

Ilaiddownonthebedandcovered my eyes with myarm. I must’ve dozed offbecause the next thing Iknew, Christos was wakingme.

“Agápi mou?” he saidsoftly. “What happened toyour parents? Their car isgone and their room isempty.”

Islidmyarmdowntomychest. It weighed about athousandpounds.Iwasgoing

toneedacrane to liftmeoffthis bed, Iwas so depressed.Not even ten gallons of icecreamcouldmovemenow.

Christos sat down next tome gently. “Do you want totalkaboutit?”

“No,”Isaidflatly.He smiled and nodded.

MyheartacceleratedasItookinthatbeautifulgrinofhis.Itmeltedmyworld every time.All the pain my parents hadstabbed into me faded to a

fuzzy pressure that wassomeone else’s problem. Atleastfornow.Fornow,Iwasgoing to bask in the blueglow of Christos’ lovinggaze.

He smiled more widely.“Yousure?Talkingitoutwillmakeitbetter.”

Ihadresolvedtokeepmyemotions in check, but withall the love pouring off ofChristos, I didn’t see thereason to hold them in. I sat

up and wrapped my armsaround him and cried softly.“Christos, agápi mou, myparents are evil. They wantme to quit SDU and movebacktoD.C.”

I felt Christos suddenlytighten.

“Whatdidyoutellthem?”heaskedcautiously.

“I told them they’recrazy.” I felt him relax andmeltagainstme.

“Thank goodness. I don’t

thinkIcoulddealwithlosingyou.”Therewasatendernessin his voice that piercedstraight to the center of mybeing. “I love you, agápimou,” he said, “I don’t wanttolivewithoutyouinmylife.Ican’t imaginewakingup toan empty bed because, onceyou leave it, my bed willremain as empty asmyheartuntil the day I die. Lifewithoutyouwouldbe adull,gray, tasteless thing without

meaning.Iwouldratherdieaquickdeaththanliveavacantlifewithoutyoubymyside.”

Whoa.Swoon.Yeah,mymomwastotally

outtolunchaboutChristos.“Oh, agápi mou,” I

murmured, “I’m not goinganywhere.”

===Twodayslater,Iwasback

at work at the Eleanor M.Westbrookartmuseum.

“Samantha,”Mr.Selfridge

said, “I need to go out for alittlewhile. I have ameetingwith the Provost of AdamsCollege. I’ll be gone forabout an hour. Can youhandle things while I’mgone?”

“Sure,” I smiled at himfrom where I sat behind thecounterinthelobby.

“See you shortly,” hewaved as he walked out thefrontdoors.

Ireallylovedmyjobatthe

museum and really likedhaving Mr. Selfridge for aboss. I only wished themuseumcouldgivememorehours.I’daskedMr.Selfridgeabout it at the beginning ofmy shift today, but he hadapologized that the museumhadnomorehourstogive.

Now that Spring Quarterclasses had started, and myremaining loan money hadbeeneatenuppayingthefirstof my monthly installment

payments,Ineededmorecashinahurry. I’dhave to findasecond job once again.Withany luck my job huntwouldn’t eat up allmy studytime.The last thing I neededwasformyGPAtodroplowenough that my loans gotsuspended.

With my parents back inD.C.,Iactuallyfeltasenseofrelief, despite my heinousfinancial predicament. Myparents were just one more

hasslethatIwouldn’thavetodeal with. I was going tofigurethingsoutwithouttheirhelp.

Somehow.No customers had come

into the museum today, so Ihadsomedowntime.Ipulledout my laptop and startedsearching for jobs online.Asmuch as I hated the idea, itwas time to suck it up andlook for amath tutoring job.There had been tons the last

timeI’dlookedforajob.Unfortunately, it didn’t

takelongtorealizethatSheriat the Financial Aid officeshad been right. Jobs ingeneral were scarce thesedays. The numerous mathtutoring listings I’d seen afew months ago were allgone.

Great.I sighed and closed my

laptop. I’d do more jobsearchinglater.AtleastIhad

mymuseumjob,whichmeanta little money coming in tooffset my hemorrhagingbudgetcrisis.

One of the glass frontdoors of themuseumopenedand Tiffany Nofun-Poophouse walked insidewearing a tight dress andplatform heels. There wentmygoodmood.NotthatIhadmuch of one to begin with,but she definitely knocked itto the bottom of a deep and

drearywell, the kind ofwellwith slippery slime on thesidesyoucouldn’tclimbbackout of, the kind where theyhadtocalltherescuecrewstopullyourmuddiedmoodout.

“Hey, Tiffany,” I groanedas she clacked toward thecounterinherhookerheels.

She smirked but saidnothing.

“What brings you to themuseum?” I asked blandly.At least I didn’t have to say

“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash.How can I brighten yourday?”And she didn’t have abigdrinkinherhandtothrowin my face. I smiled as Irealized there was littleTiffany could do to me hereat the museum to actuallyruinmyday.

“Ineeda ticket,” she saidbrusquely.

“Are you an art major?Becauseifyouare,youdon’thavetopay.”

She slammed her hugepurse on the counter andyanked herwallet out. Theremust have been more than adozencreditcardsinside.Shepeeled one out of the walletandpuncheditatme.

“I didn’t know you likedcomingtotheartmuseum,”Isaid meekly, trying to makeconversation.“It’sreallynice.I find it very relaxing here,especiallyifyou’vehadabadday.”

Sheglaredatme.“Okay…” I muttered and

rangherup.Whenshesignedher receipt, I handed her aticket.

She ripped it from myhand and walked toward themaingallery.

“Oh, um, Tiffany?” Icalledafterher.“Youneedtoleave your bag behind thecounter.”

Tiffany stopped in hertracks and slowly pivoted to

faceme.Iwasexpectingoneofthosehorrormovierevealswhere her face suddenlylooked monstrous, withdramatic up-lighting anddrippingfangs,butitwasjustregular old Tiffany, not thattherewasahugedifference.

After sneering at me foraboutanhour,Tiffanystalkedtoward me and jammed herpurseinmyhands.

I squeezed it into one ofthe cubbies behind the

counter.About twenty minutes

later,IrealizedIneededtogotothebathroomtochangemytampon. Normally, Mr.Selfridge was always aroundand I could get him to coverthe front desk. But he wasstilloutonhiserrand.

How long was hesupposedtobegoneagain?

ItookastepandcouldtellI was on the verge ofdripping. I hated how a

tamponcouldupandquit onyouwithoutanywarninglikethat.

WherewasMr.Selfridge?Ireallyneededtogotothe

restroom.Itwasn’t like Iwas going

tochangemy tamponbehindthecounter.Whatifsomeonewalkedintothemuseum?IfIhad been wearing a skirt, Imight have considered it.Might. But in jeans? Notbloody likely! I imagined

howitwouldplayout.I’dbesquatting behind the counter,mypantsaroundmyanklesasItriedtoplugafreshtamponinside the hole in the dam,and BOOM! someone wouldwalkinsideandaccusemeofpublicindecency.

No,thankyou.Ibitmylowerlipandused

myESPtowillMr.Selfridgeto walk through the frontdoors.Wherewas he? I tooka tentative step toward the

waist high swinging door atthe end of the counter, readyto make a run for therestrooms the second hewalkedin.

Squish.Any second now, Mr.

Selfridge was going to walkthroughthosefrontdoors…

I really couldn’t wait anylonger.

I tookanothersteptowardthe swinging door at the endofthecounter.

Iglancedbackatthefrontdoors, and switched over tomytelekineticpowers.Iusedthem to draw Mr. Selfridge,wherever hewas, toward themuseum.

Crap. It wasn’t working.My telekinesiswasasbadasmyESP.

Anotherstep.Squish.Thiswasnotgood.Where the fuck was Mr.

Selfridge?

I looked at the clock. Hewouldn’t be here for at leasttenminutes.Intenminutes,Iwould need to throw mypanties and jeans in thelaundry. But there was nowashing machine at themuseum and I didn’t haveany sweats to wear while Iwaited anyway. I’d have togo home, but I had classeslater today. I wouldn’t havetime tomake it to home andback before they started. So

much for my day runningsmoothly.

I picked up a pen off thecounter top and waved it inthe air like a magic wand. Ipretended I was HermionefromaHarryPottermovie.Itwas the intention that madeall the difference. “Mr.Selfridge, please appear, somy panties remain clear.” ItwasthebestIcouldcomeupwithonshortnotice.

Sadly, Mr. Selfridge did

notmagicallyappearinapuffofsmoke.

Screw it. I couldn’t waitanylonger.

The only person in themuseum was Tiffany. Whatdamagecould shedowhile Iwas in the ladies room? Shewasn’t one of those lunaticswho would slash a paintingwith a knife, was she? Ihopednot.Besides,Ihadherbagbehindthecounter,andIdon’tthinkshehadanyroom

inher tightdress for aknife.And I didn’t think she waslikely to pull a painting offthewallandcarryitout.Shehired workmen to do thingslike that, and I hadn’t seenher come in with a workcrew.

Okay. Iwas going to riskit.Iwalkedcarefullyoutfrombehind the counter and beelined for the restroom. Iswear I onlymovedmy legsfromthekneesdownsoasto

minimize possible leakage.Therewasalotofheel-toeinginvolved, but I was amazedby how fast I could movewithouttheuseofmyknees.

Imadeitintoastallintherestroomandheavedasighofrelief when I saw that mypanties had but a single redblotch.Apparently,mymagicwand waving spell a minuteago hadn’t kept my pantiesclean. I would’ve made aterriblewizard.

At least the leakage hadbeenminimal.And I’dmadeit just in time. My tamponwas ready to burst when Idropped it into the bowl. Iblotted the red dot on myunderwear with toilet paperuntil there was no moisture.Wow, I’d been close tobleeding out, no punintended.

When I finished mybusiness, Iwashedmyhandsand jogged back behind the

counter.The museum wasn’t on

fire, the ceiling hadn’t fallenin, and therewasn’t a riot ofpeople throwing molotovcocktails, so I figuredeverythingwasokay.Nobodycould have gotten into thecash register, because I hadthekeyforitaroundmywristonaspringyelasticband.

Iwasgood.Iheavedasighofrelief.Mr. Selfridge walked in

ten seconds later. Goodtiming, Mr. Selfridge. Notthatitmattered.

“Howwasyourmeeting?”Iaskedhim.

“Excellent,” he smiled.“Thanksforasking.”

Tiffanywalked out of themuseumgalleryanduptothecounter.“Ineedmybag,”shegrumbled.

“Oh,letmegetitforyou,”Isaidenthusiastically.Idugitout of the cubby and handed

itover.Tiffany snatched it from

me and walked out the frontdoors without saying thankyou.Suchabitch.

Mr. Selfridge frowned. “Iguess that young womandidn’tlikethemuseum?”

“I don’t think she likesanything,”Isaid.

Mr.Selfridgefurrowedhisbrows, confused. “It wasn’tanythingyousaidtoher,wasit?”

“No, she just has a badattitude.”

Mr. Selfridge noddeduncertainly. “Okay, then.Well, I’m going back to myoffice.Ringmyphoneifyouneedme.”Hestartedwalkingacrossthelargelobbytowardthe side hallway that led totheofficesinback.

Oneof themuseumdoorsburstopen.

“You!” Tiffany blurted asshe stalked across the lobby

tothecounterwhereIstood.I wasn’t surprised she’d

come back. She hadn’tmanaged to ruin my day, soshe was going to call menames or demand a refundbecause she hated the art inthemuseum.

Mr. Selfridge had stoppedat theother sideof the lobbyto see what was going on.Tiffanynoticedhim.

“Hey,you!”sheshouted.Mr.Selfridgewasstartled.

“May I help you, younglady?”

She cocked her hips andjammed her fists against hersides, “Your employee stolemycreditcard!”

I’d spoken too soon.Never put it past Tiffany todo her very best to ruin mylife.

Mr.Selfridgewalkedovertothecounter.“I’msorry,”hesaidtoTiffany,“whatdidyoujustsay?”

“I said,” Tiffany huffed,“your employee stole mycreditcard.”

Mr. Selfridge leveled alookatmeoverhisglasses.

I sighed. At least Tiffanywas crazy, and itwouldonlytakeasecondtoprovetoMr.SelfridgethatIwasinnocent.I mean, why would I takeTiffany’s credit card? Thiswas proof she had finallycracked.

“Shemust’vetakenitfrom

my bag when she made meput it behind the counter,”Tiffanygrowled.

Mr. Selfridge raised hiseyebrowsatme.

“She’s crazy,” I laugheddefensively.“Ididn’ttakehercreditcard.”

Tiffany slammed her bagonthecounter,openedit,andwrestled with the contentsinsidelikeherbagwasfullofrabid chipmunks. Eventually,shepulledherwalletout.She

opened it and presented themissingspace.“See?Ikeepitrighthere.It’sgone.”

Tiffanyhadsomanyothercards of every sort in herwallet, it was like she waspointing at a lawn andaccusing me of stealing abladeofgrass.

More importantly, Ididn’tstealit.

“How do you know youdidn’t lose it someplaceelse?” I scoffed. “Maybe it

fell out of your wallet. It’sprobably in the bottom ofyourpurse.”

Tiffanynarrowedhereyes.“Ilooked,”shehissed.

“Lookagain,”Isneered.Mr. Selfridge watched all

ofthiswithneutralinterest.“I didn’t take her credit

card,Mr.Selfridge.”“You’re such a liar,”

Tiffanysneered.Mr. Selfridge cleared his

throat and said to Tiffany,

“Perhaps you’d bewilling toplace the contents of yourhand bag on the counter top,younglady?”

Tiffany glared rustydaggersatme.“Fine.”Sheupendedherbagandeverythingspilled out like a garbagetruckemptyingitsloadatthedump.Iwassurprisedacloudofdustdidn’tbillowup.Howdid she find anything inthere?Ithoughtmypursewasbad.

Tiffany spread thecontents out on the counteruntil it looked like landfill.“It’snothere,”shegrunted.

“You’re sure you didn’tlose it someplace else?” Mr.Selfridgeasked.

“Yes. I used it to pay formymuseumticket.Ihavethereceipt right here.” Tiffanyheld the slip of paper up toshowMr.Selfridge.“See?”

Mr. Selfridge nodded.“And the card is not in your

wallet?”“No! Do you want me to

pull out every credit card toproveit?”

“Yes,asImatteroffact,Ido,” Mr. Selfridge saidcalmly.Atleasthewasonmyside in all this. “May I seeyour receipt from purchasingyourmuseumticket?”

Tiffany jammed it in hishand.

He examined it. “We’llcheck the number on the

receipt against the cards inyourwallet.”

This was such a waste oftime. Tiffany had run out ofgoodideasabouthowtoruinmy day so she was graspingdesperately at anything shecouldthinkoftopissmeoff.Whatever. I was over it andoverher.Shewasanuisanceatbest.

Mr.Selfridgemeticulouslymatchedthenumbersoneachcard with the number on the

receipt. When he wasfinished, he sighed andlookedatmegravely.“Idon’tsee the card here anywhere.Coulditbeinyourpockets?”

Tiffany laughed in hisface. “Do I look like I haveany pockets?” She motionedtowardher tightdress.Whileit was true she had nopockets, I wouldn’t besurprised if she’d shoved hercreditcardupherbutt just togetmeintrouble.

“Maybe you dropped itoutside,” I suggested. Orthrew it in the bushes or agarbagecanonpurpose.

Tiffany snarled, “I toldyou,shetookitfrommybagwhen I left it behind thecounter while I toured themuseum.”

Mr. Selfridge raised aneyebrow and folded his armsacross his chest. He strokedhis chin with one hand.“Samantha?” he asked

expectantly.“Ipromise,Mr.Selfridge,”

Isighed,“Ididn’ttakeit.”“Checkherbags,”Tiffany

insisted. “She must havestolen it.Where else could itbe?”

“This is crazy,” I saidabsently. “I didn’t take hercreditcard,Mr.Selfridge.”

“DoIhavetocallcampussecurity?”Tiffanydemanded.

Mr. Selfridge lookedbetweenme and Tiffany. He

said, “The simplest thing todo, Samantha, is for you toturnoutyourownbag.Ifyoudidn’t take this youngwoman’s credit card, wewon’t find anything,correct?”

“Yeah,” I said. I justhopedTiffanydidn’tdemanda strip search after goingthrough my book bag failedtoturnanythingup.“I’vegotnothing to hide.” I reachedunder the counter for my

book bag and set it on theothersideofthecounterfromTiffany’spileofcrap.Ididn’twant her claiming that herstuff had been in my bag. Ipulledoutmy laptopandmybooks.

“What about the sidepockets?”Tiffanydemanded.

“I don’t have your creditcard, Tiffany,” I said as Igrabbedeverythingoutoftheside pockets and added it tothe pile of my stuff on the

glass counter.Amongstpens,my keys, a tube of lipstick,crumpledreceipts,anail file,an eyeliner pencil, twotampons, and twenty otherthings, was only my wallet.“See?Nocreditcard.”

“Check her wallet,”Tiffany insisted to Mr.Selfridge, like I wasn’t eventhere.

“Do you mind,Samantha?” Mr. Selfridgeasked.

“It’s not in my wallet.” Iopened my wallet andshowed it to both of them.“Do I have to go througheverypocket?”

Tiffany gave me a dirtyauthoritarian look. “Yes, youdo.”

“Fine.” I began peelingcards out of my wallet andslappingthemdowninarowonthecounter.“MYDriver’sLicense,” SLAP! “MY SDUStudent ID,” SLAP! “MY

MasterCard,” SLAP! “MYFrequent Buyer’s Card forBath&BodyWorks,”SLAP!“MY Debit Card,” SLAP,“and…”

SLAP.Why was there a fancy

black VISA card in mywallet?

Tiffany’slipscurledintoavictorious smile. “That’s mycard. Just like I thought. Shetookit.”

What? I glanced at the

blackVISAcard.Howhaditgottenintomywallet?

Mr.Selfridgereachedoverand picked up the card andexamineditclosely.“YouareTiffany Kingston-Whitehouse,correct?”

Tiffany pulled her SDUstudent ID and her driver’slicense out of her wallet,which Mr. Selfridge hadneverchecked,andshowedittohim.

Mr. Selfridge examined

both, then looked atmeoverhis glasses. “This doesn’tlook good, Ms. Smith,” hemuttered.

Why had Mr. Selfridgegone from calling meSamantha all the time toMs.Smith all of a sudden? Theanswer was obvious. I hadbeen framed by TiffanyKingdumb-Sleazehouse andMr.SelfridgethoughtIwasacriminal.

“I told you she stole it,”

Tiffanygrowled.“Yes,” Mr. Selfridge

sighed, “I’m afraid thisdoesn’t lookgoodat all,Ms.Smith.”

And that was how I gotfired from my job at thecampusartmuseum.

If somebody had offeredme a job working nude in arat infested dungeon as amath tutor for convictedrapists, I would’ve gladlytakenit.

===Mr. Selfridge didn’t have

a choice. It was academicpolicy at SDU that anystudent employed at an on-campus job would beterminated if caught stealing.Mr. Selfridge was veryapologetic, but said thatbecause of the evidence, hehadtoletmego.

The good news was thatTiffany had her credit cardback, and I know I hadn’t

used it to pay for anything.AndI’msurenooneelsehadused it between the time itwassittingsafelyinherpurseandmine.

The bad news was thatTiffany had filed an officialgrievancewiththeDean.

Whatasurprise.Mr. Selfridge said he

wouldtelltheDeanthatIwasa model employee the entiretime I’d worked for him.Hopefully, it would inspire

the Dean to believe myversion of events. With anyluck,Imightgetmyjobback.Eventually.

IjustwishedMr.Selfridgecould tell the Dean thatTiffanywasa richbitchwhohated me because I stoleChristos from her, and she’dsnuckhercreditcardintomywallet when I’d beenchanging my tampon, but Ididn’t think thatwouldmeansquat to the Dean. Shit, I

should’vesquattedbehindthemuseum counter like I’dimagined and changed mytamponinplainsight.ThenIwouldn’tbeupMensesCreekwithout a paddle. Yeah, itwas a gruesome image, butsomehow it captured TiffanyBlingston-Douchehouse’sschemingtoatee.

Tiff the Bitch was the alltime epic bitch of theuniverse.Apologiestofemaledogseverywhere.

Imade an appointment toseeDeanLivingston.

A few days later, I sat inthe waiting room to hisoffice.

WhileIwaited,IsketchedyetanothercartoonofTiffanybeingmurderedinyetanotherheinous way in mysketchbook. This time I hadher buried up to her neck insand while shiny blackDeathStalker scorpions(whichwere thesecondmost

poisonous in the world, I’dlearned) stung her in theeyeballs anddungeness crabsperformed sloppy plasticsurgery all over hergrimacingface.

“The Dean will see younow,”hissecretarysaidfromherdesk.

I gasped and slapped mysketchbook closed, realizingit was starting to resemble aserial killer’s hatebook.Maybe I needed to tear my

Tiffany drawings out, lestsomeonenoticethemandcitethemasevidenceofmyguilt.

Ishovedmysketchbookinmy bag and walked into theDean’s office. It looked likeyour classicwood andbooksOxford College office. Itseemed out of place in SanDiego,yetthereitwas.

Dean Livingston wasstanding behind his desk.Hewas a tall, older man withclean cut silver hair and a

conservativenavysuit.“Havea seat,” he motioned towardthe leather chairs facing hisdesk.

AsIwalkedacrossahugeOriental rug, I noticed theDeanhadabigantiqueglobemountedinoneofthosehugeround wooden floor stands.Sitting on one of thebookshelveswasoneofthosebrass sextant things shipcaptains used. Probably incase the Dean suddenly

needed to explore the newworld. He certainly lookedold enough to have been onColumbus’boat. I justhopedhe considered himself thenice kind of explorer whobrought exotic silks andspices to trade, not themeankind who broughtconquistadors or small poxinfestedblanketstoinvade.

IsatdownwhiletheDeanopened a folder on his deskand flipped through the

papersinsideit.Ithinkitwasmy file. My legendarypermanent file. The one theyalwaystoldyouaboutinhighschool thathauntedyouyourentire life. Great. Now theywere going to add pettycriminal to my list oftransgressions.

The Dean continued toexamine the papers while hespoke,“Iseeherethatyou’vehad a bit of a problem withyourjobattheartmuseum?”

Ihad thedistinct feeling Iwas nothing more than anumber to him, one ofthousandswhowent toSDU.Theuniversityhadoverthirtythousand students, so Iwouldn’tbesurprised.

“Yeah,”Isaid.“You are aware that any

student caught stealing at awork study job will beterminated?”

“Yes.”“And that there are no

exceptionstothisrule?”“Yes.”“And that San Diego

University has a zerotolerance policy towardtheft?”

“Yes,” I rolled my eyes.Didtheypayhimtojustreadfrom the manual? Heck, Icoulddo thisguy’s job. Ibetit paid pretty well, and I’dmake more than enough tocovermytuition.

“This is a very serious

offense,younglady.Whatdoyouhavetosayforyourself?”heasked.

I suddenly felt like everycriminal ever who professedtheirinnocencewhilenobodybelieved them. The onlydifferencewas, a jury hadn’tconvicted me. Tiffany had.How toexplain? Iwasgoingwith the obvious, “Tiffanyframedme.”

“WhoisTiffany?”“Thegirlwhosays I stole

hercreditcard,”Isighed.Washeevenlistening?Or

just doubting? I did my bestto explain what Tiffany hadlikely done. Of course, Icould only guess. But it wasallIhadtoworkwith.

While I talked, I noticedthe Dean slowly slouchingfarther and farther down inhisslipperyleatherchair.Hischeekwasleaningagainstthehand he’d propped on anarmrest.

To my horror, he slippedsofardowninhischairwhileIspokethathisknucklesweredriving the skin of his cheekup the side of his skull inwrinkly accordion folds. Hislips were stretched so far upnowthatitmadeagapinonecorner of his mouth thatcouldn’t be closed. I couldclearlyseehisbridgework.

“Mmmm,” he mumbledabsently.

I waited for him to say

something more in responsetomytheoryaboutTiffany.

Another wrinkle foldedinto place on DeanLivingston’s cheek as hecontinued to slide in slowmotiondownhischair.Therewere now sixteen folds. Iknow, because I had time tocountwhile Iwaited politelyforhimtorespond.

I glanced around andwatched dust motes floatingin the sunbeams pouring

through the windows to myright. They danced. I alwayslikeddustmotes.

Hello! Dean Livingston?Anybodyalive in there?Washeasleepwithhiseyesopen?He certainly looked oldenough to have come acrossthe Atlantic on the SantaMariawithColumbus.

“Thegirl…”hesaid.Uh, yeah?What the heck

wasIsupposedtosaytothat?I raised my eyebrows

expectantly.He raised his a tad in

response.Iraisedmineabithigher.Back and forth we went,

our eyebrows going up amillimeter higher at a time.Hehadtheadvantagebecausetheeyebrowonthesideofhisfacewith thewrinkled cheekhadaninchheadstart.

Okay,was this a game ofwho can raise whoseeyebrows the highest? Did I

win if mine touched myscalp? Because that’s howhightheywerenow.

Any day, Mr.Livingdeadston!

I’d had it. I blurted,“Tiffany!Rememberher?”

“Who?”Had he forgotten already,

or been asleep the wholetime?Eitherwaspossible.

Exasperated, I blurted, “Itoldyou,Tiffanywasthegirlwho came into the art

museum on my shift, andwhen I went to the ladiesroom, shemust have put hercredit card in my wallet soshe could accuse me ofstealingit.”

“The museum…” hesighed like a deflating gasbag.

Wow, was that as far aswe’dgotten?

“Which…museum?” heburped.

I mean burped, an actual

burp.“Excuseme…”heslurred.Wow, I think I saw his

breath smoking out thegapingcornerofhismouth,itwas so thick and rank. Andtinted brown. Ew. I think ahouseflyflewrightthroughitand spiraled down to itsdeath.Sogross.Any second,spiders were going to crawloutofhismouthlikeitwasatomb.Atleasthiscorpsewasshowingsignsof life.Except

Ithinkhewasdozingagain.“Mr.Livingston?”He was literally staring

right at me, but didn’t say aword.

Wakeup,Mr.Livingston!Thiswasuseless.

“Is this a bad time?” Iaskedcarefully.

Heblinked.Wasthat it?Geez,Icould

totally do this guy’s job. Iwondered what his jobinterview had consisted of?

Blinking more than twice anhour?

Lameballs!“Mr. Livingston, I really

needmyjobback,”Ipleaded,“and I didn’t take Tiffany’scredit card. Isn’t thereanythingwe can do? I reallyneed thework or I won’t beable to pay my tuition,” Igulped,suddenlyworriedthatadmitting I was havingtrouble covering my tuitionbillmightbediggingagrave

for myself. The universitydidn’t want broke studentswho couldn’t pay. Thenagain, I suspected Mr.Livingston was intimatelyfamiliar with graves, seeingashowhehadoneunder hisdeskandkeptonefootinitatalltimes.

He blinked three times, arecord forhim, thenyawned,“You will need to make aformal appeal to theUniversity,atwhichtime,”he

yawnedagain,“youwillhavean opportunity to state yourcase before a tribunal ofadministrators.”Hewas nowfully awake. People usuallywerewhentheywerebendingyou over and going to workwiththebroomhandle.

“Until then,” headmonished,“youwillnotbeallowed to work on campus.You will also be placed onacademicprobationuntilyournamehasbeencleared.Ifthe

tribunal finds that you areindeed guilty of theft, or ifyou are caught committingany other crimes on campus,you will be subject toexpulsion.”

Gulp. What? Had I heardhimright?

Why had I gotten out ofbedthismorning?

StupidTiffany!

Chapter17

SAMANTHA

The warm spring weatherwasperfect incontrast tomymood. I satoutsideatoneofthe tables at the StudentCenterwithMadison,Romeoand Kamiko. We were alleatingfishtacosforlunch.

“I’mscrewed,youguys,”Isighed.

"You say that like it’s aproblem,” Romeo quipped.“In my world, gettingscrewedis themostdesirableoutcomeofanyencounter.”

“Even if TiffanyKingston-Whitehouse is theone doing the screwing?” Iaskedskeptically.

“Nowthatyoumentionit,I always suspected that girlhadadick,”Romeocackled.

“She’swaytoomuchofabitch to be a man or have apenis,” Kamiko said as shedipped a tortilla chip in hersalsa.

“Female dogs everywhereare cringing because we’recomparing them to Tiffany,”Madisongiggled.

“MaybewecouldcompareTiffany to toxic waste orpuppy murderers,” Romeosuggested.

“Don’t kill any puppies!”

Kamikopleaded.Romeo frowned at her.

“How is it that me saying‘puppy murderers’ means ithasactuallyhappened?What,didapuppysomewhereintheworld just die because I saidit?”

“I don’t know,” Kamikosaid sheepishly, “just don’tsayit.”

Romeo rolled his eyes,“You’ve been watching waytoo many cartoons, darling.”

Hetookabiteofhisfishtaco.I sipped my iced tea,

“WhatamIgoing todo,youguys? I can’t even find amathtutoringjob.There’snojobs anywhere right now.And, until my case withTiffanygoesupforreviewinfront of SDU’s academictribunal, Career Serviceswon’t give me another on-campus job. I’m taintedgoods.”

“Have you tried looking

for work as a sex slave?”Romeoasked.

“Whowants a tainted sexslave?”Madisonjoked.

I glared at her, “Thanks alot,Mads.”

She smiled, “Do youreallywant towork as a sexslave?”

“Ifthepayisgood,I’lldoanything,” I sighed. “But Ialreadycheckedthesexslavewant ads. All the sex slavemasters are looking for

someonewithexperience.”“Slave experience, or sex

experience?” Romeo askedinnocently.

“I’m assuming both,” Ijoked. “Most of the adsmentionedballgagandwhipexperience. I’ve never usedeither.”

“If you need anypointers,” Romeo said, “letmeknow.”

“Yeah, Sam,” Kamikosmiled, “if you need practice

whipping someone’s ass, Ican demonstrate for you onRomeo.”

“Is it just me,” Romeosmirked, “or would Kamikomakeagooddominatrix?”

I looked at Kamiko, whohadherhandsinherlapwhileleaning over her drink cup,which was sitting on thetable,whileshesuckedonherdrinkstraw.Shelookedlikealittle kid. The only thingmissing was a twirly crazy

straw. I said, “Maybe acartoondominatrix.”

“Butter lettuce?” Romeosaid toKamiko suggestively,like he was trying to seduceher.“Locallygrown?”

Iwasn’tsurewhathewastalkingabout.

NeitherwasMadison.“You mean the butter

lettuce party?” Kamikoasked. “Those weren’tdominatrices. Those weremalestripperunicorns.”

“DominatriCEES?”Romeoenunciatedforcefully.“When did you become Ms.Dictionary,Kamiko?”Romeoasked skeptically, as ifKamiko’swordpronunciationwas weirder than malestripperunicorns.

Iwassolost.“Yes,” Kamiko said,

“dominatrices is the primaryspellingforthepluralversionoftheword.”

Madison frowned at me,

“What are they talkingabout?”

I shook my head,“Cartoons? The dictionary? Ihave no idea.My friends areinsane.”

“Butter lettuce party fromBravest Warriors?!” Kamikosuggested with maximumfrustration. “Episode three?!Season one?!” She slappedthe table top for emphasis.“Don’t you guys watch theinternet?!”

“Yeah,” Romeo glared atme and Madisonsarcastically,“Duh!”

“Mads,” I said, “I can’tdecidewhoismorecraycray.Themorus.”

“I’m just eating my fishtacos,” she giggled. “I don’tknowanyofyou.”

===I plugged my debit card

into one of the ATMs oncampus near the StudentCenter. I needed to check

howmuch cash I had left inmy account because mymonthly tuition paymentwasbarreling toward me at thespeedoflight.Iwasgoingtoowe more than $5,000 toSDUinafewshortweeks.

After I enteredmyPIN, IpressedCheckYourBalance.Instead of a number, theATMmachinelaughedatmeand toldme togeta job. I’msurprised it didn’t shred mycard and flash the words

YOU’REBROKErepeatedly.Therewerepeoplewaiting

behind me in line to use theATM, so I canceled out andtookmycard.

WherethehellwasIgoingto find five grand? I hadcombed through the jobsearch websites with amicroscope and hadn’t foundanythingyet.MaybeIneededto go back to Grab-n-Dashandbeg formy job?A scentmemoryofhotdogsandurine

colored polyester wrinkledmynose.

Maybenot.Short of selling a kidney

or other parts ofmy body tothe highest bidder, the onlyother thing that occurred tome was checking online forscholarships.

I walked to the MainLibraryandsetupmylaptopnearawindowontheseventhfloor. I sighed as I loggedonto the library’s wi-fi

networkandsearchedthroughscholarshipwebsites.Itdidn’ttake long to realize thatmostof the application deadlineshad already passed. Not thatit mattered. Most of themdidn’t pay any money untilthefall.

Isatbackinmychairandsighed. I glanced out at theamazing view of San Diego.I’d always loved the MainLibrary’s wrap aroundwindows. From the seventh

floor where I sat, you couldseeformiles.

Usually, the view liftedmy spirits. Too bad nothingshort of a construction cranecouldliftmyspiritstoday.

I sighedandwentback tomy job hunt. Trying toremainoptimistic,Inarrowedmy internet search byapplication deadline. Thereweren’t many scholarshipsleftonthelist.

I found one for bagpipe

majors. It paid seventhousand bucks! Bagpipescouldn’t be too hard to play,could they? I would totallydoublemajorinbagpipesifitmeant sevengrand.Theonlyproblemwas I couldn’t evenaffordasetofbagpipes.Evenif I could, I wouldn’t besurprised if Christos orSpiridonkickedmeoutofthehouse for taking up thefartbags. But I would playthem every damn day if it

meant $7,000. Crap. WhowasIkidding?Idon’tthinkIcould deal with all thatquacking.

Next.Therewasonescholarship

for people studying theKlingon language. I’dwatched Star Trek. Didn’tKlingons just grunt? I couldgrunt.

TherewasalsoonefortheAmerican Nudist ResearchLibrary.No, seriously. I read

it on the internet. What didnudist researchers research,anyway? Increasedincidences of skin canceramong thenude?Earlyonsetdroopage, for both men andwomen? Because you knowdrooping was the biggestproblem faced by nudists. Iseriouslywould’ve applied ifitwasn’tfor thefactyouhadto live in a nudist colony toqualify. I didn’t even knowwheretofindanudistcolony,

unless you counted artmodels.Hey!Maybewithallthe girls coming to Christos’studio every day, the Manoshousequalified! Iwas totallysubmittinganapplication.

Isearchedthescholarshipsfor another two hours andapplied to a dozen more.With any luck, I mightactually get picked for one,but I wasn’t holding mybreath.

IhadtoassumethatIwas

no closer to covering the$5,000 I owed SDU thanwhenIstarted.

Droopyballs!Ew.

===My spring classes

consisted of: Sociology 3,History 3 (which focused on20thCenturyAmerica),PleinAir Painting (which Kamikotold me to take because shewas), and Drawing theCostumed Figure (which

Romeo and Kamiko bothweretaking).

I’dmanagedtogetsB’sinSosh and History duringWinter Quarter, much to mysurprise. I think all thecrammingIdidformidtermsand finals made up for mytendency to doodle in mysketchbook during class.With my current financialproblems, I vowed to paytotal attention and take notesduring Sosh andHistory this

term.Nomoredoodling.Thelast thingIneededwasabadGPAmakingmyfinancialaidsituationworsethanitalreadywas.

I met Kamiko outside theVisual Arts building for ourfirst PleinAir Painting class.It onlymet once a week, onWednesday afternoon. Howawesome was that?We bothheld portable easels thatcollapsed into the size of asuitcase. I’d borrowed mine

fromChristos.Hehadseveralinthestudio.Icouldn’taffordto buy one, and it was arequirementfortheclass,soIwasinluck.

“Why do we have theseeasels?”Iasked.

“You’ll see,” KamikogrinnedaswewalkedintotheVisualArtsbuilding.

“You know,” I wrinkledmy nose, “Plein Air soundskind of boring.” I waspronouncing it like ‘plain’

becauseIhadnoideahowtosayit.“Arewegoingtopaintplain things?Likevanilla icecream and white rice?Because I don’t see how wecould paint plain air. Unlesswe paint the sky? Andbecauseithastobeplain,weonly paint cloudless skies?Isn’t that just squeezing bluepaintonacanvas?”

Kamiko smiled at meindulgently as she held thedoor open to the classroom.

“No,silly.”Unlike my previous art

classes, which had takenplace in rooms that wereobviously artist’s paradises,thePleinAirroomwassmalland bland. The walls wereblank. There was a teacher’sdeskatthefrontoftheroom,one of those ancient metalones that looked like a graybattleship that had seenseveralwars.Andofcourse,abunch of student desk chair

combos withmustard yellowplastic seats crammedtogether. I had been rightabout the plain thing. Thislooked like any random highschoolclassroominAmerica.Wasn’t this supposed tobe aUniversity?

“Whydo I feel likewe’regoing tospend thenext threehours in detention?” I askedKamiko.

She arched her eyebrows,butsaidnothing.

A few students stoodagainst the walls with theirportable easels.Therewasn’tmuch room to set them up.Maybethat’swhywehadtheportable easels, so we couldsqueeze them into the scantremainingavailablespace?

A few minutes later, amiddle aged woman walkedinto the room. She had curlyhair and a big smile. Sheworeawidebrimmedhatanda khaki hunter’s vest with a

bunchofpocketsovera longsleeveshirtandjeans.Hikingboots completed her outfit.Werewegoingonasafari?

“Hello, everybody,” shesaid. “My name isKatherineWeatherspoon, and I’ll beyour Plein Air instructor forspring term. If you haven’tfigured it out by now, we’regoingtobepaintingoutdoorsfor the next ten weeks. Enpleinair,”shesaiditwithanaccent that sounded like she

was saying ‘onplain air’, “isa French expression thatmeans ‘in the open air’.Everyone, gather up youreasels.We’reheadingout.”

The students picked uptheir easels and followedKatherine Weatherspoon outthedoor.

I leaned over to Kamikoand whispered, “I was right,we’regoingtobepaintingtheblueskyallquarter.”

“It’s worse than that,”

Kamiko whispered, “we’reactually going to be paintingair, like oxygen. So it’s justclear. Did you remember tobring a tube of transparentacrylic glaze? Because that’stheonlycoloryou’regoingtoneed.”

“What, like see through?We’re just going toput clearpaintoncanvases?”

Kamiko shrugged hershoulders.

This was going to be

really boring. I guess noteveryaspectofpaintingwasawinner. “Where are wegoing?” I asked Kamiko aswe filed inbehind the lastofthestudents.

“Ihavenoidea,”shesaid.Wewalkedacrosscampus,

through Adams College, andout to North Torrey Pinesboulevard.Wecrossed at thelightwhenitwasgreen.

“Are we going to thecliffs?”Iasked.

“Iguess,”Kamikosaid.Sureenough,weendedup

out at the cliffs west of theSDU campus. TheyoverlookedthebeachandthePacificOcean.Therewaslotsof plain air for the painting.Yay.

“Here will be good,”ProfessorWeatherspoonsaid,setting her portable easeldown. “Everyone, find aplace to set your easels up,then I’ll begin a

demonstration.”KamikoandIfoundaspot

together. It didn’t reallymatterwhereIsetupbecausethere was oxygen in everydirection.

A few minutes later, theprofessor had us all gatheraround her easel. She had avery small canvas mountedon it, about four by sixinches. With her portablepalette already covered withlittledollopsofoil,shebegan

painting. She used a littlemetalspatula,whichshekeptreferringtoasapaletteknife,to mix colors on her paletteand smear them onto thecanvas.Itdidn’ttakelongforher to cover the canvas withcolors. I realized half waythroughthatshewaspaintingthecurveof theTorreyPinescliffs to the south, thebeach,the ocean, and the sky. Herpainting was really amazing,resembling a sloppy

photograph made of cakefrosting. If I squinted myeyes, it looked like the realthing.

When the professor wasfinished, she turned to thestudentsandsmiled,“Nowgoahead and start yourpaintings. I’ll be walkingaround helping everyoneout.”

KamikoandIwalkedoverto our easels. Now that Irealized weweren’t going to

be painting invisible oxygenall term, I adjustedmy easelso I was facing the southcliffs,liketheprofessorhad.

I didn’t have a paletteknife,soIjustusedbrushes.Iwasn’t used to working onsuch a complicated subjectlikes cliffs andwaves. Therewere ten million differentthings topaint inmy fieldofvision. I was getting a littleflustered. I set my brushdown and rubbed my

foreheadwiththebackofmywrist.

“Having troubles?”Professor Weatherspoonasked.

Iwas so used toMarjorieBitchinger’s bitchiness andsarcasm last quarter, I wasafraidtosayanythingforfearof incurring ProfessorWeatherspoon’swrath.

“It’s okay,” she said in akind voice, “there’s a lot tofigure out all at once,” she

smiled.“Whatyouwanttodois focus on the big shapesfirst.Work frombig to smalland add detail last. May I?”she asked, reaching for mybrush.

“Yeah,totally,”Ismiled.She picked up my brush,

dabbedit insomerawumberonmypalette,andblockedina few lines for the cliffs.“Since you’re using a brush,paint thin. You don’t wanttoo much paint making a

mess all over your canvas.”She rinsed the brush in mylittle jar of Turpenoid, thenwent in with a thin mix ofwhite and ultramarine blue.“Put in the horizon line, likethis,”shepaintedafaintbluehorizontalline,“soyouknowwhere it is.” She cleaned thebrushagain,dippeditinsomeyellowochre,andscribbledinthelineofthebeachwhereitmet the water. My paintingnow looked like colored

outlinesoftheview.“Nowallyou have to do is filleverything in,” she smiledand handed me my brushbefore walking away to helpotherstudents.

Mygoodmoodwasback.I turned to Kamiko, “Is thiseven a real class? It seemslikewaytoomuchfun.”

“I know, right?” shegrinned while she mixed apile of phthalo green withceruleanblueonherpalette.

“MaybewecanbothdropoutofschoolandbePleinAirpainters for the rest of ourlives.”

“Sounds like a plan tome,” she grinned as sheapplied her blue green paintto her canvas where thegreenish waves met thegolden sand of the beach.“We can hitchhike acrossAmerica and paint whateverwesee.”

“Then we can publish a

book of our paintings,” Isuggested.

“Totally,” Kamikogrinned.

Plein Air Painting wasawesome. When class wasover three hours later, wepacked everything up andwalkedbacktoSDU.

I had totally forgottenabout my financial woes theentire time. And for that, Iwasgrateful.

But they hadn’t forgotten

aboutme.===

Fivepeople stood in frontofme in line for the teller atthe bank in DelMar when Iwalkedinthenextmorning.

FromwhatIunderstood,ifyouhandedanotetothebankteller thatyouhadagunandwantedmoney,theygaveittoyou. They didn’t ask if youhadagun.Theyjustassumedyoudid,andpaidyou,whichmeantIwasinluckbecauseI

had no gun. I’d consideredstopping at a 99 Cents Onlystore to buy a toy gun, but Ididn’thave99centstospare,soIdecidedtowingit.

Of course, when youhanded the note to the teller,theyalsosteppedontheflooralarm button and the copsshowedup,but Iwas fastonmy feet. I could be gonebefore the SWAT teamarrived and guns startedgoingoff.

Besides, this was SanDiego. Did they even haveSWAT teams in San Diego?The security guard at thisbank was an old guy. I’mprettysurehehadabananainhisholster.Iwouldbefine.

And I was only going toask for $10,000 to covermytuition. Not a penny more. Iliked to think of it like ascholarship, because no oneexpected you to payscholarshipsback.

Theperson in frontofmewas a bulbous man in asloppy windbreaker andsaggy slacks. He keptclearing his throat every fiveseconds. I think he had ahairball. I was waiting forhim to squat down on themarble floor, head hangingbetween his shoulder blades,andhack itup likeacat,buthe never did. He just kepthacking.

Eventually, the teller

called Hairball up to thecounter.Hepulledoutastackofcash,whichhecountedoutinfrontoftheteller,coughingafter every fifth bill he laiddown like clockwork. I thinkhe was making a cashdeposit. I didn’t understandwhyhewascountingit.Thatwas the bank’s job. But heinsisted. It took forever. Hewas hacking so often, I wasgetting the urge to clear myown throat.Were there toxic

spores in the air? WhateverHairballhad,itwascatching.

I was getting more andmore nervous by the secondbecause I was next. For aminute, I considered leaving,butdidn’t.Ihadtogothroughwiththis.AssoonasHairballwas gone, I was asking forthattengrand.

About ten hours and amillion hacks later, Hairballwas finished. I stepped up tothetellerwindowandopened

mymouthtospeak.What came out was a

hack. Stupid Hairball. Itreallywascatching. Iclearedmy throat several times.When I finished, the tellerwas looking atme like I hadtuberculosis. I probably did.Thanks,HairballHackmaster.

“Ahem,” I hacked a finaltime. I wrung my handstogether. I was going to dothis. I needed ten grand.Myheart was pounding. It was

timetoaskformymoney.“Can I help you?” the

teller asked like she wasabout to call the Center forDiseaseControl so shecouldhavemequarantined.

My throat was ticklingagain,butIwilledittorelax.“Yes,” I said hoarsely, “Ineed to speak to someoneaboutgettingaloan?”

“Certainly,”thetellerfakesmiled dryly. “I’ll have oneof our loan officers speak

withyou.Ifyoucouldtakeaseat over there,” she pointedto the farcornerof thebank,“someonewill be out to talktoyou shortly.”She couldn’twait to get me out of herbreathingspace.

“Thanks,” I said and satdowninoneofthechairs.Mythroatwas still tickling,but IrefusedtostarthackingagainwhileIwaited.

Itwas ten in themorning,andI’ddecidedtocutclasses

today and try to solve mymoney problems. I mean,what was the point instudyingifIcouldn’tpaymytuitionbillwhenitcamedue?

Sadly, I hadn’t been ableto find a single job online,and the scholarships weren’tlooking anymore promising.I still hadn’t told Christosaboutlosingmymuseumjob.It had been two weeksalready, but the last thing Iwanted todowasbotherhim

with my money problems.With all of the paintings heneeded to finish for his nextgallery showweighing downon him, he had more thanenough stress already, and itwas eating away at him. Hiscontinueddrinkingwasproof.

When the loan officerfinally called me into hiscubicle, I was bummed todiscover I needed a cosignerfora$10,000loan.

Great.

WherewasIgoingtofinda cosigner?My parents?Ha!That was the funniest thingI’d ever heard. Christos? Icouldn’t ask him. It was onethingtoliveinhishouserentfree, another to make himliable for a huge chunk ofchange. I couldn’tdo it.AndI couldn’t ask my friends.They didn’t have anymoneytospare.

MaybeIneededtoheadtoLas Vegas on the weekend

and pour some money intotheslotmachines?Oh,wait.Ididn’t have any money toblowongambling.

Wasn’ttheresomekindofcollege hooker organizationthat represented youngcollege women like myself,andonlypairedyouwithhotguys?Nah,IthinkIreadthatin a romance novelsomewhere. It couldn’tpossibly be real. Besides, Ihadaboyfriend.

Iwasoutofoptions.Saneones,anyway.I sat in my car in the

parking lot outside the bankand cried while I leaned myhead against the steeringwheel.Myhairdrapedaroundmyfaceandstuck tomywetcheeks. When I was out oftears, I drove to UTC, theshopping center just east ofSDU. Iwalked from store tostore, asking about jobs, justlike I’d done with Romeo a

fewmonthsago.Noonewashiring.Not even Hot Dog On A

Stick. I considered waitingaround until one of the hotdog girls took a break so Icouldknockheroutandstealher multi-colored uniform. Iwas so desperate, I wouldgladly wear one of theirclown outfits and re-subjectmyself to smelling like hotdogs if it meant I had somemoneycomingin.

Since UTC was a bust, Idrove toMission Valley andhit up the Fashion ValleyMall,HazardCenter, and theWestfield. I filledoutseveralapplications and left thembehind with promises fromthemanagers they’d givemeacallifanythingopenedup.

When I went home thatnight, Iwas exhausted. I hadjob searched for nine hoursstraight.Myfeetwerekillingme.

I checked the studio forChristosbuthewasn’tthere.Itrudged upstairs and foundhim passed out in ourbedroom. He reeked ofbooze. He was gettingsloshedeverydaynow.

WheninRome.Iwas so tired and hungry

and frustrated anddisheartened from my failedjob search today that Idecidedtogetsloshedmyself.

I drove to the grocery

store under the cover ofdarkness and bought anarmloadoficecream.WhenIgot back to the house, itdidn’t take long for me tostuff myself so full of icecream that I was sloshingwhenIwalkedintooneofthedownstairs bathrooms. Iunloaded my freshlyconsumed ice cream inprivate and prepared forround two. I walked back tothe freezer and pulled out

anotherpint.Mmmm,icecream.Gag.Iatetwomorepintsbefore

I’d had enough and went tobed.

===Afewdays later,between

Sociology 3 and AmericanHistory 3, I spent severalhours studying in the MainLibrary.When itwas time tohead tomy history lecture, Iclosedmy laptopandheaded

forthestairwelldoor.Therewasahugestaircase

that spiraled around thesquare cement tower thatsupported the fourth throughseventh floors of the MainLibrary.Fromtheoutside,theMain Library resembled asquatcementsquared-offoaktree with a narrow base thatsupported the four floors ontop.

Going down the stairsinside the three-story base

always reminded me ofdescendingintoagiantcrypt,like in the pyramids, butwithoutcoolhieroglyphicsonthe walls. It was gray anddreary.

ToobadIwasn’tgoingtofind any gold sarcophagi atthe bottom of the stairs, orwhatever other treasuresgrave robbers always foundwhen they broke intopyramids.Ohwell.

Atleastitwasexercise.

When Iwalked out of thestairwellnexttotheelevators,I passed through a corridorthat had glass cases on bothsides.Thecasescontainedanever-changing collection ofmuseum style exhibits of allkinds of things: old antiquebooks, ceramics, folk artobjects, or sometimes actualart. Today, I noticed thatthere was a new display inseveralofthecases.

To my surprise, when I

read one of the placards, Idiscovered itwasoriginal artfrom the Dennis theMenacecomicstrip.

Istoppedtolookattheartmoreclosely.IhadonlyeverseenDennistheMenaceartinthepulpynewsprintpapermydadlookedateverymorning.Up close, the original inkedartwasmagnificent.Thelinesweresopreciseandcrisp,yetstylizedandverygeometrical.I would never havemade an

observation like this beforeI’d started studying drawingsointenselysixmonthsago.Iused to just think of DennistheMenaceasacartoonwithcute drawings. Now I hadsomething vaguely profoundto say. I was so proud ofmyself.

Maybe I had foundtreasureat thebottomof thatlibrarystaircase.

“Hank Ketcham isamazing, isn’t he?” Justin

Tomlinsonasked.“Oh!” I gasped. I’d been

so engrossed in the art, Ihadn’t noticed him walk up.“Hey,Justin.”

Justin wore a sportylightweight leather jacketover a V-neck print tee, andskinny jeans. He looked likehe was ready to walk up tothe podium at the Grammysand accept an award for bestmalevocalist.

“The library just got the

art in this week. I’ve beendying tosee it inperson,”hesaid.

Art?Whatart?Iwasbusyadmiring Justin’s impeccablefashionsense.Hewasstylishandhipwithoutoverdoingit.Ibethehadhisownpersonaldresser and style consultant.Hishairwascarefullymussedin a sexy way that lookedeasyandrelaxedbutprobablytookanhourtoarrange.

OnelookatJustinandmy

profoundartobservationshadflownrightoutthewindow.

“Whatdoyouthinkofit?”Justinsmiled.

His hair? It was amazing.His smile? Even better.“Uh…”

Justin frowned, “The art?What do you think of theart?”

“Oh!Theart!Yes!Theartis amazing!” I think it wascommon knowledge thatguilty people ended every

sentencewithanexclamationpoint.NotthatIwasguilty.Iwasn’tguiltyofanything.SowhatifJustinwasadorable?

Justin slowlynoddedwithan odd look on his face. Ithinkhedidn’tknowwhat tosay because hewas trying todecide whether or not I wasclinicallyinsane.

I wasn’t sure what to sayeither, so I nodded back athim. Nod, nod, nod. I couldgo on nodding all day like a

Bobbleheaddoll if I had too.Nod! Nod! Nod! Big smile!Lotsofteeth!Sonotguiltyoffinding Justin adorable!NOD!NOD!NOD!

“Why do I feel like I’mstuck in the middle of aDennis the Menace comicstrip?”Justinasked.

Becausewewere?Exceptinthiscase,itwasDenisetheMenace,andIwasDenise.

Ishookmyhead,tryingtogetaholdofmyself.Thatjust

made the bobbling worse.Hold still! I grinned sowidemy cheeks hurt. I had amoment to realize thatalthough I had an amazingboyfriend, some men hadcuteness powers granted bythe devil. It wasn’t my faultJustinwas dazzlingme.AnywomanwhotookonelookathimwouldgoBobbleheadthesecondtheysawhim.

“So, uh,” Justinstammered, sounding

uncomfortable, “did you doanymorewombatsketches?”

What was a wombatagain?

Okay, I’d had enough ofmy brainlessness. I bit theinsideofmycheek,shockingmyself out of my boy crazystupor.

Wincing,becausenowtheinside of my cheek reallyhurt, I said, “I was going toask you, did you guys voteyet?”Ithadbeenafewweeks

since I’d given him all mydesigns for Potty the PotSmokingWombat.

“Not yet. Some of theother artists are still workingonideas.”

“That’s good,” I nodded.Nod,nod,nod.

STOPNODDING!!My cheek hurt too much

to bite again, and I wasn’tgoingtobitetheotherside,soI sighed, rolledmyeyes,andsaid, “I wanted to submit a

fewmorebeforethevote.”“Doyouhavethemnow?”

heasked.“Uh,no.I’vebeensortof,

ahh…busy lately?” Guiltypeople also ended theirsentences with questionmarks.Orwasitbrokepeoplewhoseparentswerepricks? Iforgot.Oneortheother.

“Well, get any newdrawings in tomeassoonasyoucan.”

Yeah, Iwas intohim.NO

IWASN’T!!Justin continued, unaware

thatIwasschizophrenic,“I’llprobably take a vote at theendoftheweek.”

“Okay,” I smiled, doingmy best not to bat myeyelashes. It was Justin’ssexy devil powers that mademedoit.

“Bytheway,haveyouandRomeo come up with anyideas for comic strips yet?We’re already putting

together the next issue forprint. The deadline forsubmissions is right aroundthecorner.”

“We have a few, butwe’vebothbeenpretty busy.Romeo always has theatermajor stuff taking up histime.”

“Well, even if you guysdon’t make the deadline,Romeo still seemed like agood guy. Lots of funnyideas. You should totally

bring him to the next staffmeeting.”

“Okay,” I nodded. Imeant, tilted my head toindicate agreement withoutnodding,nodding,nodding.

STOP!!“Anyway,” Justin said,

“I’vegottaruntoclass.Emailme any new material if youcomeupwithsomething?”

“Okay.”Before walking off, he

flashed a grin and said,

“Laters!”Wait, he had ended his

sentencewithanexclamationpoint!Andtheonebeforethatwith a question mark! Didthat mean he was feelingguilty? Or was it just mefeelingguilty?Well,‘Laters!’wasonlyonewordanddidn’tcount as a sentence, right?Did Justin likeme?Ordid itmean I was crazy?! Maybeboth?!?

Oh,um,hmm.Thatmight

complicate things for me.Himlikingme.Andmebeingcrazy.

GET A HOLD OFYOURSELF.

Notetheabsenceofguiltyexclamationpoints.Thatwasmysanevoicetellingmycraycrayonestoshutup.

Sigh.Ineededalobotomy.I walked outside into the

fresh air hoping that wouldhelp clear my head and that

Justin was long gone so hewouldn’t thinkIwasstalkinghim.

Iwasn’tstalkinghim!WasI?

IpromiseIwasn’t!?!Wherewasthatlobotomy?

I heard you could use an icepick through the eye socketanditworkedfine.

Groanballs.Anyway, I really hoped

Justin wasn’t being nice tome just because he was

interestedinme.Hewasn’tajerklikeHunterSnakeley,buthe was the editor of TheWombat. I didn’t want himfudging the vote in favor ofmy wombat drawings justbecause he thought it mightmake me like him. And Ididn’t want him fudging thevoteagainstmeifhethoughtIdidn’t likehim.Iwantedtowinfairandsquare.

Wait, I just rememberedJustin had been the onewho

approached me in the firstplace last quarter. He’d beendrawing stalkingme forwhoknew how long. You didn’tstalk someone you weren’tinterestedin,didyou?

Groan!Why was my life so

complicated?!?Notguilty!Iswear!Imean,Iswear.No exclamation points or

questionmarksthattime.

===The hot yellow sun rolled

across the surface of thePacificOceanasIparkedmyVW in the driveway of theManoshouse.Iwalkedtothefront door with my keysjinglinginmyhand.Ialwaysfelt a sense of relief washovermewhen I came home.As I was about to slide mykeys into the lock of thedouble front doors, the doorwas ripped open from the

inside.“Thank god you’re here!”

Sophia blurted, standing inthedoorway.SophiawasoneofChristos’othermodels.I’dmet her several timesbefore.She had Eastern Europeaneyes and full lips. Normallyshewasquitebeautiful,butatthe moment worry cut herfaceintoraggedlines.

“What’swrong?” I asked,immediately frightened byherpanic.

“Christos is passed out,”she said nervously, pullingme into the house, “I didn’tknowwhattodo.Iwasabouttocall911.”

My heart tripped intooverdrive. “Is Christos hurt?Did he fall?” He’d beendrinking so much lately, Iwouldn’t be surprised if hehad. I knew drunk peoplewere supposed to be sorelaxed they were less likelytogethurtiftheyfelldownor

whatever, but that didn’tmatter if you fell through awindowandlandedonshardsofglassoroffabalconyontocement.

“Sortof,”Sophiawinced.“Sortoffell?”She shook her head,

obviously worried. “I don’tknowhowtoexplain…”

“What happened?” I didmybestnottolosemycool.

“Maybe I should showyou,”shegrimaced.

I was suddenly thinkingChristos had had a seizureand his mouth would becovered with foamy blood.Could alcohol give youseizures?Orwasitsomethingworse?

As we stepped into thestudio, Sophia said in a lowvoice,“Ithinkhe’sdrunk.”

Shit,wasthatall?Sure enough, Christos sat

slumped over in a chair infront of the painting of

Sophiahe’dbeenworkingon.There was a huge red streakrunning across the canvas,cutting down the middle ofthefaceandacrossthechest.Abrushloadedwiththesamered paint dangled fromChristos’hand.

Hewassnoring.“He just fell onto the

painting while he wasworking about an hour ago.I’d told him this morningmaybe he should stop

drinking, but he ignored me.Whowas I to complain? I’mjustthemodel,andIneedthejob.”

Icouldrelatetothat.“I didn’t know who to

call,” she said, “and no oneelse was here. I almost left,but I thought I should stayuntil someone showed up. Ididn’t want him choking onvomitorwhatever.”

“Thanks, Sophia,” I saidsincerely.“Itotallyappreciate

your hanging around andkeepinganeyeonhim.Ifyouwant,youcantakeoffnow.Icanhandleitfromhere.”

“Oh, uh, I’m supposed tostayandmodeluntilsix.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaid dismissively. “I’ll tellChristos you were here thewhole time,” I winked.“Either way, I don’t thinkhe’llknowwhenyouleft.”

She nodded nervously.“You’resure?”

“Yes,” I smiled, “Ipromise.”

Sheheavedahugesighofrelief,“ThankyouSOmuch!Iwasstartingtoworrynoonewould show up and I’d bestuck here until whenever hewoke up. I’ve got a photoshoot in L.A. tonight, andwith traffic, I’m probablygoing to be late as it is. If Igetaheadstartnow, Imightactuallymakeit.Doyouneedany help moving Christos

beforeIroll?”Sophia’s arms looked like

pencils. Despite hercompassion,Ididn’tthinkshewould be much help in theliftingdepartment.

“IthinkI’mgoingtoneeda crane,” I joked. “Or I canjust wait until he sleeps itoff.”

“Totally,”shegrinned.AfterSophia left, I tooka

good look at Christos. Iwanted tomake sure he kept

breathinganddidn’tchokeonvomit. Considering he wassnoring like a saw mill, Ithink hewas fine. But if thesaw mill shut downoperations, I’d slide him outofthechairandontohisside.

Inthemeantime,Itookthebrush with the red paint outof his hand and folded hisarmsintohislapsohelookedmorecomfortable.

I examined the red streakon Christos’ painting of

Sophia.Idabbedatitwithmypinky finger. Itwasoil, so itwasstillwet.ShouldIwipeitoff? I can’t imagine he’d bemad. It looked like anaccident. Considering Sophiasaid he’d fallen asleep whilepainting,itprobablywas.

Unless he’d intended toruin the painting? Like thewayhe’dtrashedthepaintingofIsabellathedaymyparentshad arrived? Oh well. I wasgoingtowipetheredoff,just

in case itwas an accident. Ifhe had meant to ruin it, hecould ruin it again in themorningwithaclearhead.

First, I cleaned off thebrushwiththeredpaintonit.Then, I found some cleanpaper towels and carefullywiped away at the red slashuntil itwas completelygone.Istoodbackfromthepaintingand examined it from adistance.

Goodasnew.

Then an irrational fearseized me. What if Christoshad meant to put that redslash there? What if it wassome genius breakthroughhe’d finally discovered and Ihadgoneandcleaneditoff?

Ohno.I remembered that

Christos had becomefrustrated with his paintingsof all themodels andhewastrying to find away to spicethem up. What if that red

slash was the first step in anew creative direction that Iwas too dense to fathom?Maybe he’d had a flash ofbrilliance and decided tocombine abstract artwith hisrealistic portraits in a wholenewway?Considering I stilldidn’t know much about thehistory of art or how newstyles and art movementsdeveloped,andIdidn’tknowthe first thing about abstractart,itwasentirelypossible.

Ohno.WhathadIdone?Had I erased the only

mark of his newfoundgenius? I didn’t even have acellphonepictureofitincasehewantedareminder.

Ohno.Ieyedtheglobofredpaint

still on his palette, and thenow clean brush that hadbeen loaded with said redpaint. Should I load up thebrush with more red, try to

recreate the red slash, thenstick the brush back in hishand?

He’d totally thinkmy redslash was his red slash. Imean, it was just a slash,right?

Who would know thedifference?

Who was I kidding. Iknewpeoplelikedtosaythata baby or a monkey couldpaint abstract art, but I’mpretty sure that was an

exaggerationandoneabstractartist could tell his or herwork from another’s. WhenChristos sobered up, he wasgoing to recognize that mylame red slash wasn’t hisgeniusredslash.

Fuck,fuck,fuck.My panic levelwas up to

myeyeballs.Iwasswimmingin panic. I needed a panicsnorkel or I was going todrowninit.

Deepbreath.

I took another breath, andanother. I reminded myselfthat Christos had been sodrunk, he’d fallen asleep.That wasn’t how a geniusworked, was it? Then Igasped as I remembered allthose famous artists andwriters and poets who hadbeen alcoholics. What did Iknowaboutgenius?

WhathadIdone?Wherewasmyicecream?RED ALERT! RED

ALERT!I needed to strategize.

WhatwasIgoingtodowhenChristos woke up in themorningandaskedmewherehisredslashhadgone?

I know! I could squeezesomeredpaintoutofthetuberight onto the canvas, thenpushChristosinhischairintothepainting,andleanhisfaceintotheglobofred.Itwouldsmearthepaint,he’dhaveredpaintonhisfaceasproof,and

he’d never know what I’ddone! He’d assume he’druined his genius red slashhimself! Itwasgenius! Iwasgenius!

Oh,wait.Whatwas it I’dsaid earlier about guiltypeopleending theirsentenceswith exclamation points?Christos would figure outsomething was wrong,especially if he woke uptomorrow and I answered allhis questions about the red

slash with exclamation pointsentences.

Ineededabetteridea.I lookedat thepileof red

stained paper towels in thetrash can. His red slash wason those towels. What if Icarefully unfolded them andpressed the red slash backonto the canvas, like asticker? Who was I kidding.The slash was ruined.Christos’geniuswassmearedbeyondrecognition.

Ifeltlikeacompleteidiot.Like I’d just walked intoPicasso’s studio thedayhe’ddecided to leave behind therealistic painting style of hisearly days and began hislegendary blue period, and Iwas the idiot who had thenerve to say, “No, no, no,Pablo. This isway toomuchblue. You need to use morecolor.Trustme,IknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.”

Yeah,right.

I had the sinking feelingthat today Christos hadembarkedonhisownjourneytoworldwideacclaim,andthepainting of Sophia wouldhave been rememberedforever as the very firstpaintingofhislegendaryRedSlashperiod,hadInotwipeditaway.

I was the worst girlfriendofalltime.

IcouldonlyhopeChristosforgot all about it when he

sobered up. If he saidanything about red slashes, Iwould suggest it was theliquor talking, and maybe ithad been dancing redelephantshehadseen?

Exceptforthemountainofdirty red towels in the trashcan. I needed to bury theevidencesomewherequick.

Why did I feel like amurderer?

Oh,yeah.BecauseI’djustmurdered Christos’

burgeoningartcareer.IswiveledChristosaround

in his chair so his ruinedpaintingwouldn’tbe thefirstthinghelaideyesonwhenhewoke up. I didn’t want toshockhimintoaheartattack.

Two hours later, when hefinally blinked himselfawake, I led him upstairsbefore he could ask me anyincriminatingquestionsabouthismissingredslash.

When I dropped him into

bed,Inoticedhesmelledlikea bourbon distillery. Hissweat must’ve been at leastsixtyproof.

When he was safelyasleep, I dashed downstairsand stashed the dirty redtowels in a neighbor’sgarbage can down the street.Did the soiled towels looklikebloodyragsused tomopup after a stabbing? Err, Imeant, slashing?Mmm, kindof. But DNA testing would

not reveal a match with thecorpse of Christos’ deadcareer.

NoonewouldeverknowIwasthekiller.

Exceptme.Ihadnightmaresaboutred

slashesallnightlong.===

I was awake beforeChristos.

Itiptoedtothekitchenandquietly made us breakfast inbed.Afterwefinishedeating,

wemade love for twohours,despite the remnants of hishangover. Did I orgasmmultiple times? Of course.DidIexaggeratemyscreamsinanattempttokeepChristosin the bedroom longer withmoresex?Maybeatad.ButIdidn’t want him to go downto the studio and see hisslashlesspainting.

After Christos came forthe fourth time, he said hewanted to get back to work

on his painting of Sophia.Desperate for anotherdistraction, I suggested westay in bed and experimentwithsomelightbondage.Notthat I was into S&M, but Ineeded an excuse to tieChristos to the bed so hecouldn’tleavetheroom.

“Tempting,” he smirked,“maybe next time? I reallyneedtogetbacktowork.”

“Oh wait! You haven’tseen the new lingerie I

bought!”Ijumpedoutofbedand grabbed it out of mychest of drawers. I ran intothebathroombeforehecouldobject. “It’ll only take asecondformetoputiton!”

“When did you buylingerie?” he called from thebedroom.

“Lastweek,” IholleredasItriednottotripovermyselfwhileIhastilythrewiton.“IwentshoppingwithMads.”

I walked out of the

bathroom decked out in ablacklacebabydolltiedatthethroat,blackthong,andblackthigh high stockings. I’dplanned on saving it for aspecial occasion. SparingChristos the tragedy of hismissing red slash seemed asgoodasany.

“Holy shit!” Christosblurted. “Whydidn’tyou tellmeyouhadsexylingerie!”

The lingeriewasgood foranotherhourof lovemaking.

But I couldn’t keep Christosin our bedroom forever, asmuchasIwantedto.

While we showeredtogether after sex, Iconsidered sneaking out andcalling in a bomb threat onChristos’ studio. But I waspretty sure you weren’tsupposedtotellthepolicethebombthreatwasinyourownhouse.

Iwasoutofoptions.When Christos was

dressed, he beelined for thestudio. I followedhim, readyfordisaster. I kept aneyeonmy exits in case I needed tobeatahastyretreat.

He stood in front of thecanvas.

Momentoftruth.If he murdered me for

ruining his painting, Iwouldn’t press charges. ItwastheleastIdeserved.

“You’re frowning,” I saidnervously, “Why are you

frowning?”“I’m not sure,” he said

absently. “Something aboutthepaintingofSophia…”

Crap. I’d been right allalong.

I’druinedit.Christos was going to

dumpmeandkickmeoutonthe street for ruining hiscareer. I’d end up one ofthose broken old homelesswomen with leathery skinwho kept all her possessions

in a grocery cart. I’d tellanyonewhowaskindenoughtogivemesparechangeorahalf eaten sandwich that I’donce been in love with thegreatest artist on the planet,until I’d ruined his life andhiscareer.

Christospickedupabrushfrom the work table besidehis easel. “It’s not reallyworking for me,” he saidthoughtfully. “What do youthink?”

Iwalkedaroundandstoodbeside him. “Oh, no! It’sperfect!Imean,thisisaworkof genius! I’ve never seenanything more amazing!”Wow, were my exclamationpoints as obvious to him astheywere tome? I figured Iwas four seconds away frombeing covered with redslashesafterChristosstabbedme to death with the bluntend of a paintbrush for whatI’ddone.Iwouldn’tputupa

struggle,nomatterhowmuchit hurt. I deserved a slowpainfuldeath.

Christos set the brushdown and smirked at me.“Okay, agápi mou. You canbehonestwithme.Youdon’tlikeit,doyou?”

Did he mean the paintingasitwasnow?

He hadn’t said anythingabouttheredslash.

“Err,no?”IsaidwithwhatI suspect was an

incriminatingdegreeofguilt.“I mean it’s really good?What’s not to like? I can’timagineanyonenotlikingit?Can you?” I stopped myselfbeforeIusedanymoreguiltyquestionmarks.

He chuckled. “Thanks,but, I don’t know. It seemslifeless to me. Like it needssomethingtospruceitup.”

Likearedslash?Shit! Had I said that out

loud?

Fuck!?!?!I tookadeepbreath. “It’s

amazing, Christos. I mean, Icouldn’t paint anything thisnice.”

“Thanks, agápi mou. Iknowitdoesn’tsuck,but it’snot grabbing me. There’smillionsof goodpaintings inthe world, but less than ahundred, maybe less than adozen,thatpeopleremember.I mean, how many famouspaintings can you name off

thetopofyourhead?”“The Mona Lisa? Van

Gogh’sSunflowers?Munch’sThe Scream?Monet’sWaterLilies? Dali’s MeltingClocks? Uhh…Rembrandt’sNight Watch? Uhh, I’mrunningout!Helpmehere?”

Ididn’tsoundnervous,didI?

“See what I mean?” hesaidcasually,“Itdoesn’ttakelongfortheaveragepersontofall short.Most people don’t

get past the Mona Lisa.Beyond that, about the onlyother thing people rememberis Picasso’s Blue Period,becauseitsoundsfunny.”

Oh geez, he wasdangerously close to puttingthecluestogether.Ineededadistraction quick! Guiltyexclamation point! D’oh! Imeant,d’oh.I’dalreadyusedmy body to full effect in thebedroom, and it hadn’tstopped the inevitable. All I

could do now was stringtogether the first ideas thatpopped intomy head. I said,“I know, right! A blueperiod?ThefirstthingIthinkof when I hear ‘blue period’ispullingmytamponoutoneday and it’s Cerulean blue!And that’s like, the mostexpensivepaintofall,right?Icouldturnmyselfintoapaintfactory if I bled Ceruleanblue! But I could only sellpaint once a month because

it’ssuchararecolor!”What was I saying?!? I

wascrazy!!!!?!?!?!?!?!Guilt! Guilt? Guilt! I

needed to have my brainremoved!ASAP?

Christos chuckled, “Blueperiod. Have I ever told youhow much I enjoy yourbizarreideas,agápimou?”

Bizarre was too kind aword.Igigglednervously.

He put a loving arm

around my shoulders. “Allthis talk about blue periodshasgotmethinking.Ineedtocomeupwithmyown thing,likePicasso.Haveanyideas?I bet you could think upsomething no one’s everthoughtof.”

How about a red slashperiod?Ohwait!Youalreadythoughtofthat!?!?!?!?!

I was three seconds awayfromcollapsingintoapuddleof tears. I couldn’t take it

anymore. I cracked like finechinaoncement.

“IDID IT, CHRISTOS! IWIPED AWAY YOURSLASH OF RED GENIUSYESTERDAY! I’M SOSORRY! BUT YOU WEREDRUNK! I THOUGHT ITWAS A MISTAKE! IWANTED TO CLEAN ITOFF BEFORE IT DRIEDAND RUINED YOURPAINTING!!!”

Isobbed.

Hewrappedhisotherarmaround me. “What are youtalkingabout,agápimou?”

After I calmed, I lookedinto his loving eyes. Theywelcomed me with warmthand affection. I wiped tearsfrommycheeksandsniffled,“When I came homeyesterday,you’dfallenasleepdrunk. There was a big redslashofpaintonthecanvas.Icleaned itoff, thinkingyou’ddoneitbyaccident,butthenI

thought maybe you hadn’t!NowI’veruinedit!”Isobbedsomemore.

“A red slash?” he saidthoughtfully. “I don’t evenremember that.” His facedarkenedintoafrown.

Oh no, this was it. Thiswas the moment he realizedwhatI’ddone.

Hesmirked,“Ifeellikeanidiot,agápimou.”

Him?IthoughtIwastheidiot.

He shook his head withdisgust, “I’ve been drinkingso much lately I can’t evenremember what I’m doinganymore.”

Hope. Maybe I hadn’tsnipped off Christos’ redslashperiodatthebud.

“So,” I said, “you don’tthinkyouputtheredslashonthepaintingonpurpose?”

“Are you kidding? I wasprobably so loaded I didn’teven know what color paint

was on my brush,” hechuckled.

“So I didn’t destroy yourgenius?”

“Mygenius?”“It was a pretty awesome

redslash,”Iquipped.His facewent serious and

hearchedaneyebrow,“Thenmaybe you should’ve left italone? Sometimes geniusworksinmysteriousways…”

Gulp. I wondered if Icould commit suicide by

holding my breath until Isuffocated. It was the onlyescape option I had whilewrappedupinChristos’arms.Tearswelledinmyeyes,soIburied my face in Christos’shirt out of embarrassmentandguilt.

Guilt!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!I inhaled deeply. Christos

hadbeendrinkingsomuch,Iassumed he would smell ofbooze, and I was hoping Icould inhale enough booze

fumes to get a contact buzzandfinallycalmdown.Nope.Apparently,he’dsweatallthealcohol out of his systemduring our vigorouslovemaking earlier. I wouldhave to go back to holdingmy breath until I suffocated.But,afterourshower,henowsmelled like the sexiest manon the planet. There was nowayIcouldholdmybreathifitmeantnotgetting to inhalemoreofhismanlinessatclose

range.WhenIlookedupintohis

loving, affectionate eyes, myguilteasedseveralnotches.

“I’mtotallykidding,agápimou,” he smiled. “If all ittook to make a paintinggenius was adding a redslash,peoplewouldbeaddingred slashes to everything.Loaves of bread. Smartphones. SUVs. Saucepans.The world would be filledwith red slashes. But do you

see red slashes everywhere?Nope.Andno,thiswasn’tthestartofaworldwideredslashphenomenon. I think you’resafe.”Hekissedthetopofmyheadlovingly.

“You’resure?”Imumbledinhaling his intoxicatingsexiness. I could definitelyget drunk or high off ofChristos’ manly scent. “Ididn’tsabotagethebeginningofyourredslashperiod?”

“No,” he chuckled, “I

thinkwe’resafe.”I relaxed into his arms at

last.“But I do need

something,”hesaid.“Oh,what?”“I need some fresh ideas,

some fresh perspective.Otherwise,I’mgoingtogrindall these paintings into theground until I can’t stand tolook at them or they’re allcoveredwithredslashes.AndI don’t mean the kind of

slashes that sell paintings. Imeanthekindthatsays,‘Thispaintingiscrap,next!’”

“Where do we go to findgoodideas?Theideastore?Ihear they’rehavinga sale,” Igrinned.

“Funny,” he smiled, “butthat would mean everyonewould be able to buy thesame good ideas. Theywouldn’t be good anymore.They’d be run of the mill. Ineed to talk to someonewho

really is a genius and cansuggest something trulyspecial.”

“Who?” I asked, myinterestsuddenlypiqued.

“Youneed to talk to yourfather,” Spiridon said,suddenly standing in thedoorway to the studio. “Heknows what you’re goingthroughbetterthananyone.”

I glanced at Christos. Hehad gone white and his eyeswere wide with what looked

likefear.After a long pause,

Christos looked down at meandswallowedhard.

Inacracklyvoicehesaid,“He’sright.”

Chapter18

CHRISTOS

My ’68 Camaro dippedand bobbed over thepicturesque rolling hills ofRancho Santa Fe as weneared my dad’s house.Rancho Santa Fe was anexclusiveupscale community

hidden a few miles inlandfrom the coast. Suburbanthree bedroom houses oncookie cutter lots werereplacedbylavishranchstylehomes surrounded by oceansofacreage.

“There’s a lot of horsesand mansions out here,”Samantha observed as shetookinthecountryside.

“Yeah,”Isaid.“It sure is beautiful. How

comeyoudon’tgoouttovisit

yourDadmoreoften?”Iglancedat herbriefly. It

was the only answer I couldgive at the moment. Thesubject of my dad wasguaranteed to piss me off orbreak my heart. I wasn’t inthemood to do either. I justwanted to get his advice andget through the visit asquicklyaspossible.

“Oh,uh,sorry,”Samanthasaidsheepishly.

“It’s okay, agápi mou,” I

said softly. “Do me a favor,when we get to my dad’splace, don’t mention mydrinking,okay?”

“All right,” she saiduncertainly.

Iwanted to tell Samanthathatitwouldbothermydadifhe found out I was drinkingall the time. Sure, that waspartofthetruth.Whowantedto find out their kid wasgetting trashed on a dailybasis instead of making

somethingofthemselves?ButtherestofthetruthwasIfeltlike an idiot for drinking somuch.Afterwatchingmydaddestroyhismarriagewithhisown drinking, I should’veknownbetter.Right?

Likefather,likeson.Man, I had become a

fuckingcliché.But it went deeper than

that. My dad hadn’t reallystarteddrinkinguntilhe’dfeltbound by his golden

handcuffs.Mygrandadhadoncetold

me that when my dad wasyoung, he’d made a clearheaded decision to paintabstract art because he knewit soldwell.Hehada familytosupportandhedidn’twantto tough it out as a realistpainter and hope that he’dmakemoneysomeday.That’swhat my grandad had done.Sure, now my grandad wassuccessful, but in the

beginning,he’dhadplentyoflean years and my dad livedthrough most of them as akid.

So my dad went for thesure thing. Not that JoeAnybody couldmakemoneyas an abstract artist. Tons ofartists tried the ‘easy’ routeover the decades and failedmiserably.Butmy dad knewexactly what he was doing.His career blew up from thestart and it started raining

money.But it didn’t take long for

him to feel bound tight bythose golden cuffs. He gotsick of abstract real quick.Maybe because it was sodamneasyforhim.Heneverdid figure out a way toHoudini out of doing theabstractartand transformhiscareer intodoing therealisticstuffhereallywantedtodo.Iguess it wasn’t in the cardsforhim.

Ironically, I’d alreadymadeagoodchunkofchangeat my first solo show atCharboneau Gallery sellingrealistic art. I was living thedream my dad had hoped tolivefromthedayhe’dpickedup a paintbrush. And here Iwas, drinking because thingsweren’tgoingperfectly.

The last thing Iwanted todo was walk into my dad’shouse and say to him, “Hey,Dad, I’m doing what you

alwaysdreamedofdoing,butI can’t hack it because thatfuckStanfordWentworthsaidmypaintingsdidn’thaveanyheart, and he was right. Soinstead of manning up andfightingthroughthepain,I’mcrumbling like a sand castleinaslightbreeze.”

Yeah, likeIwantedtotellmydad Iwaspussingoutonan opportunity he would’vekilled for twenty five yearsago.

Hence, allmy drinking oflateandmyreluctancetofacemydadtoday.

IwheeledtheCamaroontoa paved private road anddrove until we came to thegates and stopped. The irongate had a circle set in thecenter.Thecircleheldafancypolished gold letter M. Icould never decide if it wascheesyorawesome.Mainly,Ididn’t really care. My dadcould spend his money on

whatever he wanted. He’dpaidforitthehardwaywhenhis drinking had chased offmymom.Aftersheleft,he’dpainted like crazy and rakedmoney in by the truckload,trying to fill the void. Nomatter how much he made,all the cash in the worldcouldn’t replace my mom.Not for me or my dad.Eventually, thedrinking tookover so bad,mydad stoppedpainting altogether and just

drank.Igrimacedwhilepunching

a code into the little boxboltedtoapolecomingoutofthe ground in front of thegates.

A second later, the gatesswungslowlyopen.

I’d only been here a fewtimesinthelastfouryears.

Whydidthesegatesmakeme think I was about to getswallowed? Maybe becausethe last time I’d been in my

dad’s house, it had been adarkdungeon.Youcouldfeelthesadnessseepingoutofthewalls in every room. All thecurtains were closed, bottlesof alcohol were scatteredaround on every flat surfaceintheplace.Anysignthatmydad was a painter wasnonexistent. No art hung onthe walls. There was nostudiospacesetaside.As faras Iknew, allofhispaintingsupplies were stashed in a

storage locker in Encinitas.That was thanks to FrancoViviano, the owner of SpadaGallery in L.A. Viviano wasthe guy who sold my dad’swork and had helped makemydadrich.Mygrandadhadtoldmethewholestory.

Apparently,whenmy dadhad gotten the idea in hishead toburnallhispaintingsand his art supplies in adrunkenstuporayearago,hecalledFrancoandtoldhimhe

was quitting. That was kindof funny because my daddidn’t work for anybody.Franco just represented him.But my dad told Franco hewas quitting and burning allhisartandsupplies.

According tomygrandad,Franco had jumped in a carand driven down fromBeverlyHillsthesecondhe’dgottenoff thephonewithmydad. Franco had called mygrandadwhilehewasdriving

south and the two of themmet up at my dad’s house.They didn’t want Dad doingsomething stupid. In theend,after calming my dad down,Franco had hired some guystoremoveeverythingandputit safely in a storage unit incasemy dad ever decided topaintagain.

Sadly, beforemy dad hadstarted going downhill, hishouse had been a painter’sparadise. Now it was a

drunkard’stomb.Ihatedit.I pulled my Camaro to a

stop in front of the house. Itwas still nice on the outside.Itwasonlyabouteightyearsold. Give it another decade,and it would show signs ofwear if he didn’t do anymaintenance, which heprobably wouldn’t. Hecouldn’t even keep himselfshowered and shaved, letalone take care of a hugemansion. Eventually the

outside would catch up withtheinside.

“Oh my gosh,” Samanthagasped, “is this your dad’shouse?It’shuge.”

“Yeah.” Should I warnSamantha what awaited usinside?Orlet ithitherlikeahammer? I didn’t think itmattered.

“How long has it beensince you were here?” sheasked.

I squinted into the

sunshine,“Atleastayear?”“Areyounervous?”“That’s an

understatement,” I saidsarcastically.

We walked up to the cutglass front doors. I rang thedoorbell. It played a Bachpiano sonata or some shit.The things people did withtoomuchmoney.

I could see the silhouetteofsomeonewalkinguptothefrontdoor.

Momentoftruth.Thedooropenedsmoothly

and silently. None of thathorror movie creaky hingesshit.Yet.Giveit timefor therusttosetin.

“Paidí mou!” my dadbeamed, all smiles “So goodto see you!” He attackedmewith a bear hug and slappedmy back. “It’s been a longtime since you’ve been here!I’msogladyou’vecome.”

I hugged him back, but

after a second, I said, “Allright, Dad. I think you’regoing to break something.”Heseemedevenstrongerthanwhen he’d hugged me incourt at my trial. And helookedevenhealthier.

He releasedme,“Areyougettingsoftonme?”

“Yeah, as if,” I quipped.“But I think you’ve beenhittingtheweightsagain.AmIright?”

“Ihave,”hesmiled.

Man,Idon’tthinkI’dseenmy dad this happy sincebefore my mom left. Butsomething told me this wasall an act and the secondwewalked inside the dungeon,thetruthwouldcomeout.

“Samantha!”mydad said.“So good to see you again!”Mydadwentinforahug,butI thinkhesawthatSamanthawas a little overwhelmed, sohe patted her gently on theshoulder. “Come inside, you

two.CanIgetyousomethingtodrink?”

I almost said, “Somethingwithoutalcohol?”butIbitmytongue. Since I was oldenough to know better, mydad’sdrinkinghaddrivenmenuts. I’d always given himshitabout it in thepast.Whowastheassholenow?

“Sure,” Samantha said.“I’mprettythirsty.”

We walked into the hugeentry hall with the big spiral

staircase. The chandelieroverheadwas the size of theEiffelTower if itweremadeof crystal and hanging frommy dad’s ceiling. Everythingin the room was so damnbrightandwhite.

What happened to thedungeon?

Wewalkeddownamarblehallway to thebigkitchen. Itwas clean too. No boozebottles anywhere. My dadopened the Sub Zero. No

bottles of vodka. Just bottledwater,fruitjuice,andmilk.

“WhatcanIgetyoutwo?”Dadasked.

“I’ll take a water,”Samanthasmiled.

“What she’s having,” Isaid.

My dad uncapped thewaters and poured them intoclean glasses from thecupboard.

“Dad,” I asked, “what didyou do, dip this place in a

bottleofbleach?”He chuckled as hepoured

the second water. “No, thatmuch bleach would’veburned a hole in the ozonelayer,”hechuckled.“I’vegotamaidcominginfivedaysaweek.She’sgotelbowgreasetospare.”

“Five days a week?”Samantha marveled. “Howmuchareyoupayingher?”

My dad frowned butsmiled. “You really want to

know?”“Err, I mean,” Samantha

stammered, “I need to find ajob. I used to work at aconvenience store but thatdidn’tworkout.”

“A convenience store?”my dad gawked. “Thatsoundsterrible.”

“It was,” Samanthagroaned.“Butmaybebeingamaid would be better. Iwouldn’t have jerkycustomers coming in all day

long. Anyway, I justwondered what a maid getspaid.”

“I pay the maid well. Ihired her from an agency. Ican give you their numberand put in a good word foryou.Maybetheycanfindyousomework.”

“Really?”“Sure.ButI imaginemost

maids work during the day,”Dad said. “Don’t you haveclassesatSDU?”

“Yeah,”Samanthasighed.“Well maybe the agency

hassomeofthosemaidswhoclean office buildings atnight.I’lllookintoit.”

“Could you?” Samanthaaskedhopefully.

“Definitely,” he said.“Hey, I’ve got something Iwantyoutosee,son.”

“I’malleyes,”Iquipped.Mydadsmirkedatmeand

nodded. “Funny. You know,Samantha,thisboyofmineis

quitethecharacter.”“You’re telling me,” she

smiledaswewalked throughthehouse.

He had so many roomsand hallways it was likewalking through a museum.For the first time in years,there were paintingseverywhere hanging from allthewalls.

“Man,” I said, “there’s ashitload of paintings in here.It’s starting to look like the

SistineChapel.”“Is this all your art, Mr.

Manos?”Samanthaasked.“Call me Nikolos,” Dad

smiled. “Some of thepaintingsaremine,othersarefrom fellow artists. I alwayslike to trade paintings withartistsIrespect.”

Sam joked sarcastically,“Is that why I don’t see anyofChristos’paintings?”

“Whoa!” Dad laughed,“she has a tongue, doesn’t

she!”I sort of expected that to

rub me the wrong way, butSamantha said it with suchaffection, it was obvious shedidn’t mean it harshly. Andmydadhadno ideawhat I’dbeengoingthroughlately.Atleast I hadn’t told him.Maybe my grandad had? Itdidn’tmatter. I wasn’t goingtobringitup.

“Sowhat did youwant toshowus?”Iasked.

“Inhere,”Dad said asweentered a huge room at thebackofthehouse.

Light poured in fromoutside.Theroomwaswalledinbyglass. Itwaswhite andclean and inviting. Thingswere organized, unlike theconstantmesshe’dworkedinback in thedaywhenhewasdoing abstract, even beforethe drinking had started. Inthose days, the studio hadbeen messy but exciting and

flamboyant. The perfectsetting for an “Artiste’sStudio.”

This studio was calm andthoughtful. No raucousbullshit. All the paintingsupplies were racked andorganized. Canvases werelined up in neat rows. Anysupplies not in use wereneatly arranged or put awayin drawers. Yet it had thisinvitingfeeling,likeIwantedto dive in and start painting

right here myself. It was theperfect balance halfwaybetween a disaster area andanantisepticsurgicaltheater.

I noticed dozens of glassbottles containing drypigmentofeverycolor in therainbow resting along acountertop.“Areyoumixingyour own oils?” I marveled.Nobody mixed their ownpaint. It was such a pain intheass.Iorderedmineonline.

“Yeah,”Dadanswered. “I

got tiredofhaving to reordereverything. Besides, itconnectsmetotheworkmoreifImixthepaintfromscratchmyself. The old masters likeRembrandthad tomake theirown paint.Why shouldn’t I?Anyway, it’s my ownpersonal protest against allthe modernization in theworld. Everything is toodetachednowadays.Iknowaguywhogetshisultramarinepigment straight from the

lapis lazuli mines inAfghanistan. That guy hassome hair raising storiesaboutbuyingpigment, letmetellyou.”

“I can’t even imagine,”Samantha said. She lookedlike a kid at a campfirelistening to mythical talesaboutgodsandmonsters.

Dad continued, “I’mthinking about flying overwith him to Afghanistan thenext timehegoes, just tosee

theminesandthanktheguyswho are breaking their backsdigging up rocks so I canpaintinacushstudio.”

“Warn me in advance ifyou do,” I said. “I’ll comewithyou.”

“You’d go toAfghanistan?” Samanthaasked in disbelief. “Isn’t thatsuperdangerous?”

“Imaginethestoriesyou’dbringback,”Isaid.

My dad said, “Samantha,

youshouldcomewithus.”“Oh, I couldn’t afford it,”

Samanthasaid,“Besides,I’veneverdoneanythinglikethat.Idon’tknowif Icould,evenifIhadthemoney.”

“Sureyoucould,”mydadsaid.

I winked at Samantha,“Nowyou knowwhere I getmysenseofadventure,agápimou.”

“That’s anunderstatement,” she

chuckled.I glanced around the

studio, feeling likeakid inacandystore.ThatwaswhenInoticed the paintings on allthe easelswere portraits.Mydad hadn’t painted portraitssincebeforeIwasborn.

Iwalkedovertooneoftheeasels. “Holy shit. This isgrandad.”

“Yeah,” my dad said.“He’sbeensittingforme thelastseveralweekends.”

“This is where grandadhasbeencoming?”Iasked.

“Yeah.”Thepaintingwasamazing.Samantha walked over to

lookatit.“Ohmygod,that’sSpiridon!”Shereachedouttotouch the painting. “I mean,that’s him! It looks like he’sstanding behind the pictureframe.”

She wasn’t kidding. I’dalways known my dad wasfucking unreal when it came

to painting realism. I got allchoked up. Who had stolenmy alcoholic dad andreplaced himwith the heroicguystandingbesideme?

Ifmymomcouldonlyseehim now. She’d flip. Thisversion of my dad was theman she’d married, not theoneshe’dleft.

I asked, “Do you guysmindifIusethebathroom?”

“You remember where itis?”mydadsaid.

“Considering there’s like,whateight?”Isaid.

“Ten,”dadchuckled.“Ten,”Inodded,“I’msure

I’ll find one or two before Ipissmyself.”

Samantha and my dadlaughedandcontinuedtalkingas Iwalked out of the room.The second I turned thecorner, tears were drippingdownmyface.Mom.I missed my mom like

fuckingcrazy.She never would’ve left

theman standing twenty feetbehind me and split ourfamilyapart.

I wept silently as I mademy way to the closest guestbathroom. I locked the doorbehindme, put the lid downonthetoiletseat,anddroppedon top so I couldbawl silenttears as I clenched the sidesofmyheadinagony.

Sadnesstoremeapart.

Mom.Imissedhersomuch.Why couldn’t she have

stayed?I hitched and sobbed in

silence for another twentyminutes.

===“Didyoufallin?”mydad

asked me as I returned fromthebathroom.

“Almost,” I joked liked Iwas kick back happy. “If itwasn’t for the rescue crew

that lowered the rope ladderdown from the helicopter, Iwould’vebeenagoner.”

Mydadchuckled.“I thought maybe you

were constipated,” Samanthablurted, then clapped a handoverhermouth.

“I like this girl,” Nikolosgrinned.

“Me too,” I said to him.“She cuts straight to thepoint. But yeah,” I saidsarcastically,“aftertherescue

crewpulledmeout, they gotthe guyswith the oil drillingrig toboredown intomyassuntiltheturdcameout.Ihadmy butt cheeks up in the airwhen the thing blew. Youshould’ve seen it. Brownrain.”

“That is foul,” Samanthagrimaced and stuck hertongueout.

“Hey,” I chuckled, “youbroughtuptheconstipation.”

“And you ran with it

across the finish line,” shesmiled.

“If these jokes get anydirtier,” my dad laughed,“I’mgoing to have to gogetmy hip waders. I’m alreadyuptomykneesinshitjokes.”

Samantha cackled withlaughter.

We spent the next twohours in the studio tradingjokeslikeoldpalsandtalkingart.IcouldtellSamanthawashavingablast.

“Anybody want dinner?”my dad suggested as the sunwas going down for itsnightlynap.

“What’s on the menu atChateauxManos?”Samanthajoked,makingtheSinManossilent,likeitwasFrench.

“We’re going out,” Dadsaid.

“What, is it the chef’snight off?” Samantha saidsarcastically. She was totallycomfortable with my Dad

afteronlyafewhours.“It is,” he said. “I could

stir something up in thekitchen,butIwasthinkingofgoingout.”

“I hope you havesomeplace fancy in mind,”Samanthasaid.

“I was thinking ‘berto’s,”Dadsaid.

“As in Roberto’s?”Samanthasaid.

“Of course as inRoberto’s,” he laughed.

“What other ‘berto’s could Imean?”

“I don’t know,” she said,“Alberto’s or maybeRigoberto’s,orTioAlberto’sorFiliburto’s?”

“Wow,” I chuckled,“you’re really turning into alocal San Diegan, agápimou.”

Shenoddedproudly.“That’s all well and

good,”Dad said, “butwe allknow Roberto’s is still the

best.”We climbed into my

CamaroandIdrovethethreeof us to the Roberto’s inEncinitas.

My dad ordered foreveryonewhileSamanthaandIgrabbedthesalsabottlesandnapkins and found a tableoutside.

“Okay,” Samantha said,“your dad is like totallyawesome.” Shewas grinningfrom ear to ear. “Why have

youbeenhidinghimfrommeallthistime?”

After spending severalhourswithmydad,seeingthestudio,andtouringhishouse,ithadbecomeclear itwasn’tan act. He’d literallytransformedhimselfsincemylastvisit.“Thisisthenewandimproved Nikolos Manos.Remember I told you abouthisdrinking?”

“Yeah?”“He is a changed man. I

haven’t seen him like thissinceyearsago.”

“Well,he’sawesomenow,that’sforsure.”

“Truethat,”Ismiled.“How awesome is it that

he’s likeabillionaire,andhewantstohavecheapMexicanfoodfordinner?”

“He’snotabillionaire,buthe is epic awesome,” Igrinned.

My dad carried two trayswith carne asada burritos

outsideafewminuteslater.“Igot chips and extra guac foreveryone,” he smiled as heset the trays down on thecolorfulmosaictabletop.

We chowed down on ourgrub.

“So,” Dad glanced at meand said, “your grandad tellsme you’ve been having alittle trouble with your newpaintings?”

Withmymouthstillfullofdelicious carne asada, I

mumbled, “Fucking kill menow.” It came out like Ithoughtitwasfunny,andmydad chuckled. But inside,everythingtightenedup.Nowthatmydadhadthrownawaythe booze and turned into atea totaling ass kickingpainter, I couldn’t tell himabout my downhill slide. Itwouldkillhim.

Sam flashed me a quicklook.Sheknewthescore,butIknewshewouldn’ttalk.

“What’s been giving yougrief?”mydadasked.

In the past, I would’vedodged thequestion.Mydadhadhadsomanyproblemsofhisown,weneverhadtimetotalk about mine. But he hadopenedthedoor.Bythelookin his eyes, he wanted toknow.Where to begin?Fuckit. Iwas going balls deep onthe ass fucking that mypainting had been giving melately. “Did you hear that

StanfordWentworthcamebythestudio?”

“The StanfordWentworth?” Dad marveled.“Ididn’t realizeyou’dgottenfamoussoquick.”

“More like infamous.Wentworth hated my newshit.”

“Bullshit,”mydadspat.“Isaw your work at the soloshow.Itwasbeautiful.”

“Waittillyouseemynewstuff,” I grinned cockily. I

knew I’d made substantialprogress since doing thoseold paintings. “Technically,my new shit’s way better.Anyway, Wentworth hatedthem.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” mydadchuckledaroundthefoodinhismouth.

Talking about Wentworthshould’ve sent me searchingfor a fifth of bourbon. Itwould have yesterday. Butthe stress I had around the

topic of Wentworth had upandvanished.

As lame as it sounded, Ithink it was because of thesimple fact I was sittingacrossfrommydadlikenotadayhadgonebysince thingswere still goodwithhimandMom, when we were still ahappy family. The happiestever. I’d felt those goodfeelings coming backthroughout the day today.Well, half back, which was

fucking awesome becausehalf of the greatest familyunit on the planet seemedpretty incredible tome. Plus,IhadSamantha.

What more could a guyaskfor?

(mom)“Two things,” Dad said.

“One, we’re hopping on aplane to wherever the fuckWentworth is at the momentsoIcanbreakhisjaw.”

I grinned, “I hear he’s in

St. Petersburg looking atsome Russian painter’s newwork. Cold as shit that farnorth of the equator. WaituntilWentworth heads downtoItaly.Ihearthat’swherehespends Spring. Then I’ll joinyou.”

“That sounds like a funtrip,” Samantha smiled afterwiping salsa from her lips.“Dowegototheultramarinemines in Afghanistanafterward?”

“Totally!”Ijoked.“Perfect,” she said before

biting delicately on moreburrito.

“What was the otherthing?”Iaskedmydad.

“Theotherthingis,IneedtoseeyournewworksoIcanfigure out what madeWentworthsaythat.Asmuchas I’ve always disliked theguy, he knows what he’stalkingabout.Iwanttofigureoutwhyhesaidwhathedid.

But I can’t make anycomments until I see yournew paintings in person.Otherwise, I’ll be blowingsmoke up your ass, and youknowhowmuchIhatetogetmy lips close to yourpuckered butthole.” HeleanedovertowardSamanthaand whisperedconspiratorially, “This kidwasafartfactorywhenIusedtochangehisdiapers.”

Samanthablurtedlaughter.

“Puckered butthole?” Iaskeddoubtfully.

“I hear how the kids talk.No reason why I have tosoundlikeanantique.”

“No kids talk like that,” Ilaughed.

“So I’m a fucking trendsetter,”Dadsmiled.

He was that. You didn’tmake millions by being analso-rancopycatoranidiot.

===“I think I see what

Wentworth was talkingabout,” my Dad saidthoughtfully as we stood infront of my painting ofSophia in the studio at mygrandfather’shouse.

Samantha stood next tome.Mygrandfatherwasrightbehindus.

“Technically,” Dadcontinued, “it’s incredible.Butit’sstale.”Hesaiditwithno judgment. It was anobservation, like he was

thinking things through outloud. I knew my dad wellenoughtoknowhewouldsaymore when he had a clearconceptinmind.

My grandfather chuckled,“You should’ve heard theway Wentworth was tellingChristos to change things onthe now-defunct painting ofIsabella. If I hadn’t walkedout of the room, I would’vethrownWentworthoutof thehouse.”

I rubbed my grandadaffectionately on theshoulder,“Thanks,Pappoús.”

“I really wish you hadn’ttrashed that painting,” mygrandad said. “It wasexcellent.”

Boom.Silence.My grandad had

accidentally let thecatoutofthebag.

Mydadknewexactlywhatcaused an artist to trash apainting. He’d had plenty of

personalexperience.“I’m sorry,” my grandad

said.“Ishouldn’thave—”hestopped short. “I’m going togo make some lemonade.Anyonewantaglass?”

“Uhh…” Samanthastammered, “I’ll help? Don’twe need to pick some freshlemons first? I think I saw alemontreedowntheblock.”

“It’s spring,” I saidsarcastically. “The lemonsdon’t come in for another

couplemonths.”“We’ll wait?” Samantha

said. “Let’s go, Spiridon,before we miss the lemonsripening?”

The two of them walkedoutoftheroom.

My dad raised hiseyebrows at me. “When didyoustarttrashingpaintings?”

“It was just one,” I saidwith a combination of guiltand defensiveness. “The oneWentworth didn’t like. I had

toagreewithhim.”Mydadpulledacoupleof

chairsinfrontofmypaintingof Sophia and sat us bothdown.

“Was it like thisone?”hemotioned to the painting ofSophia.

“Better.”“So why’d you trash it?

And what did your grandadmean by trash? You weren’tdrinking,wereyou?”

I could’ve blown a

smokescreen and denied it,butcomeon,hewouldknow.He’d been through it allhimself.“Yeah,”Isighed.

“Howbadisit?”“The drinking or the

painting?”Ijoked.“I’m sure your painting

wasterrific.”Iclampedmyhandaround

my jaw and rubbed thestubble nervously, “Like yousaid, technically, it kickedass.”

“And the drinking? Is itkickingyourass?”

“NothingIcan’thandle.”My dad shook his head.

“That’s what I told myself.Remember where that putme?”

My stomach suddenly feltlikesomeonehadrunasewerlinerightdownmythroatandit was pumping toxic wasteinto me by the gallon. Ineededatubtovomitin.

“That good, huh?” Dad

said.I hung my head and

shruggedmyshoulders.“You’ve gotta make a

choice,paidímou.Thelongeryou slide down hill, theharderitgetstostopyourselffrom crashing into thebottom. You’ve got to takethe reins or the drinkingwill.”

Ifitwasn’tforthefactthatmydadobviouslyknewwhathe was talking about, I

would’ve written offeverythinghe’djustsaidasabunch of empty platitudes.Buthe’dlivedatrockbottomfor years. I’d seen it myself.Itwassortofhard tobelievehe’d turned himself into theclean and sober man sittingnext to me in a year’s time.Buthehad.

I needed to take what hesaidseriously.

In that moment it hit methatI’dbeentryingsohardto

convinceeveryoneforthelastcouple years that I had myshit together, I’d startedbelieving my own bullshit.Deep down, that same oldself doubt still ate away atme.Time tochange that.Mydad’s successes, both as anartist and a human being,gave me the confidence tofinally speak with totalhonestly.“Idon’tknowwhatI’m doing, Bampás,” I saidsoftly. Saying that out loud

wasthehardestthingI’ddoneinalongtime.

Inoticedmy father’seyesmoisten when I called himBampás.

Hisvoice caughtwhenhesaid, “None of us ever does,paidímou.All anyofus cando is keep moving forwardand hope for the best.Sometimes things work out,sometimes they don’t. Butyouhave tokeep tryinguntilyou runoutof try.That’s all

thereistoit.”“That sounds fucking

stupid,” I chuckled as silenttearsdrippeddownmyface.

My father laughed softly.“I know, but it doesn’tmakeitany less true.”Heplacedacomforting hand on myshoulder.

The next thing I knew, Iwas opening up abouteverythingtomyfather.“I’mrunning out of money,Bampás.I’mburningthrough

cash paying Russell to workon my defense against thatguy Hunter Blakeley. Mypaintings are shit, andBrandonisbarkingupmyassabout having everythingready formynext solo showyesterday. At the rate I’mruining paintings, I’m nevergoing to finish them.Everything isspinningoutofcontrolandIcan’tstopit.”

My father looked at methoughtfully for a long time.

Eventually,hiseyeslitupandhe nodded. “I think I figuredoutwhy.”

This was the point wheremy father always droppedsome big piece of wisdomthat made me think aboutwhat he’d said for weeks ifnotmonthsafterward.Hewasgoodatthatsortofthing.

“Why?”Iasked.He tapped two fingers

lightly against my chest.“Yourheart.”

“Myheart?”“Youleftyourheartoutof

everyoneofthesepaintings.”Hemotioned at the canvasessurrounding us in mygrandfather’s studio. “Theseare Brandon’s paintings, notyours. Did you pick any ofthesemodels?”

“Iapprovedthem.Imean,Ipicked themoutofabunchof headshots Brandon sentme.”

“Butyoudon’t careabout

any of them. It’s obvious. Icanseeit.I’msurethey’reallnice women. But you don’tcare about painting beautifulyoung women like you usedto.”

“Nope,”Igrinned.Hewasright.

“You’ve changed. Youknowwhy,don’tyou?”

Idid,buthewasgoing totell me like he was readingmymind.

“Whenyouwereyounger,

all you did was chase skirt.You were obsessed. Youwere in lovewith the ideaofbeautiful young women andthe thrill of the hunt. That’swhythenudesyoupaintedinthe past are still good. Youput your youth into them.Beingahornyyoungmanisafine thing any man canappreciate.”

Ichuckled.Heknewwhathewastalkingabout.Hehada thousand stories about

chasing girls before he metmymom.

He continued, “But atsome point, that started tochange when you startedgrowing up, didn’t it?” MydadstoodupandwalkedovertothepaintingofTiffanythathung on the back wall.“When did you paint thisnude of Tiffany? I haven’tseenitbefore.”

I stood and walked overnext tohim.“That?Probably

sixmonthsago?”“Uh huh,” he nodded

thoughtfullywhilelookingupat it. “It’s not like the nudesyoupaintedafewyearsback.You’ve grown as an artist.Tell me, why do you thinkthis portrait of Tiffany isdifferent?”

“The main thing is, I’vebeen friends with Tiffforever.She’snotsomegirlIwaschasing,”Ichuckled.

“That is a substantial

difference,” Dad said. “Andlet me guess, you paintedTiffany before you metSamantha,didn’tyou?”

“Yeah.Howcanyoutell?”“Well, your painting of

Tiffany has a clear, singularmessage. Despite Tiffany’sobvious beauty, the messagethat comes through thepaintingloudandcleartomeis respect and caring. Andlove.”

Ihuffedachuckle.

My dad smiled, “I don’tmean romantic love. I meanthe love of genuinefriendship. I know Tiffanyhas turned into a spoiledprincesssinceshewasalittlekid.But shewasn’t thatwaywhen the two of you met ingrade school. She was aninnocent little girlwith a bigheart. You two were fastfriendsforyears.Andyouputthe purity of that friendshipinto your portrait of her. It’s

unmistakable.”“Yeah,”Inodded.Whenit

came toart,mydad readmelikeabook.

“Anyway,” Dad said,glancing around, “all thesenew paintings of randombeautiful young womenyou’re doing for Brandondon’t mean anything to you.Because now your focus haschanged,hasn’tit?”

That’s when everythingcame together in my head. I

said, “That’s why yourpainting of Grandad you’reworking on is so amazing,isn’t it? He’s been going toyour house every weekendforthelastyear,hasn’the?”

Myfathernodded.“Hewashelpingyouclean

up and get your life back inorder,wasn’the?”Iasked.

My fathernoddedas tearsbegandrippingdownhisface.

“That’s why your portraitofhimissopowerful,”Isaid.

Myfatherrubbedthetearsfromhiseyeswiththesideofhishand.“Iputmyheartintothatpainting. It’s a reflectionof the love your grandfatherhas given me continuouslysince I was born. He hasnever stopped being myfather.Evennow,whenI’mabigshotartistanda father inmy own right, yourgrandfather is still there forme like I just fell off mytricycleandskinnedmyknee

forthefirsttime.Idon’tthinkIcould’vecleanedmyselfupwithout his devotion.He hasbeenthereformethroughallof it.Whenyouhavea childof your own someday, paidímou, you’ll be able tounderstandhowdeeplyIloveyou and how deeply yourgrandfather loves me.” Mydad’s face knotted withemotion. His shouldersskipped in time with hisrestrainedsobs.

Ithrewmyarmaroundhisneckandheleanedintome.

Afterawhile,hesaid,“I’mokay.” He faced me and asmile spread across his face.“Nowyouknowwhynoneofyour paintings of Brandon’smodels are working for youorStanfordWentworth,don’tyou?”

Inodded,“Samantha.”“Shewas right in front of

you the whole time,” hesmiled.“Iseehowmuchyou

love that girl. I see it in thewayyou look at her.You’venever had eyes like that foranyone. Well, maybe yourmother, but that’s different.She was your mother.” Hewaved a hand, “You knowwhat I mean. Anyway, yourmother was a good woman.Thebest.Imean,is.Isagoodwoman.”My dad choked upwhenhesaidit.

Inodded.“Look at that,” he

chuckled and slapped myknee vigorously, trying tohold back more tears, “youanswered your questionyourself.”

I could tell that my dadwas running away from thetopic of my mom like itwould kill him if he talkedaboutitforonemoresecond.Iknewhestill lovedher likecrazy. He’d never stopped,evenaftersheleftus.

I couldn’t blame him. If

Samanthawere ever to leaveme,I’dbeactingthesameasmy dad was right now. Itwouldkillmeforsure.Whoa,that was the last thing Iwantedtothinkabout.

Isniffedbacksomeofmyowntearsandchuckled.“Youjust went all Platonicdialogueonmyassandmademe figure things out myself,didn’tyou?”

“Canyoublameme?ThatPlato was one smart Greek.

Am I right?” My dad waslaughingashesaidit.

Istartedlaughingtoo.“Come here, paidí mou.”

My dad threw his armsaroundmeandgavemeabighug.

When he released me, hesqueezed my shoulders andlookedmeintheeyes.“Yourhearthaschanged.You’renota boy anymore. Your artneeds to reflect that. Put thetrue love in your heart onto

the canvas, and the wholeworld will appreciate it. It’sthatsimple.”

Inodded,“Itis.”“Now you know how to

fix your paintings,” hegrinned.

Idid.Artwasallaboutheart.

Chapter19

SAMANTHA

A cool pool of lightilluminatedmydrawing tableand my sketchbook. I wassketching cartoon wombatswith various drug and bowelproblems when Christoswalkedupbehindmethenext

evening.He started massaging my

neckandshoulders.“Oh, that feels good,” I

sighed, setting my pencildown. “I didn’t realize I’dbeensotense.”

“When aren’t you,” hechuckled.

“Hey! I’ve been gettingbetter. I’m not the anxiousgirl you met months andmonthsago.”

“No, you’re not. You’re

turning into an amazingwoman.”

I really liked the way hesaid that. “So, what’s up?” Iasked.

I felt Christos’ hot breathcaress my ear, “I need topaintyou…inthenude.”

“Doyoumeanyou’ll takeallyourclothesoffwhileyoupaint a picture of me?” Igrinned. “Sounds like fun tome,butIdon’tknowifI’llbeabletositstill.”

He chuckled softly. “Imeantyouinthenude.Butifyou like, I could be nudetoo.”

“Mmm,Ilikethesoundofthat. But do we need thepainting part? Maybe wecould just focus on the partwhere we both get naked,” Ipurred. It had been awhilesince we’d made love and Ifelt a burning need forChristos.

“Ilikewhereyou’regoing

withthis,”Christossaid,“butI’mseriousaboutthis.Iwantto paint a nude portrait ofyou.”

“What?!” I practicallyjumped out of my chair.Sittingnudeforaportraitwasfine when someone else wasdoing it, but I didn’t think Icould.“Why?”

“Iwant to paint you nudefor my upcoming solo showatCharboneau.”

“Nude?” I gulped. “As in

fully?”Iwinced.“Isthereanyotherkind?”“You mean nude nude?

Notjustbathingsuitnude?”“Nude nude. Fine art and

bikinis don’t go together.Bikinisusuallygoonhotrodmagazinecovers.”

“I know you talked aboutdoing things differently afterhangingoutwithyourdadtheother night. But I wasthinking maybe you meantfinding different models or

something.”“I did,” he grinned his

dimpledgrin.Nervously,Isaid,“Ididn’t

thinkyoumeantme.”“You,” he murmured

seductively.Isqueezedtheneckofmy

Tshirt together, as if itwerehanging wide open like anunbuttoned shirt and I wasbraless. But I was covered.Why did I feel the desire towrap myself in blankets or

maybe step into a deep seadiving suitwith one of thosegiant old fashioned divinghelmets? Oh yeah, becauseChristos was suggesting notonly that he paint me nude,but that he show off thepainting in a public gallerywhere anyone could come inand see it. Worse, someonewaslikelytobuyitandhangitovertheirmantelpiece.

How to break the badnewstoChristosthathisidea

made me a taduncomfortable? “Ahh…It’sawesome that you want topaintme.I’mtotallyflattered.Butcan’twedoitwithmealldressed up? Like a regularportrait? Like your dad’sportrait of your grandad?He’salldressedup.”

“I could do that, but Idon’t think it would be thesame.”

“Of course itwouldn’t,” Ijoked,“itwouldbeapainting

ofme.Problemsolved.”He shook his head and

smiled his dimpled grin. Asalways,ithadpantydroppingpowers.ButIwasn’tgoingtolet it work its magic on methistime.

Ishookmyheaddefiantly.“Here’sthething,”hesaid

confidently, “there’s awoman inside you that I’veseen from day one. Butusually, she only comes outwhen you’re backed into a

corner.Mostofthetime,thatwomanyouaremeanttobeishidden from the world.You’ve spent so many yearshiding that strong, confidentsideofyou,youbarelyknowshe’sthere.ButIseeitallthetime. I want to paint thatwomanandshareherwiththeworld. I want everyone toknowhowamazingSamanthaSmith is. Not can be, but is.Youareamazing,agápimou.AndIwanteveryonetoknow

it. I suspect that if you canfind the courage to sit nude,your confidence will shinethroughintheportrait.”

“Can’tIbeconfidentwithmy clothes on?” I askednervously.

“Youcan,but it’ll be thatmuch harder for yourconfidencetoshinethrough,”hesaid.

“Why?”“Because posing clothed

doesn’t require the same

courage as posing nude. Ifyou’re gonna pose nude,you’re gonna have to digdeep and bring out yourcourage.”

“What if I end up beingnervouswhileyou’repaintingmenude?Won’tthatshowupinthepainting?”

“Yup. That’s why I’masking you, not telling you.Feelfreetosayno.Becauseifyou’re doing it because youfeelobligated, thatwill show

through too.Youhave todigdeep and find that intrinsicstrength of yours andwillinglybringitoutsoIcancapture it in paint.You havetowantmetopaintyounude.Thenwecanshow theworldtogether how amazingSamanthaSmithreallyis.”

“Wow,” I smiled, “I kindoflikethesoundofthat!Youknow what would make mereallylookstrong?”

“What?”

“If I wore a Vikinghelmet.”

“Huh?”hefrowned.“Like one of those

Valkyries from Norsemythology? They’re totallybadass. I would lookawesome!”

He made a funny face.“Takeamomentandpictureaportrait of you, sitting in thenude, wearing a hornedViking helmet, and tell methat’snotridiculous.”

My brows pinchedtogether. “You were the onewho suggested I look strong.Hornsarecool.”

“Yeah, but nude? Maybewith a sword and chainmailarmor and a big shield. Butthatwouldlooklikeyouwerepretending to be strong.Strength doesn’t come fromarmor or weapons. It comesfrom inside, from your heartand your determination.That’swhatIwanttopaint.”

“You have a point. But IstillthinknudewithaVikinghelmetcouldbeawesome.”

He raised his eyebrowsskeptically.

I frowned and folded myarms across my chest,“You’re theartist.Figureouta way to make me lookawesome. Itwouldbea first.I mean, you said it yourself,how many nude portraits ofwomen wearing Vikinghelmetsarethere?”

“I’m guessing none,”Christossaid.

“See? It’ll be a first!” Iwastotallyintomyideanow.

“I’ll have to think aboutit,”hesaidthoughtfully.

“Really?” I was kind ofsurprised.

“Really. Let me mull itover. It might actually work.But you’ll have to wearpigtailslikeBrunhilda.”

“What? I hate pigtails.Theymakemelookfive.”

“That’s the deal,” hegrinned.

“Seriously?”He shook his head.

“Maybenot.Pigtailsmightbea bit much. But I’ll thinkabout that helmet. So you’lldoit?”

“I guess?” I smilednervously. “But no spreadleggedcrotchshots,right?”

He grinned, “What, nowideopenbeavers?”

“Youkeeptalkinglikethat

and you can forget it,” Igiggled.

“I’m kidding. You onlyseebeaversinporn,ormaybetattoo art. I don’t want toscareoffthefineartbuyers.”

“What!Areyousayingmylady bits are scary?” I stoodup frommychair and turnedtofacehim.

He jumped out of range.“I’m sure some men mightfeelthatway…”

I lunged at him, but he

dodged.“Takethatback!”“I was thinking of gay

men!” he said as he joggedout of the studio. “They’reprobably afraid of yourbeaver because they’reworried about getting theirdicks tooclose to thosehugeteeth!”

“Huge teeth? Is thatsupposedtobeanapology?!”I shouted as I chased afterhim. “Anyway, mine doesn’thaveanyteeth!Anditdoesn’t

look like a beaver! Comeback here! I’m going to tearyour nuts off and feed themtothesquirrelsoutside!”

“Wouldn’tyouratherfeedthem to your beaver?” Hecalledasheranintothelivingroom.

“It’s not a beaver!” Ishouted as I followed himaround the couch. “It’s apussy!Yousaidsoyourself!”As I was about to grab hisshirt tail, he jumpedover the

couch,outofreach.“Atleastyoucouldcallminea lionora jaguar. There’s nothingsexyaboutbeavers.”

He ran to the far side ofthe living room and stopped.“What do you mean? I betmale beavers think femalebeavers are totally hot. Theguybeaversareprobablylike,‘Dude,checkoutthatchick’stail. It is so big and flat andrubbery,youcoulduseitasaswimmingpoolcover.’”

“Swimmingpoolcover?”Iscoffed,creepingtowardhim,onestepata time,hopinghewouldn’t notice I wasstalking him like the junglecatthatIwas.

Christos frowned, backingup a step. “What? Beaversspend a lot of time in thewater.Theythinkaboutthesethings.”

“Beavers build dams!What does that have to dowith swimming pools?” I

asked skeptically, inchingtowardhim.

“Duh.Adamcauseswaterto pool up, hence poolcovers.”

I shookmy head,movingslowlyforward.“Idon’tthinkso. Anyhow, why theobsessionwith beavers all ofasudden?”

“You’re the one who’sbeendrawingwombatsallthetime.”

Hewasalmostat thebase

of the stairs. If I movedslowly enough, maybe he’dbelulledintoafalsesenseofsecuritysoIcouldcatchhim.I cracked a smile, “You’reincorrigible.” I took anothersteptowardhim.

“What are you and yourjaguargonnadoaboutit?”hetaunted.

“Myjaguarisgoingtoeatyou alive,” I growled. If heran upstairs, he was mine.There was no way he could

escape.At the last second,

Christosdodgedrightandrantoward the front doors. Hewas outside quicker than acheetah.

“Come back here!” Ishouted as I ran after him,rightonhisheels.

===My breath pumped in a

steady rhythm under thecovers of darkness. Themovement of my body and

theliquidfeelingofmylimbsconsumedmyfocus.

Christos was only a fewpaces ahead as we ran alongthe dark streets outside theManos house toward thetrailheadnearby.Imeant,ourhouse.Wherewebothlived.

I still managed to findtimetorunthreedaysaweek,despiteallthecrazinessinmylife over the last severalmonths, and was in goodshape. But Christos stayed

severalstepsaheadnomatterhow fast I went. Despite allthedrinkinghe’dbeendoing,he was still an amazingathletewhoputmetoshame.Icouldtellhecouldleavemein the dust if he wanted to,but he didn’t. He teased mewith the proverbial carrot ona stick. In this case, itwas ahunk of man meat on thestick.OrshouldIsayhismanmeatonastick.Eitherway,Iwasn’tlettinghimorhisstick

getaway.When we reached the

trailhead, he bounded up theslope like a weightlessgazelle. Now he really didleave me in the dust, but Ipumpedmylegshardtokeepup.

Myheartpoundedandmylungs burnedwhen I reachedthe top of the trail. Christosstoodattheedgeofthesmallclearing,takingintheview.Itook note of Spiridon’s old

woodenbench,theonewhereChristos and I had kissedmany moons ago under thestars. I think it had been thefirst time I’d ever beentopless outside in my entirelife.

I’d shared so manywonderfulfirstswithChristossincewe’dmet.And Ihopedthat we would sharethousands more over ourlifetimes.

Thisclearingwasalso the

placewhereChristoshadfirstsketchedapictureofme, thecaricature showing me as apainter with the inscription,“WorldFamousMasterArtistSamantha Smith. You cantotally do it!” I still had thatpicture.Christoshadboughtaframe for it and it hung nextto my drawing table in ourstudio.

Ourstudio.This clearing was the

place that Christos had said

that only his family evervisited. I had been such abitch that day. I’d wronglyaccused him of bringing allhis girlfriends up here to gettheir pants off and screwthem. I’dbeen toodenseandtoo angry to realize he wasalreadycallingmehis familywhenhebarelyknewme.

Wow, how prophetic thathadbeen.

And of course, thisclearing was the place I had

mockedChristosandtoldhimhis nude paintings were justtrashy trophies of all thewomenhe’dhadsexwith.I’dsaidthathispaintingswereaninvasion of the women’sprivacy, nothing more thanexploitation porn on fancycanvases. Funny. That’sexactly what my mom hadsaid when she saw Christos’studioduringSpringBreak.“That’s not art,” Mom

had said, “That’s

pornography. I hope youwould never considerdebasingyourselfbydeigningtostripforChristos.Ishouldhope I’ve taught you betterthanthat.”

Ichuckledsoftlytomyselfas my mom’s words echoedinmyhead.

“What’s so funny?”Christosasked.

“I was just rememberingwhat my mom said aboutyournudeportraitswhenshe

wasvisiting.”Christos smiled and

nodded. “It seems tome shesounded a lot like you didbackwhenwemet.”

“Like mother, likedaughter,”Isighed.

“We don’t have to do thenude portrait if you don’twant to, agápi mou. It’stotallyuptoyou.”

“Thankyou,Christos.ButI don’t want to be like mymom anymore. It’s time for

me to finally leave all thatbehind. I’mmy own womannow.”

“Yes you are,agápimou.Youareallwoman.”Hiseyesflashed darkly in the silverblue moonlight. “And that’sthewomanIwanttopaint.”

“All you want to do ispaintme?”Iteased.

He tore his shirt over hishead and tossed it on thebench.Theheavyshadowsonhis face and muscled body

fromthemoonlightmadehimlooksavage.Thejaggedlinesof the tattoos on his ruggedshoulders enhanced hisdangerous appearance. Hisabs were sharp and rigid. Icould imagine being chasedthrough a forest by thisawesome specimen ofmanhoodamillionyearsago.I would gladly have let himravageme.

“I’ll do anything youwant,”hegrowled.

“Anything?”Iwhispered.“Anything,”hehissed.“Take me,” I said

seductively.He stalked toward me,

crouched low. His eyesburnedfromunderhisbrows.He lookedready tosnarl likeabeast.

I started to shiver withanticipationanda littlebitoffear. The flames in his eyeswere more intense than I’dever seen them before. They

were theblue fireat thecoreof the flame, the darkest,hottestpartofhim.

He stopped inches awayfrommeanddughisfistsintomy long sleeveT shirt at thecollar. His fingers knottedinto the cotton. The musclesofhisnakedchestbulgedandhis shoulders knotted. Ropedtendons and coiled veinspopped on his forearms. Hiseyes held mine. I wasmesmerizedbyhismasculine

power.Therewas a sharp tearing

sound as the savage manholdingme in his fisted griptore my shirt open. His lipspeeledbackoverhis teeth ascotton ripped and popped,splittingmy shirt right downthe middle. Hot passionglowed in his eyes as heforcedthetatteredshirtdownmyarms,bindingmyarms. IwasathismercyandIdidn’twant tobeanyotherplacein

theuniverseatthatmoment.Iwashistohave.

He toremy shirt open therest of the way, freeing myarms. A month ago, I mighthave covered my bra andbreasts with my arms out ofshyness. Instead, I shruggedoff the remnants of mytattered T shirt and stoodproudwhileIthrustmychestatmyman.

He stared at my breasts,devouring them with his

hungrygaze.Theywerehis.Ireached behind me andunhooked my bra, letting itfall. He caught it before ittouched the ground like anexpert hunter and tossed itonto the bench like aslingshot. It landed on hisshirt likeanarrowhittingthebullseye.

The cool night airtightened my nipples intorigidbuds.

I felt his manly desire

washingoverme.Thatdesirewas for me. For mywomanhood.Mine, andminealone. In that moment, Iunderstood. My perfect manwas all man. His lust haddriven him to seek out thefinest specimen ofwomanhood he could find.Andhehadfoundme.Hehadchosen me out of all otherwomen to be his woman.Because I drove him wild, Iignited his passion, I made

himcrazy.Iturnedhimintoadesperatecaveman.Andnow,Iwouldbehiscavewoman.

With his hard hands hecuppedmybreastsdelicately.He kneaded them gently,worshipping them andtreasuring them because heknew they were a woman’stools for sustaining newbornlife. Without my womanlybreasts, his young offspringcould never survive. For allhis animalistic strength, his

masculinitywasnothingbutabrief moment in historywithout my womanhood tocarry his seed into eternity,passing our life force on andontofuturegenerations.

Heat burned between mylegs.

He squatted down andthrew his arms around myhips, lifting me up like Iweighednothing.Heheldmehigh in the air with hispowerful arms like a

primitive idol, then loweredme so that my stomach sliddown his chest. His hairtickled my skin until hesqueezed my breasts againsthis face. As he nuzzled mychest and inhaled my scentdeeplyintohislungs,Icoiledmy arms around the back ofhishead,pullinghimintome.He groaned as his noseskimmed across one breastand his tongue followed,licking up from the swollen

curve at the bottom andtripping across the knottednipple.

Wetness rained downinsideme.

He worked my breastsover with intense attention,licking, sucking, twisting,squeezing. Primal pleasurewaved out frommy chest asmy legs squeezed around hiswaist.IburiedmynoseinhisthickhairasIdugandtwistedmy fingers into his thick

locks. I inhaled the eroticsmellseepingfromhispores.Thescentofhisnakeddesirearrowed into my brain andsent spears of ecstasy downmy spine. The muscles deepinsidemethrobbedwithneed.

I sighed audibly and itturnedintoalong,loudmoanasIthrewmyheadbacktoletthe energy of need flow outof me into the world. I wascompletelyunconcernedwithwho could possibly be

listening to us up on thismountaintop.Iwasaloneinajungle somewhere with thisheathenwhowasburyinghisface in my breasts, crudelylicking and sucklingsustenance from me like abarbarian.

He lowered me until myface was level with his. Ournoses touched delicately insoft contrast to the hot heatthat had consumed himearlier. Therewas gentleness

inside this beast. Theblistering passion in his eyesremained, but the tendernessof his lips as they brushedagainst mine was that of aloving mate who would bekind to our offspring. Thisbrutal beast who could huntandprotectcouldalsonurtureandlove.

We kissed in a quiet, softway,drinkingup the refined,complex pleasure of lips andtongues.Heatpassedbetween

us, our breath mingling, ourlife force combining. Wewere connected on everylevel.

Words and thoughtsmelted away as we becamepleasuretogether.

He released our kiss andsquatteddownandsetmeonthe ground. He knelt beforeme, his face in line withmypelvis. With ceremony andreverence, he unbuttonedmyjeans and slid them and my

panties down to my ankles.He kissed my nakedwomanhood with the samecareful appreciation he’dshown my mouth. Hebreathed heat into me as mywetnessdrippedontohisfaceandintohismouth.

He swallowed me like athirsty animal, his tonguelicking and lunging into mywethole.

I thrust my hips into hisfaceaspleasureovertookme.

Hisstifffingerssqueezedmyass, holdingme asmy kneesgave way. I would’ve fallento the ground if he hadn’tbeen supporting my weightwith his strong hands. I wastaken by the pleasure thatblottedoutmyconsciousness.I became the essence offemininity and ecstasy as heateme,andnothingmore.

I erupted into a violentorgasm, a volcano of heatsplitting my body open like

the birth of the planet. LikeMotherEarth,Icamealiveasintense energy broke meopen.

I screamedmyawakeningand came fully alive for thefirsttime.

Iwasawoman.Iroared.AndIcame.Icame…

===Infinite light and infinite

dark bounced off of each

other, vibrating and fightingagainsteachother.

I vibrated between theirtwoextremes.

Slowly, sensuously, Ireturnedtohumanawareness.

A hulking man had hisfaceburiedbetweenmylegs.Now he was standing up,looking me in the eyes,supporting my limp, spentbody.Hismouthwassmearedwith wetness. With the fluidoflife.

We kissed deeply as Iregainedconsciousness.

Strengthanddesiresurgedthrough me. I yanked myshoes off and pushed mypants and panties off until Iwas completely naked. Itossed my pants and socksontothebench.

I lowered my head andglared up at him, my lipscurlingwithanticipation.

Hisownlipstwitchedwithchallenge.

I lunged at him andclawedat thebelt aroundhiswaist and tore his pants off,pushing them down to hisankles. His cock stood tallandproudasIkneeledbeforehim. It was thick and veinedand rugged like his powerfularms. He was masculinepowerfromheadtohead.

His cock throbbed withneed as he stood over me. Icouldn’t allow him to sufferanother moment without my

heat. Our eyes locked as Iworshipped him. I tongued,licked, teased, inhaled, andswallowed.

Heallowedmetoworshiphim.

Soon, his approvaltransformed into submissionas he groaned and moaned.His huge, muscled thighsshook.Hecouldbarely standup.Allhisstrengthwasinmymouth. He was powerless tofightmeoff.

I consumed all of himgreedily,takinghimindeep.

Hecouldn’tstopme.And he couldn’t stop

himself.A roar thundered from

him,hischestflexingandhisabs contracting, shaking hisentiremuscledframe.

His manhood poured intomymouthashisbodyquakedwithpleasurablerelease.

I gripped his cock tightlyinonehandasIdrankhimin.

He quivered against mytongue and the back of mymouth.

When his spasms slowed,hebentover,handsonknees,breathingheavily.

I licked the head of himclean, then finally releasedhim.

A final drop of cumdribbledout the tipofhim. Idabbedatitwiththetipofmytongueandswallowed.

I wiped the side of my

handacrossmymouth.Iwasstillhungry.I stood and we kissed

deeply for a long time,swallowing each other,drowning in desire. When Ifelthimpressinghotandhardagainst my abdomen a fewminutes later, he shoved metoward thebench. I stumbledonto it. Then I was on thebench, on all fours, mytangled hair hanging in myface. I threw him a taunting

look.Ibitmylowerlip.He stood tall and strong.

His cock was engorged onceagain. He kicked each bootoff and peeled his bunchedjeans off each foot until hetoo was completely nakedunderthemoonlight.

He sauntered toward thebench and walked aroundbehindme.

I narrowed my eyes andlooked at him over myshoulder,sendinghimasultry

gaze. His manhood twitchedexpectantly. I lowered myhips and bent my knees,presentingmywomanhoodtohim.

He stepped forward andtookmefrombehind.

Mycorewas slippery andready.Hesliddeepinsideme,until his hips pressed againstmyass.Iclenchedhimtightlyas he slowly withdrew. Hishands grabbedmy hips frombehindashethrustforward.I

pushed my hips back,meetinghiminthemiddle.

I squeezed his manhoodeach time he withdrew,lettinghimknowthatIdidn’twanthimgoinganywhere.Hefell into a steady rhythm,pumping into me as I thrustbacktowardhim.

Pleasure built inside me.Soon, any conscious controlfaded away, any desire toperformorpleasedisappearedas the ecstasy he gave me

claimedme. I gave in to thewanting, I gave in to theravishing.Mybackarchedasmy breasts pressed into thepile of clothes beneath me,givinghimfullaccesstotakeme and overwhelm me withhisdominantmaleenergy.

Energy tornadoed insidemybodyasIletgoofreality.Themost perfect man in thehistory of men hammeredinto me like an animal. Mypulsepoundedinmyearsand

accelerated as his thrustsintensified.Again I roared, alethal lioness in the throesofatimelessmatingritual.

The ground split openbeneath our feet and fireraged from the center of theearth, bathing us in a geyserof magma as our orgasmshatteredustodust.

We cried out together aswe renewed the eternal bondbetween masculine andfeminine.

Union.===

Christoswasontopofme,squashingme into thepileofourclotheson thebenchas Istruggledtoheaveinabreath.

“Holy shit,” he saidhoarsely. “I can’t stand up.”Hisheavy torsowaspressingdownonmine.

“Ack!”Ihissed.Icouldn’tget enough air to force out acompleteword.

“You okay?” he asked,

concerned.“Gick!”He rolled off me and

plopped onto his ass in thedirt beside the bench. Hetwisted onto his knees andkneeled beside me whilecaressing my cheek.“Samantha?Talk tome?DidI break something? Do youneedCPR?”

I rolled onto my back,completely naked, and staredupatthestarsoverhead.“I’m

fine,” I whispered. “Did wefallasleep?”

“I think we passed out.”Hesmiled.

“Seriously?”“Yeah, I think after we

cameIfellontopofyouandwebothpassedout.”

I frowned. “That’sridiculous.”

“If you have a betterexplanation, I’d love to hearit.”

“Notreally,”Ismiled,“I’ll

have to take your word forit.”

“I think I broke a testiclethattime.”

Iwinced.“Youdidn’thurtyourself pounding so hard,didyou?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Imeant when I came. I don’tthinkI’veevercomethathardbefore. I mean, like, ever.You don’t have any bulletholesinyou,doyou?”

“What?” I asked,

confused.“From when I shot my

load?”“Notgettingit.”“Itfeltlikebulletstome.”I laughed. “That’s

lameballs.”“I was thinking

flameballs.”“I thoughtyousaid itwas

bullets.”He snickered, “Flameballs

sounds way better thanbulletballs,don’tyouthink?”

I rolledoveron thebenchtomysideandsmiledathim.“You’re such an idiot, agápimou.”

He grinned, “That’s whyyou love me.” He leanedforwardandkissedmesoftly.

Before I knew it, our kisshaddeepenedsensuallyandIfeltturnedonalloveragain.

After awhile, I pulledawayandsmiled,“I’veneverhad sex on a mountain topbefore.”

“I’veneverhadsexonthisbenchbefore,”hesaid.

“Really?”“I told you before, this

place is sacred. I’ve neverbroughtanywomenuphere.”

“But you brought me,” Ismiled.

“Yup.Andnowthisplaceis officially consecratedground. If any other womenever comes up here,” hechuckled,“I thinkthegroundwillswallowthemup.”

“I think we were almostswallowedupwhenyouwereinsidemeearlier,”Igrinned.

“You keep talking likethat,andI’mgoingtohavetodoitagain,”hepurred.

“Okay, but how aboutwedo it back at the house? It’scold out here.” By cold, Imeant I was completelynaked outside in the middleof thenightandIwaschilly.If this had been D.C., weprobably would’ve had

frostbite and hypothermia bynow. As it was, my teethwerewantingtochatterandIneededtowarmup.

“Sounds good to me.”Christosstoodup.

“You have dirt all overyou.”

“Do I?” He looked downat himself. “I didn’t evennotice.”

Ihaddirtonmykneesandfeet too, but he had a bigpatch on his ass, which was

butt white, unlike the rest ofhistanbody.We’dbothbeengetting sun since the start ofSpring. “I can’t decide if Ilikethespeedotanyou’vegotgoingornot.”

“If you want, we can godown to the nude beach bySDU where I saw you thattimewithMadison and Jake.Then we can lay out anderaseourtanlinestogether.”

Madison and I had nevergone back to that part of the

beachsincewerealizeditwasnude. “Mmm, maybe not.How about we go with tanlines?”

“Wecanalwayslayoutonthe deck at home when mygrandadisout.”

I loved how he called itourhome. I smiled tomyselfasIputclotheson.

Webothdressed.I realized my T shirt was

destroyed, but I managed toknot the ends together atmy

waist, over my bra. “Youlike?”Iasked.

“You sort of look likeMary Ann from Gilligan’sIsland.Butblondeandhotter.Andafterwhatwedidonthebench,waydirtier.”

I almost asked himuncertainly if that was good.But thatwastheoldme.Thenewmechuckledconfidently,“Andyoulovedit.”

“I did. And I love you,agápi mou.” He leaned over

andkissedme.“And if you want any

more of my dirty, you’regonna have to catch me!” Iturned and ran down the hillinthedarkness.

IcouldfeelChristos’cumdripping intomypanties as Iran. I didn’t care. I still feltlike some primal womanfrompre-history.Ididn’tcareabout things like dirtyunderwear or doing laundry.All I cared about in that

moment was the perfectspecimen of manhoodchasingafterme,theonewhohadjustmatedwithme.Ifeltsoalive,Iwantedhimtotakeme again and prove hismanliness.

The trail was rough anduneven, and I felt gravitypulling me faster than I wascomfortable running,especially considering howdarkitwas.

But Christos’ boots were

poundingrightbehindme.Ididn’twanthimtocatch

mesoeasily.I sped up my pace,

focusing on where my feetfellandkeepingmycenterofgravitylowandbalanced.

A thread of my oldinsecurity knitted my browsand a string ofmy ingrainedcivilized sanity spooledthrough my thoughts. Irealized that my desire forChristoshadmesoturnedon,

Iwasbeing stupid. Imean, Iwasbarrelingdownhill inthedarkness.Icouldeasilybreakan ankle or a leg. It scaredme. I wondered if Christosmight destroy me with hisunrelenting abandonsomeday. I expected my oldfriend fear to snatch myconfidence and devourme atanymoment.

But I wasn’t thatfrightened girl any longer. Iwasn’t going to let fear run

mylife.Iwasawoman,andIwas

strong.Apowerfulfeminineforce

reared up inside me like achampion mare or a lionesson the tundra and it stompedout my fear decisively.Adrenalin and excitementpoured into my veins andswamthroughmybody.

Christos could only havemeifhewasstrongenoughtocatchme.

I ran as fast as I coulddownthetrail.Ijumpedoverrocks and divots like anexperienced huntress in herelement until I was on thestreet below. Then I sprintedtoward the house, Christosclosebehind.

===We pounded up the stairs

ofourhometogether.I knew Spiridon was out,

soIwasn’tworriedaboutthenoisebotheringhim.

I stumbled into thebedroomandcrashedontothebed.We stripped our clothesoff while giggling at eachother and dove onto the bed,heedless of the dirt from thetrail.

We knelt on the bedtogether, facing each other. Iwas brimming over withconfidence because I wasthrilled that I hadn’t trippedon the trail. I had navigatedthe rugged terrain in the

darkness like a master. Mysuccess fueled my throbbingexcitement.

I traced the script of theFearless tattoo on Christos’chest with my fingertip.“Maybe I should get a tattooacross my chest that saysFearless,”Igrinned.

“What, and mar thoseperfect breasts? Nothingmade by the hand of mancould ever compare to yourbreasts, agápi mou. To tell

you the truth, I’m a bitworried about capturing theirperfection when I paintthem.”

“You can totally do it,” Isaid dismissively. When I’dfirstmetChristos,Iwould’vecringed at his words andasked for reassurance hewasn’tlying.NowItookitinstride. But the truth was, Iwasn’t really into tattoos formyself. I joked, “Okay, howaboutIgetatrampstampthat

saysFearlessinstead?”He chuckled, “Definitely

gowiththetrampstamp.Thatway, when I’m taking youfrombehind,I’llberemindedhowbadassyouare.”

“Becausewe both know Ihave a bad ass,” I quipped,“inagoodway.”

“The best way. You havean ass that launched athousandships.”

I frowned, “Wait, thatsoundslikesomethinghaving

todowith farts.Likemyassshoots cannon ball farts orrocket fart blasts that blowthe sails that power theships.”

“All thousand of them,”Christos grinned and shookhis head. “Your imaginationknowsnobounds,agápimou.Neither of limits nor ofpropriety.”

“And you love it,” Ilaughed.

“Ido,”hesmiled.

We began kissing, nakedon our knees, chest to chestonourbed.Thepassionfromthe mountain top eruptedonce again, having nevercompletely cooled. But thistime it was sweetly, silkilydifferent. Our love makingwas quiet and intimate incontrast to the savageintensity and wild abandonbefore.Thistime,notjustourbodies, but our hearts beattogether in that timeless,

ancient rhythm of man andwomaninperfectunion.

Thebondingofourheartsbrought a powerfulimmediacy. I was intimatelyawareofChristosashethrusttenderly into me over andover again. His heat, hisscent,hisweight.Butalsohiscompassion, his tenderness,and his love. I felt our soulsjoining as our bodies cametogether.Icouldtellhefeltittoo.Oureyeswere lockedas

pleasure swept through us inashoweroforgasmicrelease.

We lay in each other’sarms on our bed as theembersofourfirecooledandthe bond between our heartsstrengthened, much likebedrock after the eruptedvolcanofinallycomestorest.Our ritual of love wascomplete,bodyandsoul.

Together, Christos and Ihad laid the foundation forour renewalandrebirth.Like

AdamandEve,wewereManandWoman.

WewereCreation.WewereLove.Love.

Chapter20

SAMANTHA

“Doyouthinkpirateseverused their peg legs asdildos?” Romeo askedthoughtfully.

Igawkedathim.An old guy with grizzled

white stubble who was

dressed in a pirate costumestoodonthedaisinthecenterof the room. He struck aclassic pirate pose: hands onhips,onepiratebootuponabox, like hewas at the frontof a pirate ship. A cutlasshung in a scabbard from hisbelt and he had one of thoseblack pirate hats and a fancycaptain’s coat with hundredsofbuttons.

The students were allcircled around the dais,

drawing the pirate, sitting onthese cute little benchescalled drawing horses,whichyou straddled long-ways likea horse, hence the name. Averticalplankstuckuponthefrontend,muchliketheneckof a horse, and you leanedyourdrawingclipboardon it.I didn’t think they were bigenoughtobecalledhorses,soI dubbed them drawingponies.Iwouldneedtogetasaddle formine and properly

bedazzle it with glitter andsilver buckles in my sparetime.

The class was DrawingThe Costumed Figure.Professor Walt Childress,whohadtaughtLifeDrawinglast fall, was our professoronceagain.

“I totally think piratesusedtheirpeglegsasdildos,”Romeo whispered as hesketched on the big drawingpad in his lap with his

charcoalstick.“He doesn’t have a peg

leg!” Kamiko hiss-whisperedwhile she sketched her ownpiratedrawing.

“But if he did,” Romeomuttered thoughtfully, “hewoulduseitasadildo.”

The old guy in the piratecostume suddenly coughed.Or was it a laugh? I wasn’tsure. But I did know that hewasfacingusandstoodcloseenoughtooverhearRomeo.

Kamiko dropped hercharcoal dusted hands in herlap, confused, and gaped atRomeo.“What?”

“I mean, seriously,”Romeo whispered, “piratesaregay.Allofthem.”

This time, the old piratemadeapfft!noiselikehewastrying to get Romeo’sattention, like maybe hewanted Romeo to stoptalking.Icouldn’tblamehim.It was hard to concentrate

once Romeo got going on atangent.

Romeo was, of course,oblivious. He was totallygoingtogetbustedattheratehewasgoing.

I glanced around theclassroom, trying todetermine if we werebothering the other studentsornot,oriftheprofessorhadnoticedweweretalkingwhenwe were supposed to bedrawing. Luckily, the

professor was sitting at adrawinghorseonthefarsideoftheroomwithtwostudentsleaning over his shoulderwhile he explained how todraw the wrinkles of thecaptain’scoatjustright.

Kamiko whispered, “Thatmakes zero sense, Romeo.Piratesaren’tallgay.”

Romeo rolled his eyes,“Oh yeah? Why would anystraight man lock himselfawayonashipformonthsat

atimewithnothingbutguys?Soundsgaytome.”

“What does that have todo with dildos?” Kamikowhispered, frustrated. “Withall those dicks around, whywouldabunchofgaypiratesneedanydildos?Duh!”

Romeo titter whispered,“When it comes to an orgy,youcanneverhavetoomanydicks, darling. Wooden orotherwise.”

Kamiko grimaced and

shook her head. “I’ve foundthatoneisusuallyplenty.”

“Iconcur,”Igrinned.Our old pirate model

cleared his throat. His facewas turning red. He wastotally listening and I thinkembarrassed. He probablythought our immature banterwasoffensive.

Theyoungguysittinganddrawing next to me smirkedandshookhisheadatRomeoand Kamiko’s running pirate

commentary.Yes, their commentary

was slightly embarrassing.Fornow.ButItrustedRomeoto take it from slightly toextremelyinnotime.Hewasthe embarrassment expresstrain, and once he got up tospeed, therewas no stoppinghim until everybody arrivedat the humiliation station.Picture a giant steam trainbarreling along the trackswithRomeo’s face filling up

the big circle on the front ofthe locomotive, his monoclein place while he smiledmaniacally with his mouthwideopen.Histonguewouldbe dangling out the side andwhipping in the wind whiledrool droplets flicked off.Smoke would be blurtingfrom his smokestack incloudsshapedlikelettersthatspelled out offensivecomments.

Yes.

Romeo, The LocoLocomotive.

“TOOT! TOOT!” blowshiswhistle.

And we all knew howmuch Romeo liked to blowthings.

I did my best to repressmy snicker at the thought. Ijust hoped Romeo didn’t gooff the tracks and killeverybodyonboardhisshametrain.

“Wait,” Romeo said to

Kamiko,“Ithoughtyouronlydick experience was withcartoon penises. Have youfinally taken the plunge?Walked a man’s fleshy gangplank?”

Theyoungguybesidemesnickered, but did his best torepressitandkeepdrawing.

“Fleshy gang plank?”Kamikoscoffed.“Onlyamancould draw a connectionbetween a pirate ship gangplankandapenis.”

“You’re kidding, right?”Romeo frowned. “Gangplanksarelong,stiffandtheystick straight out from thehull of the ship. How is thatinanywayunlikeadick?”

“Butgangplanksaremadeofwood,”Kamikoprotested.

“Where do you think theterm ‘woody’ came from?”Romeo whispered. “Or‘morningwood’?”

“Not from gang planks,”shescoffed.

The pirate model blurtedout a grunty, “Ahem!” Hesounded like he could beclearinghisthroatortryingtogetRomeotoshutup.

“Are you okay, Mr.Underwood?” ProfessorChildress asked the modelfrom the other side of theroom. “Do you need a glassof water? Or perhaps abreak?” The professorsounded sincere. The modelwasanoldguy,afterall,and

hecouldbeoverheatingfromembarrassment in that bigpiratecoatofhis.

“I’m fine,” Mr.Underwood,thepiratemodel,said.

Theprofessor returnedhisfocus to the students besidehim.

Romeo whispered, “See?The pirate’s name isUnderwood! That proves mytheory! Every man keepswoodunderhispants!”

I repressed a titter as IglancedatMr.Underwoodtosee if he was offended byRomeo’scomment.Icouldn’ttell.Hestaredstraightahead,eyes locked in the distance.He was probably doing hisbest to block out Romeo.Poor Mr. Underwood. Thiswas his job after all.Hewaspaidtoholdstillandpose.Heshouldn’t have to endureRomeo’sshenanigans.

“We were talking about

gangplanks,”KamikohissedatRomeo.“Gangplankshavenothing to do with sex.People are forced onto thematswordpointandorderedtojump to a watery death insharkinfestedwaters.”

“Soundslikemylastblinddate,” Romeo grinnedcasually while he continuedto draw his costumed pirateon his drawing pad. “But Iwasn’t forced. And it wasn’tsharks. It was crabs. Good

thing they aren’t fatal. Buthey,I’malwayslookingforagood reason to shave mypubes.”

Kamiko gagged. “OMG!TMI!I thinkI’mgoing tobesick.”

Themodel held in one ofthose clicking laughs thatpeopledowhen theywant toexplodewithlaughterbutareforced to sneeze it outinstead.

“Doyouneedatissue,Mr.

Underwood?” ProfessorChildressasked.

“I’m—” Mr. Underwoodsaid, red faced and doing hisbestnottolaugh,“—fine.I’mfine.” He shook his head,smiling big, like he wastrying to shake away hisremaining laughter. Hescrewed his face into aserious look. But his cheeksstill quivered with repressedlaughter.

The professor nodded,

thenwentbacktohelpingthestudents.

Well, at least Mr.Underwood wasn’t offended.I felt a little better, but ItossedRomeoashockedlookoverKamiko,whowasfoldedover, clutching her stomach.If Romeo didn’t stop, weweregoingtogetbusted.

Romeowinked atme andwhispered, “I’m kidding,Kamiko. It wasn’t crabs. Itwas barnacles. I had no idea

thatbarnacleswereasexuallytransmittable disease. Lessonlearned.Don’t have sexwithcrusty old pirate shipcaptains. Butt barnacles arethe worst. Do you have anyidea how hard it is to wipewhen your butt is coveredwith barnacles? Barnaclesshred toilet paper likenobody’sbusiness.”

“HA!” themodel shouted.Then he started coughingelaborately. But I could tell

hewasjusttryingtomaintaina professional demeanor byhidinghislaughter.

Romeo was going to getpoorMr.Underwood firedatthisrate.

The professor stood upfrom his drawing horse andsaid toMr.Underwood,“Letme get you somewater.”Hewalkedtothecornersinkandfilled a clean styrofoam cupfromthetap.

Kamiko suddenly sat up,

herfacered, lookinglikeshehad diarrhea orwas ready tobarf after hearing Romeo’sbarnacle comments. Sheturned to Romeo andmimedprojectile vomiting in his lapwithherhands,cuppingthemand moving them up anddown in front of her mouthrepeatedly. She made achokedsound,“Gack!”

“Are you sucking off agiant dick?” Romeo whispertittered. “Or is it a giant

woodendildo?”Theyoungguynexttome

blurtedarestrained,whisperylaugh.

Theprofessorwalkedpastus and handed the cup ofwater to Mr. Underwood,who thanked him and drankthe water down in severalswallowsbeforeresuminghispose.

Kamiko dropped herhandsinherlapandlookedatme, shocked with

embarrassment.Shewasevenredderthanbefore.

“Ahem,” ProfessorChildress said as he turnedaround,standingrightinfrontofuswithafrownonhisfaceand holding his arms behindhis back in a teacherly pose.“Would itbepossible for thethree of you to focus yourenergies on your drawingsrather than socializingduringclass? You’re distracting themodel.Andyourclassmates.”

“Geez, Sam!” Romeogrowled,“I’mtryingtodraw!Stop distracting me!” Hehunched over his pad andfrantically shaded in hisdrawingofthepirate’sjacketwithhischarcoalsticklikehewasinnocent.

“Me?” I squeaked. “Youweretheonewho—!”

Professor Childress staredat me and arched hiseyebrowsexpectantly.

Iwinced and smiled back

athim.I’msureIlookedlikea guilty idiot. I wanted toexplain it was the LocoLocomotive’sfault,notmine.

The professor flicked hisgazefromme tomydrawingpad,hintingIshouldgetbacktowork.Inoddedandstartedsketchingout the linesofmypirate’s hat like a good girl.My face broiled withembarrassment. I think IwasnowredderthanKamiko.

Out of the corner of my

eye, I noticed Kamiko wasbitingherlip,lookingterriblyfrightened,likeshewasgoingto get detention, or maybeeven expelled. She wasdrawingsofuriouslyshewastearing holes in her paper.Shefoldedbackthetornsheetwith shaky hands and starteda new drawing. Shewhimperedwhilesheworked.

The professor steppedaround behind us. For thenext twominutes, he loomed

overus,makingsurewewereworkingdiligently.

Iwaspretty surehisglarewas burning holes in ourbacks.

After another minute, theprofessor leaned forward sothathis facewasrightbesideRomeo’sear. Ina lowvoice,he muttered, “Next time,young man,” he said toRomeoominously,“Isuggestyouchooseyourpirateloversmorecarefully.”

Romeo’seyesgoggled.“But,” the professor

quipped, “from what I’veheard,thebestwaytoremovebuttbarnaclesistochipthemoff with a pickaxe. Just becareful of your nuts, youngman,” he said seriously, “Iwouldn’t want you chippingthem off in the process.” Hestraightenedupandsmiledatus. “You didn’t hear it fromme,”hewinked.

I glanced from Romeo to

Kamiko and the three of usburstoutlaughing.

Professor Childress wasawesome.

Mr.Underwood snickeredwithout restraint, his faceturningbeetred.

The professor chuckledand winked at Mr.Underwood, “Keep up thegood work, Dick.” Then theprofessor walked away tocirculate amongst the otherstudents.

Old Dick Underwood, Imean regular DickUnderwood, nodded andsmiledattheProfessor.

“The model’s name isDick!” Romeo hissed. “DickUnderwood!Itoldyou!Iwasright! His middle name isprobablyWoodenDildo!”

Kamiko gawked, “DickWoodenDildoUnderwood?”

Romeo, the LocoLocomotive,hadfinallygoneoffthetracks.

Theyoungguynexttomeletoutalong,loudlaugh.

Professor Childress stoodontheothersideoftheroom.He shook his head at us andchuckled before helpinganother student with theirdrawing.

Ilovedthisclass!===

After class that afternoon,RomeoandIsatatoneofthetables outsideToastedRoast,brainstormingideasforcomic

strips for The Wombat. Westill hadn’t come up withmuch since going to TheWombat staffmeetingweeksago.

“How about Gay vs.Gay?”Romeoasked, tappinghispen againsthis lips. “It’llbeaparodyoftheclassicSpyvs. Spy comics from MadMagazine.”

“I don’t think I’ve seenthat one,” I said as I sippedmycoffee.“What’sitabout?”

“It’s these two spies, onewears black, the other wearswhite, and they’re alwaystrying to kill each otherwithclever booby traps. And Ithink they’re birds becausethey have these long pointytrianglenoses.”

I doodled in my sketchpadasIasked,“HowwoulditworkifitwasGayvs.Gay?”

“They’d always be tryingtosleepwitheachother?”hesuggested.

“I’m confused. Wouldn’ttheywant to sleepwith eachother,iftheyweregay?Whatwouldbethechallenge?”

“Maybe they hate eachother?”

“Thenwhywould theybetrying to sleep with eachother?”

“Hmm. Maybe you’reright. How about Peabutts, agay parody of CharlesSchultz’ classic Peanuts? OrwecouldcallitPeanis.”

“That sounds horriblywrong,” I chuckled. “We’dprobablygetsued.”

“How about DickeyMouse?”

“Same problem,” I said,takinganothersipofcoffee.

“DaffyDick?”Irolledmyeyes.“What? All cartoon birds

are gay. Why do you thinkDaffy was so angry? Hewasn’t getting laid. And youknowTweetyBirdwasgay.”

Ishookmyhead.“GayfieldtheCat?”“No.”"Comeon!Catsaretotally

gayman’sbestfriend.”I arched an eyebrow

doubtfully.“Doallgayslovescats?”

“I don’t know about therest of us, but I sure do.They’re the only kind ofpussy I really like,” hesnickered. He paused inthought, drumming his pen

against his notebook. “HowaboutQueerFamilyCircus?”

“I’m sensing a themehere,”Isighed.

Romeo’s monocle fellfrom his eye indisappointment. “I’m tryingto be contemporary, Sam.There’s tons of TV showswith gay couples in them.Whynotgaycomicstrips?”

“Okay. But Queer FamilyCircus soundsway too pedo.Withclowns,”Ishuddered.

“Clownsarefunny.”“Clowns are scary,” I

insisted.“All thatgarishmakeupis

pretty creepy,” Romeogrimaced, squinching hismonocle back into his eye.“Maybe you’re right. HowaboutPenistheMenace?”

“Thatsoundslikeporn.”“FamilyGay?”“Like Family Guy?” I

askedskeptically.“Why not? Gays have

familiestoo.”Isighed.“Dowehaveany

otherideas?”Romeo’s eyes lit up and

his monocle popped outagain. “I know! JugsBunny!It wouldn’t be gay. JugsBunny isacollegecoedwithhuge boobs. She’s alwaysgetting into trouble becausethey’resolarge.”

“Youknow,thatcommentprovesthatgaymenaremen,not women trapped inmen’s

bodies.”Romeo looked confused.

“What do you mean? Hugeboobsarehilarious.”

I shook my headdismissively.“Exactly.”

“All right, DebbieDowner. Why don’t youcome up with something?You’re shooting downeverythingI’vegot.”

I smirked, “What, aren’tyougoingtosuggestacomicstrip about a college coed

who gives lots of head, andher name is DebbieDowner?”

Romeo’seyeslitupagain.“That’s genius, Sam! I loveit!”He scribbled down somenotes in his notebook. “Canyoustartdrawingsketchesofher? What would she looklike? Does she have a hugemouth? A really long neck?Muscular lips? Maybe shehas a sideways mouth thatlookslikeavajay-jay?”

I rolled my eyes and myhead in unison. “You’rekidding,right?”

“No!” he said, smilingfrom ear to ear. “Does shehave to shave? Have a curlybeard? A clit for a nose andonly one nostril that she canpee out of? The comedicpotential is infinite!” Romeopoundedhis fiston the table,his eyes gleaming withexcitement. He looked readyto take over the world with

hiscomedymastermind.I grimaced. “That all

sounds like a bit much.Couldn’tyoujustmakeheraregular girl with an animalfriend, like Calvin andHobbes, or maybe SnoopyandWoodstock?”

“That’s perfect! But thebird’s name will beWoodcock! And Woodcockwould, of course, be gay!Because he’s a cartoon bird!You’reagenius,Sam!”

Igroaned.Wehadawaysto go with our comic stripidea.

===Ipulledthemailoutofthe

mailboxat theManoshousethe next day. I had beenbringing in the mail anddoing lots of little thingsaround the Manos house toshow my appreciation toSpiridonandChristos. Itwasmy house too. So I did myparttotakecareofit.

I sorted through the stackofmailandoneletterjumpedoutatme.

San Diego UniversityCashier’sOffice.

Ohshit.Itoretheletteropen.I’d forgotten to make my

monthly tuition payment! I’dbeensocrazybusylately,thedeadlinehadslippedrightoutofmymind.Myfirstthoughtwas that I was going to getbooted from school. With

Tiffany’s accusation aboutme stealing her credit cardhanging over my headalready,Iwasskatingonthinice. The last thing I neededwasa latepaymentweighingme down.Now Iwas on thevergeofcrackingthroughtheice and sinking into thefreezingwater.

I needed to take care ofthis immediately. Maybe Icouldputsomeofmy tuitionpaymentonmycreditcard?It

wasthelastthingIwantedtodo,butIwasdesperate.

Outofhabit,Ireachedintothe mailbox, making sure Ihadn’t missed anything. Isuddenlyhadtheideathatthemailboxwouldclampshutonmy fingers like a greedymaw, and chew them off.With my other problemsmounting, it seemed a likelyscenario.

“Did the mail come?”Christos asked as he walked

outside.“Oh!”Ijumped.“Somethingwrong?”“Uh,no?”Guiltyquestion

mark. “I mean, no!Everything’s fine!” And theexclamation points too. “Imean fine. Everything isfine.”Ididn’twanttotellhimabout my money problems.I’d vowed to take care ofthemmyself,andIwasgoingto follow through. It was allpartofprovingtomyparents

and myself that I wasn’tfoolishforchoosingart.

“All right,” Christos said.“I’m going to run to the artsupply store. I need somenew sable brushes. Do youneed anything while I’mthere?”

Not that I could affordanything. I was beyondbroke. And Christos hadalreadyspenta tonofmoneysetting up my drawing tablewith supplies in our studio. I

couldn’t ask for more. “No,thanks,”Isighed.

“Do you want to comewith,anyway?”

“No, I have to go tocampus.”

“You were just there. Ithought your classes weredonefortheday.”

“I have to take care ofsomething with my, uh,financialaid!Somenewloanpapers!” I lied. I hopedChristosdidn’tknowthefirst

thingabouthowfinancialaidand loans worked, or he’dstart asking questions andfindoutrealquick.

“That’scool.Doyouwanta ride?Wecouldgo toBlickArtdowninLittleItalyafter.”

“No!That’sokay!”Hefrowned.“Yousure?”“Yes!”“All right. In that case,

I’m taking the Duke. Theweather’ssonice,Ifeellikearide.”

Iwasabout to ask ifhe’dbeen drinking, because Ididn’t want him riding hismotorcycleifhe’dhadevenasip. But ever since that visitwith his dad, I don’t thinkChristos had been drinkingmuchatall.“Okay,”Isaid.

He pushed his Ducati outof the garage and put hishelmet on. “Wanna havedinnerwhenIgethome?”

“That would beawesome.”

“And don’t forget, weneed to start your paintingsoon.”

Oh, that. Me, nude. Foreveryone to see. Naked on amountaintopatnightwasonething. A well lit portraithanging inacrowdedgallerywas another. “Sure!” Noticetheexclamationpoint.

“Maybe we can starttonight,”hesuggested.

“Maybe?” Notice thequestionmark.

Henoddedandsmiledhisdimpledgrin.“Later,”hesaidas he revved the bike androdeoff.

I envied thatChristoswasback to his usual carefreeself. It had happened almostovernight,likeallhistroubleshad vanished. He’d returnedto being the Christos I’dfallen in love with. It wasamazing what the love of asupportive parent could doforone’sconfidenceandself

esteem.(Subtle jab at my own

parents)Sigh.I wished my troubles

would vanish like Christos’,so I could be carefree too.Unfortunately, mine weren’teven close to free.They costthousands of dollars that Ididn’thave.

At least I had my creditcard. I could now begin thetime honored American

traditionof sinking into apitofdebtImightneverbeabletoclimboutof.

===“What do you mean I

can’tpaymytuitionbycreditcard?”Iaskedinhorror.

Thecashier,amiddleagedguywithapeppergraybeardandglasses, stoodbehind thecounter at the SDU CentralCashier’s Office. He said,“Wecanonlyacceptpaymentbycash,check,moneyorder,

orstudentloanchecks.”“But I’m out of student

loanmoneyand I don’t haveany cash,” I groused. “Thebank won’t give me a loanbecause I don’t have acosigner.” Iwas ready to cryandpleadformercy.Ithinkitshowed on my face anddesperatetoneofvoice.

The cashier smiledsympathetically. “I’m sorry,there’s nothing I can do.Have you spoken with

someone at Financial Aid?Theycanhelpyouexploreallofyouraidoptionsindepth.”

“Ihave,”Isighed.“Ican’tget any more loan moneyuntilnextyear.”

“That’s a problem,” henoddedsympathetically.

“What happens if I don’tpay?”

“There is a grace period.You have another week topay before you incur a latefeeoffiftydollars.”

Shit, I didn’t have fiftydollars to spare, let alonethousands.“WhathappensifIdon’tpaybythen?”

“You’ll incur a hold onyouraccount.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”“It means you’ll have to

paya$35feetocleartheholdandmakeyourpayment.”

“You mean I’ll have topay$35soIcanpaythe$50latefeeANDmytuition?”

“Yes,” he said somewhat

sheepishly.I shook my head. Great.

More money I didn’t have.“What happens if I don’tclearthehold?”

“Eventually, you’ll besubject to cancellation ofyourclasses.”

“Whatdoyoumean?Like,permanently? Idon’twant toget kicked out of SDU,” Isaidwithfeebledread.

“No,” he smiled. “It’s notthat dire. But you won’t be

able to receive anycredit forthis term. You’ll have toretake all the classes you’reenrolledinnow.”

“But they don’t offerHistory 3 and Sociology 3again until next Spring!That’ll totally screw up myschedulenextyear!”

Hespreadhishandsapart.“I’msorry.”

“What can I do?” I said,panicked.

“Iknowthissoundsharsh,

but if you can find away tocover your monthlyinstallment payment, youwon’thaveanythingtoworryabout. Try talking to yourparents.”Them. Yeah, right. They

weren’tgoingtodoshit.“Is there anything else I

canhelpyouwith?”heasked,glancingovermyshoulderatthe people waiting in linebehindme.

“No,thanks.”

MyshouldersslumpedasItrudged out of the Cashier’sOffice.

I was going to find thenearest lamppost outside andwaituntildarksoIcouldstartturning tricks. I was prettysure one trick would covermylatefeeandmyholdfee.

I walked down the stairsoutside the Cashier’s Officeright as Tiffany Cum-dumbButt-spousewalkedbywithapair of her sorority hobots

flankingher.Great.As always, she was

dressed in new clothes, herplatinum blonde hair wasperfectly arranged, and Iexpected paparazzi to jumpout of the bushes and startsnapping photos of her anysecond.Sheexudedcelebrity,even though I think the onlythingshewasfamousforwasbeingabitch.

Iduckedmyhead,hoping

shewouldn’tnoticeme.“Well,ifitisn’tlittlemiss

ScumanthaBananaShit,”shesneered.

Iwonderedfor thesecondtimehowshe’dfoundoutmyfull name was SamanthaAnna Smith. She probablyhad spies everywhere. I hadno doubt she could afford tohiretheverybest.

We were walking in thesame direction, so I walkedquickly, hoping to put some

distance between us. I heardher tittering with her twominionsbehindme.

“Having a bad day,Scumantha?” she sneered atmyback.

Irolledmyeyestomyselfand kept walking, doing mybesttoignoreher.

“Find any good jobslately?”shejabbed.

What a bitch. She hadtotallygottenme firedoutofspite,andwebothknewit.

I turnedandglaredather,“Shutup,Tiffany.”

She and her hobot friendscackledatme.

The thing that pissed meoff more than anything wasthat Tiffany never had toworry about money, shenever had to work foranything,andshewasstillthebiggestbitchontheplanet.

“Oh,” she cooed in babytalk, “did I hurt widdleScumantha’sfeewings?”

Her friends laughedheartily.

I pivoted onmy heel andmarched right up to Tiffanyand her friends. The three ofthem stopped short, eyesbuggingout.

“Hey,” one of the hobotsmuttered.

Tiffany frowned at me,“Hey,backoff—”

SLAP!!Ismackedherrightacross

theface.Hercheekwaswhite

where I’d hit it. I’d learnedthat trick from my mom. Atleast she was good forsomething.

“Ohmy god!” one of thehobots gasped, covering herlipswithherfingers.

The other hobot wasstunnedintosilence.

Tiffany huffed awordlessshriek.Slowly,sheraisedherhand and gingerly touchedhercheekwithherfingertips.

Inarrowedmyeyesather.

“Don’tcallmeScumantha.”I turned around and

walked away, expecting herandherfriendstojumpmeorthrow knives in my back.Knowing Tiffany, her daddyprobably gave her a fancyhand gun she would use togunmedown.

Instead, Tiffany shrieked,“I’m really looking forwardtoourhearing in frontof theSDU tribunal!!! I can’t waittotellthemallabouthowyou

stole my credit card ANDattackedmeoncampus!!!I’llmake sure you’re expelled,yousnivelingcunt!!!!!!!”

Thathadn’tgonequitethewayI’dhoped.

Sigh.===

A black Firebird TransAm was parked in thedrivewaywhenIcamehome.It had a huge gold firebirddecal on the hood and goldpin striping around the

windows. The T tops wereoff.Itwasanoldmusclecar,butinperfectcondition.Ihadnoideawhoseitwas.

I hoped it wasn’tTiffany’s. She drove a blackMercedes, but you neverknew.Maybe shewas tryingto impress Christos and winhim back by buying him amuscle car as a present. Shecouldcertainlyaffordit.

Stupidbitch.She was making my life

miserable without eventrying.Yeah,Ihatedher.

Iputmykeyinthelockofthe double front door anddiscovered it was alreadyopen.

“Anybodyhome?”Icalleduncertainly.

“Samantha!” Nikolossmiled as he walked out ofthe kitchen. “I was waitingforsomeonetogethere.I letmyselfin.”

“Youhaveakey?”

“Yeah. I’ve had itforever.”

“Howcomeyouneveruseit?”Ismiled.

Hearchedaneyebrowandshrugged his shoulders. “Oh,youknow,”hesaidcasually.

Boy,Iwasstillputtingmyfoot in my mouth from timeto time. I guess growing uptook longer thansixorsevenmonths. But Iwas doingmybest. “Is that your caroutside?It’sbeautiful.”

“Yeah. Seventy-sevenFirebird Trans Am, SpecialEdition. Same one they usedinSmokeyandtheBandit.”

“Smokeyandthewhat?”“You haven’t seen

Smokey and the Bandit?”Nikolosgasped.

Ishookmyhead.“That movie is a classic.

We’re going to have to havemovie night at my place.Bring Christos over. We’llputitonmybigTV.”

“Sounds like fun!’ Igrinned. “Do you wantsomethingtodrink?”

“I already helped myselftosomeofDad’slemonadeinthe fridge. I can pour you aglass.”

“Oh, I’ll get it. You sitdown.” I walked over to thecupboardandgrabbedaglassfrom the shelf and pouredsome from the pitcherperspiringonthecounter.

“Did you ever hear back

frommymaidservice?”I sat down at the kitchen

table across fromNikolos. “Ididn’t. Did they try to callme?”

“I told them to call thehousesinceIdidn’thaveyourcell phone number. Did younotgetamessage?”

“No,”Isaid.“Doyoustillneedajob?”

heasked.“Are you kidding?” I

blurted.“Iwouldkillforajob

right now. I would cleanskunktoiletsifitpaid.”

Confused, heasked,“Skunktoilets?”

“You know, the ones theskunks use? They probablysmellawful.Ihearthatpublicskunk restrooms are theworst.”

Nikolos laughed. “Skunktoilets. You always have thestrangestideas.”

“Is that good or bad?” Iaskeduncertainly.

“Definitelygood.Itshowsyouhaveacreativemind.”

“Youthinkso?”“Ido.”I rolled my eyes, “My

parentsneverdid.”IfeltlikeIwas sinking back into myown self doubt as I talked toNikolos. I so wanted to beoverit,butallIhadtodowasclose my eyes for a secondand I could see fifty foot tallredneonnumbersblinkinginmymind’seye:

-$5,000-$5,000-$5,000I was never going to find

thatkindofmoney.“So, when am I going to

see some of your art,Samantha? My dad saysyou’ve really been comingalongsincehemetyou.”

“Yeah,” I smiled,suddenly in a better moodthinking about how niceSpiridon was to me all the

time. At least I had him andChristos watching my back.But I would never dream ofaskingeitheroneof themfor$5,000.

I said, “I have mysketchbook, if you want toseethat?”

“Sure,”Nikolosgrinned.I walked into the studio

and grabbed my sketchbookoff my drawing table andreturnedtothekitchen.

Nikolos started flipping

through it on the table topfrom the beginning so wecould both look. He didn’tsaymuch at first. “I can seethe progress right away. I’mguessing this pagemarks thepoint you started gettinginstruction?”

“Yeah, that was stuff Idrew right after I startedtaking Life Drawing withProfessorChildress.”

“WaltChildress?”“Yeah. I took his class in

the fall. Now I’m takingDrawing The CostumedFigure from him. Do youknowhim?”

“Very well. I haven’ttalked to him in a few yearsthough.”

“What’supwithWaltandSpiridon,anyway?”

Nikolos cracked a widegrin that had the samedimples as Christos. “Ahh,Walt and my dad go way,wayback.”

“Was there some kind ofdrama between them?Whenever Walt’s namecomes up, Spiridon hintsaround the bush, but neversaysanything.”

Nikolos nodded. “Theyhave,howshould I say it?Ahistory together.” Heemphasized the word historylikeithidburiedtreasure.

“Really?”Ileanedforwardonmyelbows,allears.

Nikolos arched his

eyebrows.And…he wasn’t going to

sayanything.“Aren’t you going to tell

me?” I asked. “I’m dying toknow!”

He shook his head andsmiled that stupid Manosdimpledgrin. “Sorry, it’snotmy story to tell. You’ll havetoaskmydadsometime.”

I groaned and smiled.“Fine.”

Nikolosturnedbacktomy

sketchbook and continuedflipping.When he got tomypotsmokingwombatsketcheshe stopped and laughed.“Whatisthis?”

“It’s my ideas for a logoforTheWombat.”

“Thewhat?”“The comedy newspaper

atSDU.”“Oh, that Wombat. These

are really funny, Samantha.How come you have somany?”

“The editor of the paperaskedmetodesignsomenewones.”

“Really?”“Yeah,”Ismiled.“Whichonedidhepick?”“Oh,they’regoingtohave

avote.Everyoneonstaffgetstovote.Andotherpeoplearesubmittingideas.”

“Well, yours should win.Thesearehilarious.Andyourdesignsenseisbeautiful.Youdrawveryelegantshapes,yet

they have humor and witwithoutbeingcrude.”

“Wow,thanks!”“Basedonallthisworkin

your sketchbook, I can seethatyoutrulyhavetalent.Nowonder my dad has said somanynicethingsaboutyou.”

I was blushing like aschool girl, which was okaybecause Iwas still in school,even if itwascollege. Itwasokay toblushwhensomeonewas complimenting you this

much, right? Iwas totallyoncloudnine.

-$5,000-$5,000-$5,000There went my good

mood.“Something bothering

you?”Nikolosasked,concernonhisface.

“Oh,uh,nothing.”“Don’t kid a kidder,

Samantha. You look likesomeone killed your kitten.

Whatisit?”Nikolos was so friendly

and kind, I couldn’t helpopeninguptohim.“IowetheuniversityabunchofmoneyIdon’thave.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”“My tuition payment is

late because I used up thelittle loan money I alreadyhad.IwassupposedtopayinmonthlyinstallmentsbutIranoutofcash.”

“Is that why you were

askingaboutthemaidjob?”“Yeah. Jobs are scarce

rightnow.Ican’tevenfindamath tutoring job, which Iwouldbegoodat.”

He took a sip of hislemonade,“Ithoughtyousaidyou were working at aconveniencestore.”

“Iwas.Iwasalsoworkingatthecampusartmuseum.”

He smiled, “You wereworking at the Eleanor M.Westbrookmuseum?”

“Yeah.”“Thatmustbefun.”“Itwas,”Iwinced.“Was?” His brows knit.

“Whathappened?”“It’s a long story,” I

groaned.“It sounds to me like

you’reindirestraits.”“That’s an

understatement,” I rolled myeyes. It was all pouring outnow and I couldn’t stopmyself. I blamed it on

Nikolos’ sympathetic ear.Stupidears.I’dvowedtodealwiththismyselfandnotputitonsomeoneelse.

“Have you everconsidered looking for workinanartstudio?”

“Oh,” I sighed, “I’vetotally looked for art jobs.Besides the museum, whichwasjustbeingacashier,therearenone.NoonehiresartiststhatIcouldfind.”

“Iwould.”

Ifrowned.“Huh?”“Icoulduseanassistantin

my studio. Mixing paint byhand takes forever. Samewith stretching canvases andbuilding frames. It’s all timeconsumingwork.Itwouldbenice to have someone do itfor me while I oversaw theprocess.SomeoneIcantrain,andsomeoneIcantrust.”

I gave him a funny look.“Likewho?”

“Likeyou,”hesmiled.

I shook my head, “Oh, Icouldn’tdothat.”

“I thought you said youneeded to find a job. I’mhiring.”

“I can’t take yourmoney,Mr.Manos.”

“CallmeNikolos.”“You’re my boyfriend’s

dad,” I scoffed, “I can’t callyoubyyourfirstname.”

“Sureyoucan.Andifyouwork for me, it’ll be part ofthejobrequirement.”

A spark of hope twinkledinmychest.Ireallydidneedajob.“Areyouserious?”

“Yes,I’mserious.”Mymouthgapedopen. “I

don’tknowwhattosay.”“Thank you always

works,”hegrinned.“Thankyou,Mr.Manos!”

I leaned over the table andhuggedhim,almostknockingoverhislemonadeglass.

He caught it and smiled,“Careful!”

“Thank you so much!” Isat back down. “You don’tknow how much this meanstome.”

He smiled. “Aren’t yougoingtoaskwhatitpays?”

“Oh!Yeah,duh.”“Howmuchisyourtuition

payment?”heasked.“What?No, I couldn’t.” I

shookmyheadvigorously.“Howmuch?”heinsisted.I sighed. “It’s over five

thousand.”

“How about I make yourpaymentforyou,andyoucanworkitoff.”

“Icouldneverdothat!”“Whynot?”“Ican’ttakeyourmoney,”

Ipleaded.“Whosaidanythingabout

taking?You’regoingtoworkit off. There’s always thingsto do around the studio,believe me. You’re going tobecomeanexpertatcleaningbrushes.”

“I don’t know,” I saidhesitantly.

“Look, Samantha. Artistshaveapprentices.Apprenticesdo all the grunt work whilewatching theartistwork.Notonlywillyougetpaid,you’llbe learning something. It’soneofthoseworkstudyjobs.Becauseseriously,howmuchwere you learning about artby ringing up people at thecashregisteratthemuseum?”

Hehadapoint.

“Let’s say I pay youtwenty an hour. You canwork off the five thousandthat way. It won’t take toolong,I’msure.”

“Howmanyhours doyouwantmetoworkaweek?”

“Asmanyasyouwant.”“Areyouserious?”“Yes.”I did the numbers in my

head. If I worked part time,say twenty hours a week, itwould only take about three

months to cover my tuitionbill. Oh wait. That onlycovered theonepastdue. I’dfigureoutthethirdonedueamonthfromnowlater.

“Do we have a deal?” heasked, holding his handacrossthetable.

Ishookit.“Yes!”Whatapleasantsurprise!Now all I had to worry

about was getting expelledfrom SDU for attackingTiffany and stealing her

creditcard.ScrewTiffany!Ihadajob!

Chapter21

SAMANTHA

“I had a new idea for ourcomic strip,” Romeo said aswe walked across campustoward the Student Centerand The Wombat staffmeeting at Toasted Roast.Although the weather had

become quitewarm for earlyspring, Romeo wore hiselaborate burgundysteampunk coat with theblackcuffsandcollar,andhispointy, silver tipped blackleather shoes. His monocledangled in rhythm with hisstride.

“What was your idea?” Iasked.

“Tampon Tammy! Sheshoots giant tampons fromher stinky skunk trunkwhile

fightingtheforcesofevil.”“You don’t mean Tammy

Lemons,thatbitchygirlatthelast staff meeting? The onewiththehipsterglasses?”

“I totally mean her,”Romeosaidconspiratorially.

“Oh, Romeo,we can’t dothat.She’llhateusmorethanshealreadydoes.”

“Maybe you’re right,” hesighed. “But if she’s a bitchtoday at the meeting, I’mtotally going to propose the

ideatoeveryone.”“Pleasedon’t,”Ibegged.“Please don’t what?”

JustinTomlinsonsaid,fallingintostepwithus.

“Hey, Justin,” I smilednervously. I hoped he hadn’theardRomeo’sidea.

“IwasjusttellingSam—”Romeoblurted.

Icuthimoff,“Howmuchfun we’ve been havingworking on ideas for TheWombat.”

Justin frowned, “Howdoesthatfollowfrom‘Pleasedon’t’?”

“Uhhh…”Istammered.“Please don’t tell Justin

howawesomeheisforlettingus sit in with you guys,”Romeosaid,savingme.

Justin smiled and noddedaswewalkeddownthestairsrunning beside the steppedfountain that leddown to theStudent Center quad.“Thanks. You guys are both

pretty awesome yourselves.Most everybody loves whatyou guys are coming upwith.”

“Most everybody?”Romeoasked.

I shot Romeo a “shut thefuckup”glare.IknewhewasthinkingofTammy.

“Well,Ijustmeantthat…”Justin sounded put on thespot.

“We know what youmeant,”Ismiled.

Thethreeofuswalkedupto the two tables alreadyoccupied by Keith, Micah,Alyssa,andTammy.

“Hey guys,” Justin said,lowering his book bag ontothe table top as we all satdown.

“Well, if it isn’t Romietand Julio,” Tammy Lemonssniveled.

Great.Maybe Romeo hadbeen right. Was Tammysaying I was mannish by

callingmeJulio?Romeoarchedaneyebrow

at me, then turned to Justin,“Justin,Ihaveagreatideafora new comic strip. Want tohearaboutit?”

Gulp.“Let’s hear it,” Keith

smiled.“Well,” Romeo smiled a

Cheshire grin, “it’s aboutOW!!”

IhadkickedRomeo’sshinunderthetable.

“Ow?” Micah asked.“What’sthat?”

“Owl! I meant Owl!”Romeosaid.

“An owl?” Alyssa askeddoubtfully.

“Yes!” Romeo yelled.“It’s, uh, about Obie, theOB/GYN Owl! He’s a realhootforthecoot!”

“Hoot for the coot?”Micahsnickered.

“And instead of figuringouthowmanylicksittakesto

get to thecenterofaTootsiePop,hefiguresouthowmanylicksittakestomakeTootsie,asplayedbyDustinHoffmanin the movie of the samename,getoff!Getit?TootsiePop?”

“Dude, how high areyou?” underbeard Keithaskedwithanamazedgrinonhisface.

“Iwanttosmokewhateverhe’s been smoking,” emoMicahsmiled.

“I have to admit,” Justingrinned at Romeo, “it haspotential.”

“Potential to suck,”Tammysneered.

Wow, Tammy wassourballs.

“I have another idea,”Romeo said, glaring atTammy.

“Let’s hear it,” Micahsaid.

“It’scalledTah—HEY!”Ihadkickedhimunderthe

tableagain.“Tah-HEY?”Keith asked.

“Ican’twaittohearwherehegoeswiththisone.”

“Yeah, Romeo,” Igrowled,“Ican’twaiteither.”The last thingIwanted todowasmakethingswithTammyworse. I already had Tiffanyon my case. I didn’t needTammytoo.

Romeoshookhisheadandglared at me, “I tah-hotallyforgot.”

“All right,” Justin said,“maybe it will come back toyou later. I wanted to telleveryone that I’vefinallygotallthevotesbackforournewWombat mascot artwork. Itwas a close race.”He pulledtwopiecesofpaperoutofhisbookbagandsetthemonthetablesidebyside.Onewasacopy of one of my drawingsof the Wombat. And theother, wow, the other wasreallygood.

It showed a wombatholding a baseball bat overone shoulder. The bat wascracked in half and the bigend dangled from the handleby a sliver. In the wombat’sother hand was a huge beermug with foam frothing outthe top of the glass. He hadthe SDU logo branded intohis chest fur like on cattle.Next tohimwasamanlyingon the ground, knocked outcold. He was obviously a

professorbecausetherewasachalkboard with chemistryequations on it behind himand a piece of chalk stickingoutofonehandandaneraserin the other. A huge lumproseupfromhisforeheadandcartoon birds circled it withmusical notes coming out oftheir mouths like they werechirping.

It was fantastic, even ifTammyhaddrawnit.

“And the winner is—”

Justinsaid.Tammy?Iwastotallysure

she had won. I would’vepickedhersovermine.

Micah drummed the tablewithhisfingertips.

“—Samantha!” Justinfinished.

What?“Congratulations, Sam!”

Romeosaid.Tammy folded her arms

acrossherchestandscowled.Romeo gave her a snooty

look.“Romeo,” I whispered,

“don’t.”Justin smiled, “We all

loved your art, Tammy, butmostofusagreedwe’dneverget it past administration.Violence to SDU professorsis not their favorite subjectmatter.”

Tammyfrowned,“Gettingstoned while taking a dumpis?”Shewas referring tomydrawing.

Justin shrugged hisshoulders, “The vote stillwenttoSamantha.”

Tammy rolled her eyes,“Whatever.”

“Samantha,” Justin said,“yourdrawingwillnowbeonthe front cover of the nextissue of The Wombat. It’llalso go at the top of ourwebpage. Everyone is goingtoseeit.”

“What?” I smiled. Icouldn’t believe it. I really

hoped Justin hadn’t riggedthe vote because hewas intome,becauseTammy’sartwastrulyincredible.

“We loved your art,”Alyssasaidtome.

“Yeah, a bunch of theother staff were bonkers foryourdrawingofPotty,”Keithsmiled.

“IthinkweshouldmakeTshirts that say ‘Potty forPresident’,”Micahgrinned.

Tammy’s mouth sagged

withdisgust.It was hard to enjoy my

victory when it came at theexpense of someone else. Iwanted to tell Tammy I wassorry, but somehow thatseemed inconsiderate.“Tammy, I really like yourdrawing.It’sreallygood.”

She spat, “So why don’tyouwithdrawyoursandwe’llusemine?”

I opened my mouth,wanting to say something

supportive,butcouldn’tthinkof anything. I closed it infrustration.

“Maybe we should openthe vote up to the readers?”Alyssasuggestedtentatively.

Keith and Micah gavenoncommittalshrugs.

Justin noddedthoughtfully, “If we can getadministration to approveTammy’sart,Idon’tseewhynot?”

A smug smile curled

acrossTammy’slips.Wow,wayforher tosteal

my thunder. Maybe me andRomeo needed to write theTampon Tammy comic stripafter all. I would make thecharacterlookexactlylikehersonoonewouldwonderwhoit was supposed to be about.She totally had the face of avajay-jay.

Groanballs.===

“DoIgettohaveaclosed

set,” I asked Christos, “likethey do in the movies whenthey’re shooting a sexscene?” I stood in mybathrobe in our paintingstudio.WhichIthoughtofasours all the time now, eventhough Spiridon owned thehouse.

“We’renotshootingasexscene,” Christos smirked,“unless you want to. I canrecordvideoonmyphone…”hesaidsuggestively.

“No!PosingnudeisaboutallIcanmanage.Bytheway,do we have to have thecurtains open?” Not that I’dever seen any curtains in thestudio. The tall windowsalong both walls faced thebackyard. Yeah, they neededcurtains.

“I need the natural lightcomingin.It’smoreflatteringthanusingstudiolights.”

“Speakingof,”Isaid,“canyouPhotoshopmewithyour

painting?”“You mean hide all your

imperfections?”“Yeah,”Isaidhopefully.“No,”hesaidwithfinality.“Whynot?”Ifrowned.“Because you don’t have

any,” he flashed his dimpledgrin.

“Oh,”Ismiled.“Well,canyouatleastgivememoreofacrotchnotch?”

“Awhat?”“You know that gap

between a woman’s legsthat’salltheragerightnow?”

“Youmeanathighgap?”“Yeah!”He shook his head, “You

haveacrotchnotch.”“NoIdon’t!”He arched an eyebrow.

“Haveyoulookedinamirrorlately?”

I frowned,“Well,canyoumake itbigger? I reallywanttosellit.”

“Are you listening to

yourself?”heasked,irritated.“What? I want a huge

crotchnotch.”He arched his other

eyebrow.“You’resure?”“Yes! I hate how my

thighstouchtogether.“Every woman’s thighs

touch together to somedegree.”

“But mine touch morethannormal.”

“No they don’t,” hearguedpatiently.

WhywasIbeingsopickyand neurotic? Oh yeah,because Christos was goingto paint me nude for theworld to see.Canyou blameagirlforwantingto lookherbest?

“Fine. I can make youlook like you have sticks forlegs, if that’s yourpreference.”

“Huh?”“Yourcrotchnotchisfine.

I love it. No one is going to

criticize my painting forhaving an underwhelmingcrotch notch. Besides, theway I’m going to pose you,noone isgoing tobeable totellwhatkindofcrotchnotchyou have. They won’t evenbeabletoseeyourcrotch.”

“What? Why not?” Idemanded.

“Because I’m going tomake you hold a hornedViking helmet over it,” hesmirked.

“What? That soundshorrid!”

“Hey,thehelmetwasyouridea.”

“But not over my crotchnotch!”

He rolled his eyes andsmiledhisdimpledgrin.“Areyou trying to make meinsane?”

“No,I,uh.Idon’tknow,”Isighed.

“Youtoldmetofigureouta way to make the Viking

helmet work. That’s mysolution,” he smirked. “Becarefulwhatyouwishfor.”

“I don’t want a helmetover my lady bits, that’s forsure,” I chuckled. I sighed,“Gosh, what is it with thethighgap,anyway?It’slikeitdidn’texistafewyearsago.”

“Blameitonstretchpants,booty shorts, and crotchselfies. It was bound tohappen sooner or later.Oncethat pussy catwasout of the

bag, it was never goingback,”hegrinned.

“I wonder if women whoworePoodleskirtsbackintheday had to worry abouthaving a crotch notch?” Iaskedthoughtfully.

“Nope. All they had toworry about was whether ornottheirpoodlewasasbigasthenextgirl’s.”

“Areyousayingitusedtobe the woman with thebiggest poodle won? And

now it’s the notchiestcrotch?”

“Sad, isn’t it?” Christossaid ironically. “So, are wegoing to paint your portrait,or do you want to obsessabout your non-existentimperfections for awhilelonger?”

Iwrinkledmynoseathimsarcastically.

“We don’t have to dothis,” he said, “I can alwayspaintyouwithclotheson.It’s

uptoyou.”“Really?”He nodded, “But I think

you’d be making a bigmistake.I’dhatetothinkyoumissed the chance at beingthe world’s most famousnude portrait. Because that’swhatI’maimingfor.”

“Oh.”Idefinitelylikedthesoundofthat.

“Imagine,” he grinned, “awork crew of guys wheelingyour painting into The

Louvre, taking down theMonaLisa,andhangingyourportraitupinitsplace.”

I smiled, “That couldwork.”

He chuckled, “Yes itcould. Then The Louvrewould finally have animpressivepaintinginsteadofthattinylittleMonaLisa.”

“You sure are cocky,” Isaid.

“Isthataproblem?”“No. Jerk,” I swatted his

arm.“Okay,strip.”“Mmmm. I like it when

youtellmewhattodo.”“Good,” he smirked his

sexygrin.I dropped my robe to the

ground. “Do with me whatyouwill…”Ipurred.

Of course, we had sex inthestudio.

Spiridon had left for theafternoonso Icould feel likeI had some privacy while I

posednude.Christos and I had sex on

the dais all the other modelshadsatonbeforeme.Ididn’task Christos if he’d had sexonit,becauseitwaspossiblehe had, with Perfect Paisleyor someone else from hispast. All I knew was I wasqueen of this domain now,bitches!Oh, and Imade himputdowncleanblanketsfirst.Justincase.

Christosfuckedmeonmy

thronewhileIheldswayovermy domain. Christos cameinsidemelikeanartrockstar.

Then I gave him a blowjobwhilehesatinfrontofhiseasel.Ipausedtomakeajokeabouthiscockbeingatubeoffleshcoloredpaint.

“But it isn’t fleshcolored,”hesaid.

“Yesitis,”Iargued.“I’veinspected it carefully manytimes.”

“I meant the paint. The

paint insidemy paint tube ispearlescentwhite.”

“Is that even a color?” Iaskeddoubtfully.

“Itis.Lookitup.Youcanfind it online. It’s a commoncraftpaint.”

“Yeah,”Ipurred,“Butareanyofthosepaintsedible?”

“Wow,”hechuckled,“yougetdirtieranddirtierthemoreI get to know you, agápimou.”

“Andyou—”Ipressedmy

finger against his muscledabs, “—love it.” Then Iteasedthetipofhiscockwithmytonguebeforegoingbacktoworkonhim.

He slouched against thebackofhischairandmoaned.Itickledhistesticleswithmyfingers as I brought him toanother studio shakingorgasm. I slowed my headmovements as his spasmsdiminished. I milked everylastpreciouspearlescentdrop

fromhiscock.When Christos finally

recovered, he said, “Are wegoing to do any paintingtoday,orjustthefucking?”

“I vote for fucking,” Igrinned, before kissing hiscockagain.

Christosstoodupfromhischair,squattedinfrontofme,andliftedmebymyassuntilmywetfoldswereinhisface.Hestartedlickinghungrily.

“Christos!Putmedown!”

He didn’t. He just keptlicking.Idon’tknowhowheheld me up so high for solong. But I glanced downseveraltimesathisrockhardshoulders. He was strongerthan an ox. After awhile, Istopped worrying aboutwhetherornothemightdropme because the intensepleasure between my legsstole away every concern I’deverhad.

After I don’t know how

manyorgasms,weeventuallydidstartonthepainting.

Christos didn’t bother toput his clothes on afterwe’dmadelove.

“Are you going to staynudewhile you paintme?” Iasked.

“Soundsfairtome?”“I don’t know if I’ll be

able to keep my hands offyou,”Ibitmylowerlip.

“Do your best,” hesmirked.

Christos set me up in astanding pose on the dais.“I’m going to do a charcoalrough of you first, on paper.JusttoseewhatIthinkoftheposeandthelighting.”

“Okay.”“Do your best to hold

still,”hesaid.“Iwill,”Ismiled.Little did I know that

standingstill for so longwasreally, really hard. “I thinkI’m getting a cramp,” I said

after what seemed like fourdays, but in reality wasprobablytwentyminutes.

“Let’s take a break,” hesmiled.

“Break?Can’twebedonefortheday?”Ipleaded.

“Notifwewanttogettheportraitdone.I’llmakeyouadeal. You tell me what’scramping,and I’llmassage itout.”

“I have a feelingeverything’s going to be

cramping by the time we’refinished.”

He smiled, “Okay, thenI’llmassageeverything.”

“Deal.”Iwalkedaroundtolook at his charcoal sketch.“Holyshit!Youdidallthatinjust twenty minutes?” Itlookedlikearoughblackandwhitephotoofme.Someofitwas still unfinished, like thehands and feet, but the facewas totally me. “How’d youget my face finished so

quick?Itlooksjustlikeme!”“I have your face burned

intomy brain. I see it inmymind every time I close myeyes.”

“Youcanrememberitthatwell?”

“Beauty like yours isimpossible to forget,” hecockedhisdimpledgrin.

Whenmybreakwasover,heasked,“DoyouwanttotrytheposewithaVikinghelmetnow? I’ll do another sketch

andwecancomparethem.”“We don’t have a Viking

helmet,”Isaid.“Yeah we do, up on that

topshelfoverthere.”Ilovedhowwewereusing

the word “we” to refer tothings in our studio. Ifollowed Christos’ gaze andnoticed a Viking helmetsitting between a gladiator’shelmetandaknight’shelmet,the shining armor kind.“Where’d you get those?” I

asked.“Mygrandadboughtthem

foreverago. It’salwaysgoodto have props around. Nowwe can finally use one.” Hewalked over to the shelf andpulled the horned helmetdown.“Here,putthison.”

We walked over to a sixfoot tall full lengthmirror inthe corner thatwasbuilt intoaframeonwheels.

“Whydoyouhavethis?”Iasked.

“It’s for painting fulllength self portraits. Lots ofpainters use them. You canalso use it to look at yourpainting in a mirror image,which makes it easy to seeflaws.”

“Ididn’tknowthat,”Isaidthoughtfully. “Haveyoueverused themirror foryourownselfportrait?”

“Ihaven’t.”“You totally should!Hey,

what if you painted yourself

intomyportrait?!”Hiseyeslitup.“That’snot

a bad idea. But do I have towearaVikinghelmettoo?”

“It depends how it lookson me,” I snickered. “Can Itryiton?”

He handedme the helmetandIsetitonmyhead.Itwasway too big. It completelycoveredmy eyes. I tiltedmyhead back to look under thehelmet’s brim at myreflectioninthemirror.Iwas

nude from head to toe. In aVikinghelmet.Maybenot.

Christos snickered. “It’sperfect.Atotalwinner.”

“Shut up!” I took thehelmetoff.

“Put that back on! We’retotally painting you with theVikinghelmet.Nude.”

I rolledmyeyes. “Fine, itwas a terrible idea.Butwhatabout you and me together?We could call the paintingTheLovers.”

He grinned and startednodding, “That’s actuallyawesome.”

“Don’t we make a greatteam?”

“We do, agâpi mou,” hesmiled and kissedme on thelips.

Iwrappedmyarmsaroundhis naked waist and leanedmyheadagainsthischest.

Igazedatthetwoofusinall our naked glory standingtogether in front of the full

lengthmirror.“Ilikehowthislooks,”Iwhispered.

“Maybe instead of callingit The Lovers,” he smiled,“which sort of soundstemporary, we just call thepainting LOVE, which iseternal?”

“I like thewayyou think,agápimou,”Isighed.

I had the best boyfriendever.

===Despite all my problems

with money and Tiffany, Iwasmanaging tobalancemyentire schedule: classes,homework, my new jobhelping out Nikolos in hisstudio, and posing nude forChristos.

WorkingforChristos’dadturnedouttobeawesome.Hewas totally flexibleaboutmyhours. He worked all thetime, so he didn’t really carewhenIdecidedtocomein,aslongasIgoteverythingdone.

Andtherewasalottodo.Nikolos was always

starting new paintings orrunningoutofonecolorpaintor another. So I was eithermixingfreshpaint, stretchingnew canvases, or cleaninghundredsofbrushes.Hewentthroughbrusheslikewater.

As promised,Nikolos hadwritten me a check for mytuition payment. I was setuntil the next payment wasdue. But that wasn’t until

after mid terms, so I wasn’tgoingtoworryaboutituntilIhad to. With any luck, I’dfiguresomethingout.

At the moment, I was inthe gardner’s shed behindNikolos’ house. It was morelike a gardner’s house orthree car garage, because ofitssize.Ithadseveralrooms,tons of windows (most ofwhich were open to let in asteady breeze), two bigoutdoor sinks, runningwater,

gardeningtools,aridinglawnmowerforthegiantbackyardlawn, sacks of fertilizer andplant food, and everythingelsethegardner,whoI’dmetseveral times, used tomaintain the grounds threedays a week. Everything intheroomwasneatlyarrangedand created a pleasantatmosphere.

Istoodatabigworktableagainst the open windows,busily mixing paint.

Cadmium redmedium, to beexact. Because you weren’tsupposed to inhale the drypigments, I wore goggles, aface mask, and gloves.Despite the safetyprecautions,Ienjoyedmyself.From what I understood, thepaint pigments were far lesstoxicthanTiffanyKingdumb-Cuntmouse, who hadmanaged to find me at myprevious jobs and give megrief. Iwas pretty sure she’d

never find me way out inRancho Santa Fe atNikolos’place.

I was adding dribbles oflinseed oil to a pile of redpigmentdustontopofathickglass slab, mixing themtogether into buttery goopwithaputtyknife.Itwassortof like making toxic cakefrosting because youdefinitely weren’t supposedto eat the paint. Maybe Icouldmake a toxic cake and

deliver it to Tiffany’s housefor her birthday.She’dneverknowitwasme.Wickedgrin.

There was a trick togettingtheconsistencyofthefinished paint just right, butI’d been doing it for a fewweeksandwasgettingprettygood at it. When I wasfinished mixing, I scoopedthe finished paint into emptymetal tubeswith those screwtop caps and crimpedoff theendswithpliers.

Nikolosleanedhisheadinthe doorway. Bright clearblue sky silhouetted him.“How’s that cad red comingalong?”

“Just finished,” I smiled,pulling offmy gloves,mask,andgoggles.

“Ready for a break? Dadmade some fresh lemonade.”Hewasreferring toSpiridon,who was over to sit for hisportrait again,whichNikoloshadalmostfinished.

“What is itwith your dadandlemonade?”Igrinned.

“I have no idea,” hechuckled. “You should askhim.”

Icarriedthefinishedtubesof cadmium red in acardboard box as we walkedbacktothehousetogether.

Spiridonwalkedoutofthehouse with a pitcher oflemonade on a tray that alsoheld three glasses filled withice. We sat down at an

outdoor table beneath anawning. Spiridon poured foreveryoneandserved.

TheviewfromthebackofNikolos’ house wasbreathtaking. The house washighonahillsideand lookeddownat the rollinghills of abeautiful canyon. It wasprobably the nicest view I’deverseeninaperson’sactualhouse. It was quiet and youcouldn’t hear any sounds ofcars or modern human

cacophony.Itwasjustnature.Birdschirpingnowand then,andasoft,warmbreeze.Theusualwordpeopleused foraplace like this was ParadisewithacapitalPforperfect.

I had thought Spiridon’sbeachmansionwasawesome.Thiswasthenextlevel.

“How is your plein airpainting class going,Samoula?” Spiridon askedbefore sipping his lemonade.“You said the professor was

KatherineWeatherspoon?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“She’s good,” Nikolos

said.“Youknowher?”Iasked.“I know most of the

faculty in the art departmentatSDU,”Nikolossaid.

“Wow, you guys both do,don’tyou?”Igrinned.

“Pretty much,” Spiridonsmiled. “How are youenjoyingpaintingoutdoors?”

“It’s the best!” I beamed.

“I’m always thinking howawesomeitwouldbetopaintoutsideforaliving.”

“Pretty awesome,”Spiridonsmiled.

“That’sright!Youpaintedall those landscapes over theyears!”

“I’vespentmostofmylifepaintingoutdoors,”hesaid.

“I still can’t get over thefactthat’syourjob.”Isippedmore lemonade and startedcrunching an ice cube.

Normally, I wouldn’t havespoken with my mouth full,butthatwaswithmyparents.SpiridonandNikolosweresolaid back, I didn’t evenrealize I was breaking therules.

“Hey,”Nikolossaidtohisdad,“rememberthattimeyoutookmeup toYosemite,andyou were painting by thatriver,andyouthoughtIwasadeer?”

“What?” I asked,

confused.“That’s right!” Spiridon

chuckled,“Youwereadeer!”Nikolos smiled broadly,

that same dimpled grin thatChristos had, and said, “Oh,you should’ve been there,Samantha. I was just a kid.My dad was busy painting,butIwantedtoplay.”

“You were probably,what, seven or eight at thetime?”Spiridonsaid.

“Thatsoundsaboutright,”

Nikolos smiled. “So, there Iwas, tugging on my dad’sarm every five minutes toshow him another pine coneI’d found or maybe anotherfancy rock, and I’m walkingback toward where he’s setup by his easel to show himsomething else, and I see afull grown mama deer walkup behind my dad out ofnowhere,followedbyhertwobabies. The mama was twofeetbehindDad,andshewas

onebigdeer.Iwassoscared,I couldn’t even speak. ThenextthingIknow,thatmamadeerisnippingatthebackofmy dad’s jacket.” Nikolosglanced at Spiridon, “Didn’tyou have an orange orsomething in your pocket?”Spiridon nodded agreement.“Anyway, Dad is so busyfocusingonhis painting, andwithout turning around, hesays to the deer, ‘That’swonderful, Nikos, beautiful.

Now go see if you can findanother one just like it.’ Hedidn’t even know it wasn’tme!”Nikoloscriedlaughter.

Spiridon,already laughingsaid, “I did when thatmamadeerleanedovermyshoulderand licked my palette ofwatercolors!”

“You should’ve seen himjump!” Nikolos laughed,reliving the memory. “Heturnedaroundandthatmamadeerwas staringhim right in

the face, not two inchesaway! He jumped out of hiscamping chair at least fourfeetintheair!”

“No way!” I said indisbelief.

“It wasn’t four feet,”Spiridonlaughed.“ButIsurebeat feet when I realized itwasn’tyou.”

Both of them threw theirheads back and chuckledheartily.

Spiridon wiped tears of

joy from his eyes. “Do youremember that timewewerevisiting your aunt inMykonos?”

“Which time?” Nikolosgrinned.

“Theonewith thepelicanonourrowboat.”

“Oh,” Nikolos chuckled,“you mean the pelican whowantedyourlunch?”

Spiridonnodded.“You tell it,” Nikolos

smiled.

Spiridon leaned over tome. “So, we had riddenbicycles from my sister’shouse in Mykonos down toOrnos for the weekend. Thiswasbackbeforeallthehotelsstarted taking over theisland.”

“Where’s Mykonos?” Iasked.

“It’s in the Aegean sea,southeast of mainlandGreece,”Nikolossaid.

“So,” Spiridon continued,

“Ihadgottenthebrilliantideaof setting up my easel on arowboat. I should’ve knownbetter,with thisonearound,”he cocked a thumb atNikolos, “but I wanted topaintthetownfromaviewonthe water so I could capturethe white plaster buildingsagainst the sapphire blue ofthe ocean. Nikos and hiscousin Helena were busyswimmingallmorning.Whenit was lunch time, my sister

pulled out the picnic basketshe’d brought to feedeveryone. Nikos and Helenaclimbed out of the water,soaking wet. They weredripping over everything.That should’vebeenmyclueI was asking for troublepainting watercolors in themiddle of the bay, but all Icould think about was mysister’s scrumptious gyroswaitingforus.Oncethefoodwas out, a giant pelican

landed on the prow of theboat to see what was on themenu. Nikos wanted to shoohim off, but I said it wasokay.Thenext thingIknow,Ihadsetmygyrodownonlyfor a second, and the pelicanhops off the stern andsnatches up my lunch like itwas a fish and swallows itdown!BeforeIcanstandup,Nikos shouts ‘I’ll get it’ andlunges for that bird. Thepelican flapped its wings

furiously to escape andknocked my painting rightinto the water! Everyone ishollering andNikos turns ona dime, shouting ‘I’ll get it,I’ll get it!’ He dove right inthe water and rescued mypainting.Butyoucanimaginewhat a dip in theoceandoestoawetwatercolorpainting.”

SpiridonandNikoloswereboth laughing as theyremembered.

“Ohno!”Ilaughed.“What

happenedtothepainting?”“The paintingwas ruined,

butIcouldn’t tellNikosthat.He was so proud for savingit.”Spiridonlookedathissonandsmiledlovingly.

Nikolos nodded, baskingin thewarmth of his father’slovedecadesafterthefact.

Spiridon and Nikolostraded painting stories backandforthlikethatforanhour.Some of them included themisadventures of young

Christosaswell.Everysingletale was filled withexcitement,fun,andlove.Mychildhood had been nothinglikeit.

“And that’s what you didfor a living for all thoseyears?” I said to Spiridonwith an amazed smile. Itsounded like a continuousvacationtome.

“Yes,”Spiridonsaid.“Foralongtime.”

“Why’d you ever stop

painting?”Iasked.Spiridon sighed

mysteriously. “That’s a longstory,”

I glanced atNikolos,whoraised his eyebrows beforelooking away. Okay, theyweren’tgoingtotellme.

“Maybe you should be alandscape painter,Samantha,” Nikolos said,drawing attention away fromSpiridon.

“Youthink?”Isaid.

Nikolos shrugged hisshoulders, “Why not? It’s ajoblikeanyother.”

It never ceased to amazemehowtheManosmentookitforgrantedthatIwasgoingto be a successful artistsomeday. Now Nikolos wasdoingit too.Christoshadthemost awesome family I’devermet. Iwassogladtobeapartofit.

I shook my head andsippedmorelemonade,which

wasdelicious,asalways,andbasked in the warm springair. It was hard to believeworking for Nikolos was anactualjob.Itwaslikehangingoutwithmyfriends.

Luckyme!===

I sat at my drawing tablein the studio at Spiridon’shouse, working on drawingdrapery. Drapery meant theway cloth folded, usually onclothingwhenpeopleworeit,

sometimes just hanging likewrinkled blankets or hangingtablecloths and curtains. ItwaspartofourhomeworkforDrawing The CostumedFigure.

It was almost like doingfashionillustrations.

I’dalreadydrawnabunchof pictures of princesses influffydressesandhotguysinslicksuitsstrikingGQposes.I had a bunch of internetbrowserwindowsopenonmy

laptop showing photos ofvarious gowns and runwaymodels, male and female. Iwas really liking this wholeArtmajorchoiceofmine.Myparents were really out tolunchaboutart.

Whatever.Christoswas out, hanging

with Jake. Spiridon was outtoo, I wasn’t sure where. Hetended to come and gowithout explanation. I couldonlyassumehehadanentire

adult lifehewasliving,butInever saw it. Maybe he wassecretly a handsome Greekmafiakingpin?

Ichuckledtomyself.My laptop was open next

to me, playing iTunes.Wonderwall byOasiswaftedfrom the speakers on warm,lovingwaveswhileIdrewinmysketchbook.

I was busy putting thefinishingtouchesonahotguyin a tuxedo who looked

alarmingly like Christos. Ihadn’t even realized I wasdrawinghim.Isatbackfrommy sketchbook and realizedthe tux guy stood next to agirlinaweddingdress.

Howhadthathappened?Iswear,Ihadn’tdoneiton

purpose.Maybenext Iwoulddraw

babiesinbodysuits.Iblushed tomyself.What

wasIthinking?Ishookmyheadandstood

uptostretchmylegsandtakeabreak.IstartedWonderwallover from the beginning anddanced alone, swaying to thegroove, thinking aboutChristos, hugging my armsaroundmyself.

I was so in love withChristos.

Hehadsavedmefromthehorrid futuremy parents hadplanned for me.My life hadopenedup topossibilities I’dnever dreamed would ever

come truewhen Iwasagirl.NowIhadhopelikeI’dneverknownhopebefore.

Iwastrulyblessed.My cell phone rang

abruptly, cutting like astrident scream through thecomforting music emanatingfrommylaptop.

Ijumped.My phone was also on

vibrate, and it dancedmaniacally in the tray ofpencils attached to my

drawing table where I’d leftit, making the pencils rattleandclacktogetherhorribly.

Dread.I grabbed for my phone,

but it danced from myfingers.Christos.Somethingwaswrong.On

the third ring I got a hold ofit. Oh no, Christos. My gutwaschurning.

Notagain.Falling,falling,falling.

I looked at the screen onmyphone.Itread:

“Mom&Dad”What the hell? My heart

was jumping in my chest.Images of Christos in adrunken car crash flashedthrough my head. So whyweremy parents callingme?Theywouldn’t be the first toknow if he got hurt. Wouldthey? No, that didn’t makeanysense.

Sowhyweretheycalling?

Ifrowned.Icouldhazardaguess.

DidIevenwanttoanswertheir call? They wereprobably going to bitch meout again. I sigheddramatically and answeredmyphoneon the fourth ring,soundingirritated.“Hello?”

“Sam?”“Dad?”Mydadclearedhisthroat.Iwinced.“Sam, I’m calling to

inform you that your motherhasmovedout.”

“What?” I was totallyconfused.

“She’s takenanapartmentin Friendship Heights. Andshehastakenalover.”

“What? Dad! What areyoutalkingabout?Youaren’tmaking any sense.” Mystomach, which hadimploded, said otherwise.Every organ inmybodyhadbeen sucked into the black

holeforminginmyabdomen.“Your mother is seeing

someone,” he said flatly.“Anotherman.”

“What do you meanseeing?Likeforameetingorclass or something? I knowshe’s always talking abouttaking tennis lessons at thecountryclub.”

“Sam, your mother ishavinganaffair.Withanotherman.”

Silencepunchedmeinthe

stomach. That black holewasn’t the only thinghammering away at me.Every atom in the universewas rushingatme in a supernovaofimpendingdisaster.

Some detached corner ofmy brain shouted inside myhead, “Who cares! Mom islame!You’relame!”Butthatvoice was thin and tinny,drowned out by the cosmicthunderstorm that wasunwindinginsideme.

After more silence, Ifinally spoke in a mumble,“Mom is having an affair?”Tears dripped down mycheeksagainstmyapproval.

“Yes.”“Withanotherman?”“Yes. Someone she knew

in college. He rides amotorcycle,” Dad said withnohintofirony.

“That doesn’t make anysense,”Istammered.

“Yes, it does,” he said

softly.I sat down in my desk

chair. I should say, I felldown where I was standingand was lucky that my chairhappened to be behind me,becauseIdidn’tstoptothinkwhat I was doing. I justcollapsed when the strengthleftmylegs.

Then dozens of disjointedmemoriesallcrashedtogetherin my head. My mom hadmadeitclearmonthsagothat

she thoughtChristoswasnotthe kind of guy who stuckaround. And she’d made itsound like she’d hadexperience with guys likehim.Wastheguymydadwastalking about some guy fromMom’s past who’d jilted herandmade her so bitter aboutbad boys? But now she hadgotten back together withhim?

Icouldonlywonder.I wasn’t about to ask my

dad for details. I’m sure theguy my mom was sleepingwith wasn’t Dad’s favoritetopic of conversation at themoment.

Andthenamemoryofmymother’s words fromFebruarycrashed throughmybrain:“Not yet you aren’t. But

you will be! Give it sixmonths, maybe a year, andhe’llknockyouup!Thenhe’llbegone!Just likethat!Make

sure you have enough savedupfortheabortion!”

She’d said it like shewasspeaking from experience.Wasthatpossible?

Ofcourseitwas.I suddenly remembered

thatgrowingup,peoplewerealways saying how much Ilookedlikemymom.Nobodyever said I looked like mydad.And,mydadhadalwaysseemedsodifferentandweirdto me, I had a hard time

believingwewererelated.What if my mom had

nevergottenthatabortionandhad married dependable BillSmithinstead?

Was it possible that mydad wasn’t my biologicaldad?

Was I some other guy’sdaughter?

Holyshit.Itwasentirelypossible.No,thatwascrazy.Butitwasalladdingup.

What.The.Fuck.Oh,gosh,itallsoundedso

desperately stupid. But whydiditmakesomuchsense?

I shook my head. Did iteven matter? My mom wascheating on my dad and hadalready moved into anapartment. That much wasfact.

Fuck.Ididn’tneedthreeguesses

tofigureoutwherethatwent.Just when my life had

been expanding with goodvibes like a colorful birthdayballoon, BAM! My parentspopped a needle in me andtook it all away. Moreprecisely,mymom.

Mydamnmom.Everysingledamntime.

===“I’msosorry,agápimou,”

Christos said as he huggedmewherewesatonthecouchin the living room. “I knowhow hard it is when your

parentssplit.”I’d waited two hours for

Christos to come home,cryingmyeyesout theentiretimeonthecouchinthedark.I was somewhat surprised Iwassosadmymomhadleft,but I wasn’t at all surprisedbymyangerather.Thatwasnormal and familiar.But thissense of loss and I guessbetrayal was new and mademe uncomfortable. A part ofme said the only feeling I

should have for my momrightnowwashatred.

But, nomatter howmuchof a bitch she was, she wasstillmymom.

Fuck! I hated feeling thisway.

“What are you going todo?” Christos asked softly.Although he’d been outwithJakeforhours,Icouldtellhehadn’thadmuchtodrink.Hewasn’t even buzzed. I hadthatmuchtobegratefulfor.

“What can I do?” I askedrhetorically. “My mom leftmydad.Period.”

“Doyouneedtoflyhometo see your parents? I’lltotallyunderstandifyoudo.Ican come with you if youwant.”

I looked at him, tearsdripping down my cheeks. Iblotted them with a tissuefrom the box Christos hadbroughtme.“Idon’tknow ifthat’ll make any difference.

Besides,finalsarecomingupinafewweeks.IfeellikeifIwenthome,itwouldscrewupallmyclassesandI’dhavetowithdraw and retakeeverything.” Agony andindecision swept over me.“Oh, Christos. I don’t knowwhattodo!”Ileanedintohischest and sobbed againsthim.

Hecaressedthetopofmyhead and murmured,“Whatever you want to do,

you let me know, and I’mthereforyou,agápimou.”

I twisted my fingers intothe material of his T shirt. Ilookedupathimdesperately,“I don’t know what I’d dowithoutyou,agápimou.”

“Hush,” he whispered.“You’re never going to havetofindout.I’llalwaysbehereforyou.”

Icouldn’tbegintofathomthe kind of crazy person I’dbecomeifChristosweretodo

what my mom had done tomy dad.My gosh, what wasmy dad going through rightnow? I couldn’t evenimagine. Was he mad? Sad?Did he hate my mom? Washe desperately wishing she’dcometohersensesandcomeback to him?Probably all ofthosethings.

IgazedupatChristos,myeyespleadingforcomfortandreassurance. I asked himmeekly,inavulnerablevoice

that was on the edge ofshattering into fragile shards,“Areyousure?”

Christoscuppedmycheekand caressed the side of myface. “Yes. I’m not goinganywhere,agápimou.Ever.”

Looking into his lovingblueeyes,Ibelievedhimwithall my heart. The wave ofenergy that passed from myhearttohiswasconfirmation.

Hesmoothedalockofmyhair behind my ear. That

simple gesture of affectionwassopowerful,Ibrokeintofresh sobs and collapsed intohis muscled chest. In hisarms, I felt safe. Protected. Ineverwantedtoleavethem.

I wept quietly for awhile,lettingitout.

Eventually, I sniffed andsaid, “I think the guy mymom is seeing might be myfather.”

“What?”Christosgasped.IcringednowthatI’dsaid

it out loud. “I don’t know.Maybe I’m crazy. But mymom said all these thingsabout you like she’d hadexperiencewith her own badboywhenshewasyoung,andit got me thinking. Maybethis guy she’s seeing got herpregnant twenty years ago.With me. My dad said thisguy is from her college daysand he is a bad boy. Maybeit’s the sameguy fromwhenshewasyoungandshewants

togetbacktogetherwithhimnow that I’m out of thehouse? Because she doesn’tneedmydadanymore?”

“Wow, that’s insane,”Christossaid.

“You’re right. I’mcrazy.”I shook my head. “I’mmaking it sound like a soapoperastoryline.It’s toocrazytobe true.Right?”Desperatethoughts pulsed in my head,Please tell me I’m crazy,pleasetellmemyreasoningis

idiotic. Please pleaseplease…

Christos sighed, “Whoknows. People do crazy shit.Anythingispossible.”

I clutched his T shirt andheaved a painful sob, “Youdon’tthinkit’strue,doyou?”

“I have no idea, agápimou,” he said softly. “Butwhateverthetruthturnsouttobe, I’ll be by your sidethroughallofit.”

Iburrowedfurtherintohis

armsandsobbed.At the moment, I was

desperately afraid, halfinsane, but above all things,gratefulIhadChristos.

Chapter22

SAMANTHA

Denialquicklybecamemybest friend. It was the onlywayIcouldfunctionandstaysane. I did my best to blockout any thoughts of myparents’ crumbling marriageand focused on school and

mynewjob.Kamikoand Iwereeating

lunch at the Adams CollegeCafeteria.

“What’s the Samantosstatus?”Kamikoaskedbeforepoppinga french fry intohermouth.

“Thewhat?”“YouandChristos?Duh.”“Samantos?” I scoffed.

“That sounds like a breathmint.”

“The fresh maker!”

Kamikoquipped.Ichuckled,“We’regood.”“How are his paintings

coming along? Does he stillhave a parade of modelscoming in and out of thestudioeveryday?”

“No. He’s, uh, changeddirections.” I wasn’t quitecomfortable telling KamikothatChristoswaspaintingmenude.

IwonderedifIcouldkeepChristos’ upcoming solo

showasecretsoIcouldavoidhavingmy friends gawk at anudepictureofme.WhowasI kidding? Kamiko followedthe upcoming gallery showslike a hawk. She’d find outandshe’dbe there.At least Icouldappreciateherdesiretoshowupandsupport.

Changing subjects, I said,“Have you done any newpaintings to submit toBrandumb for his upcomingContemporary Artists

Show?”“Abunch,”shesmiled.“How are they coming

along?”Kamiko had been crushed

when Brandon had rejectedher first batch ofsubmissions.

“Awesome,” she said.“You wanna see them afterlunch?”

“Sure,”Ismiled.When we finished eating,

we walked our trays over to

the trash cans and emptiedthemintothebinthenwalkedoutthefrontdoors.

There was a newspaperrackrightoutside.

Kamiko stopped andsquealed,“OhmyGod!”Shegrabbed a fresh copy of TheWombat off the rack. “Sam!It’s your wombat!” Shehanded me the paper. “Itlookssogood!”

Wow, my art was on thecover, next to Tammy

Lemons’illustration.“You should totally save

liketencopies!”“But I haven’t won,” I

said.“So what?” Kamiko said,

excited. “You’re in print!That’sYOURart!”

“I guess you’re right,” Ismiled. “Butmaybe I’ll onlytakefivecopies.”Igrabbedahandfulofftherack.

“Will you sign mine forme?”Kamiko asked, digging

frantically through her bookbagforapen.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,Kamiko,”Idismissed.

“What,didyouforgethowto spell your name?” sheasked sarcastically and thrustherpenatme.

Ifrowned,“No.”“Then sign it, bitch! I’m

so proud of you!” Shewrappedherarmsaroundmeandhuggedmetightly.Whenshewasdone,shepushedher

pen at me again. “Butseriously,signit.I’mgoingtoholdontothisuntilit’sworthathousandbucks.I’llsellitatSan Diego Comic Con intwenty years when you’re aworldfamouscartoonist.”

I scoffed, “I think you’regetting a bit carried away,Kamiko.”

“Shutupandsignit.IfI’mgoing to be a doctor for therest ofmy life, I’m going totell people I went to school

with Samantha Smith, theawesomeartist.”

I arched a doubtfuleyebrow.

“Quit being fake humbleandsignit!”shegrowled.

I wasn’t being fakehumble. It just seemedweirdshewasaskingmetosignthepaper for her. I hadn’t evenwon yet. For all I knew, thestudents who read the paperand bothered to vote wouldpickTammy’sart.

Some random guy withglasses and wavy long hairwalked up to the rack andpicked up a copy of TheWombat. He chuckled whenhelookedatthecover.

“My home girl drew thatwombat,” Kamiko said tohim.“Shecanautographyourpaperifyou’renice.”

“Kamiko!”Ihissed.The guy looked at the

pictures thoughtfully. “Youdrewthis?”heasked.

“Yeah,” I said sheepishly,“theoneonthetoilet.Ididn’tdraw the one with thebaseballbat.”

“Oh,” he nodded,examining the drawings. Hechuckled, “I love that he’sstoned while he’s taking ashit.That’sawesome.”

Kamikonudgedme,“Signit!”

“Yeah,”theguysaid,“willyou sign it for me? I’mhanging this inourbathroom

inthedorms.”I couldn’t decide if that

was a compliment or aninsult.

He smiled, admiring myart, “The guys are going tolovethis.”

SoIsignedit.Imean,alotof people read when theywere on the toilet. Sure, abathroom stall in the dormswasn’t exactly CharboneauGallery, but it was the nextbestthing,right?

===Kamikoand Iwent toher

dormroominPaiuteHall.“I’m trying something

totally different,” she said,sliding a big black portfolioout from under her bed. Sheunzipped it andhandedmeastack of paintings on 1/8”thick illustration board.“These are all donewithpenandink,andacrylics.”

They were drawings withwashes of transparent color

over the ink lines, andtouches of opaque acrylichere and there on some, andmore thickly applied acrylicsonothers.

“What happened to allyouroils?”

“They’re in the closet,”she nodded toward thewheeledwardrobenexttoherbed. “SinceBrandumbdidn’twantthemfortheshow,Iputthemallaway.MaybeI’lltryto sell them later. But for

now, I’m doing this,” shepointed her chin toward thestacksofpaintingsinmylap.

Isatdownonthebedandflipped through them. Therewasahalfdozenof them,allintotallydifferentstyles.Oneshowed a dolphin jumpingout of waves made of bluehuman hands and arms.Another showed a beautifulwoman in a giant Victoriangownwithhands that snakedout in looping coils that

ended in bouquets of roses.Another showed threeidentical young girls withblack pigtails and kimonosstanding on a Japanesegarden bridge over a pondfilledwithkoithathadhumanfaces. “Are these kimonotriplets supposed tobeyou?”Iasked.

Kamiko nodded. “Andthose faces on the koi aresupposed to be Brandumb,but Idon’t thinkhe’llnotice.

Ihadtoworkfrommemory.”“What is it supposed to

mean?”“I don’t know,” Kamiko

grinned,“thatI’mthreetimesmore awesome thanBrandumb, who is so un-evolvedhehasn’tyetcrawledout of the ocean with theother fishes that turned intohumansabillionyearsago?”

“You’re not still angry athim,areyou?”

“I was when I did that

one,”shesmiled.“Now?Notsomuch.”

The rest of her paintingswere equally bizarre andamazing. “Did you do all ofthese? It looks like sixdifferent artists paintedthem.”

She smiled and nodded,her eyes beaming withexcitement. “I did myhomework. I went throughthat catalog from the lastshowthatyougavemeuntilI

had some direction, then Idovein.”

IcouldstillrememberhowKamiko’s confidence hadbeen shattered by Brandonwhen he’d rejected her art,andhitonmerightinfrontofher.Fortwoweeksafterward,Ihadbeenafraidshe’dneverclimboutofherfunk.Butherconfidence was now back infullforce.

“Well, they’re allawesome,Kamiko.”Ihanded

the stack back to her. “I’mblownaway.”

She took them and slidthem back into the big blackportfolio. “Are you going tosubmitanything,Sam?”

“What, to Brandon’sshow?”

“Yeah.”“I hadn’t really thought

aboutit.IguessI’vebeentoobusy.”

“Considering you’re onthe front cover of The

Wombat, I think youprobablyshould.”

“Do you have that showcatalogofBrandon’s?”

Kamiko pulled it off thebookcase on her desk andhandedittome.

I flipped through it. Thefirst thing I noticed was thatKamiko’s new paintingswould totally fit right in. “Idon’t know, Kamiko. Theseare all really good. I can seeyou did a lot of research. I

don’t know if I’ll have timeto come up with somethingbeforetheshow.”

“You’ll think ofsomething,”shesmiled.

Asmuch as I’d improvedwhile studying art with thehelp of Christos, Spiridon,Kamiko, and all my artteachers, the paintings in thecatalog were probably betterthan I could do at themoment, especially on shortnotice.

“You have tons of greatideas,Sam,”Kamikosaid. “Ibet you’ll come up withsomethingawesome.”

Once again, I was supergrateful that all of my SanDiego friends were sosupportive of me. Theirconfidencebolsteredmyown.

“You’re right,” I grinnedconfidently,“Iwill.”

===Madison and I were

studying in theMainLibrary

in our favorite private studyroomonthefifthfloor,whichhad the best view of theocean.

My laptop was open andmy email program chimedwhenanewemailcamein.Itwas from the SDURegistrar’sOffice.Subject:Adate has been set for yourappeal.

Igroaned.“What?” Madison asked,

looking up from her gigantic

Marketingtextbook.Not only had the subject

line of the email been aspoiler for the content of themessage, it had also spoiledmy mood. I clicked on it togetitoverwith.

Themessageread,“Adatehas been assigned for you toappear before theadministrativetribunalofSanDiego University to discussthe grievance(s) pendingagainst you, at which time

your standing as a student atSDU will be reviewed. Inadditiontotheinitialclaimoftheft leveled against you byTiffanyKingston-Whitehouse(plaintiff), an additionalcharge of assault has beenbrought against you,Samantha Smith (defendant)…”

Tiffany and her stupidstolencreditcard.

Andmystupidslap.Inevershould’vesmacked

her.According to the rest of

theletter,Tiffanyhadgonetothe SDUpolice to reportmy“attack” on her. At least theletter made it sound like myslapping herwasn’t a federaloffensewiththedeathpenaltyattached. But for a second, Iimagined the cops showingup in their police cars withthe red and blue lightsflashing so they could cuffme and haul me to jail for

committing Assault andSlappery.

Wow, I suddenly felt likemy situation and Christos’hadbeenreversed.Orhewashavingabadinfluenceonmelike my mom had warned.No, that was crazy becausemycheatingmomwascrazy.

“Bad news?” Madisonasked.

“Huh?”“You look like you

swallowedapoisonedpie.”

“Poisonedpie?”“Like one of those

blackbird pies with twentyfour birds inside? You looklike they’re flapping aroundin your belly right now,trying to get out,” shesmirked.

“I’d rather have that thanthis,”Iscowled.

“Whatisit?”“My date for the Tiffany

thing.”“Oh,” Madison said

morosely. She already knewthe whole story. “I’ve toldyoubefore,givemetheword,andI’llcutabitch.”

“Which bitch?” Isnickered.

Hereyeswentcrazy,“Anybitch! Just give me theword!” She stood andwavedherhighlightermarkeraroundlike a knife. “Watch outbitches!I’mcuttin’mad!”sheshouted.

“Don’t you mean, Cuttin’

Mads?”Shesatdownandgiggled.Ijoinedherandweshared

agoodlaugh.As always, we sat in one

of the glass walled privatestudy rooms. I’m sure thekids studying outside whowereglaringatusthoughtwewere goofing off. Some ofthemprobablywanted to useourstudyroomsotheycouldgoofoff.

Well, me and Mads had

gottenherefirst.Amomentlater,arandom

girlstoodupfromoneof thestudy carrels outside andwalked up to our door. ShehadimitationblondehairandworeaDeltaPiDeltaTshirt,whichwasTiffany’ssorority.

Greatballs.Sororiwhore opened the

door to our study room andpoppedtheguminhermouth.Shesaid,“Like,doyouguysknow when you’re going to

be finished in here? Otherpeoplearewait—”

Madison jumped out ofher chair, which clatteredloudly behind her, and thrusther highlighter towardSororiwhore, who was sixfeet away. “Stay back!”Madisonhissed.

Sororiwhore flinched.Thenshepoppedhergumandscowled, trying to play it offlikeshewasaboveitall.

Madison lunged forward

again,now two feet from thegirl.“Back!”

I turned to Sororiwhoreand said in a casual, blandvoice, “Be careful what yousaynext.She’sCuttin’Madsandshe’llcutabitch.”

Sororiwhore’s eyesgoggled as she slowlywithdrew from thedoorframe.

The pneumatic doorclickedshutgently.

Madison and I broke into

laughter.===

Later, Madison and Iwalked to our cars in thenorthparkinglot.

“Oh my god, there’sTiffany!” Madison pointed.“Let’shideinthebushesandjumpher!”

Tiffanywasbyherselfandhadn’t noticed us comingtowardher.

“Gag,” I groaned. “Weshouldgotheotherway.”

“We have a right to walkhere just like she does,”Madisongrowled.

“Yeah, but betweenSlappin’ Sam and Cuttin’Mads,” I joked, “Tiffany islikelytogetmurdered.”

“I’vegot your back eitherway, girlfriend.” Madisonfished her highlighter out ofher book bag and waved itaroundlikeaknife.

“Thanks,Mads.Butpleasesheathe your highlighter. I

don’t want you drawingblood.”

“Okay,” Madison giggledandstuffedherpeninherbagaswenearedTiffany.

Tiffany’s lip curled whenshe saw us. “You’re stillhere? Shouldn’t you havegone back home toWashingtonbynow?”

HowdidsheknowwhereIlived? Or was she talkingabout going home to seemyparents because of the

problems they were having?No,therewasnowayTiffanycould know that, was there?UnlessChristoshadtoldher?No,thatwasimpossible.

Tiffany rolled her eyes asshepassedus,“Seeyouatthetribunal,bitch.”

“Hey!”Madisonshouted.I muttered a warning to

Madison, “Keep your cap onyour highlighter, I’ll handlethis.”Istoppedandturnedtoface Tiffany as she walked

away.“Tiffany!CanI talktoyouforasecond?”

Tiffany stopped, turned,and cocked her hip. Asalways, she looked like thecover of a fashion magazinewith her immaculate blondhair, flawless makeup, andexpensive clothes. “Why?Are you going to attackme?Ifyouare,domeafavorandletmeknow if I need to callthecampuspolicebeforeyouhit me this time,” she said

sarcastically.Ishookmyhead,“No,I’m

notgoingtotouchyou.”She raised an expectant

eyebrow.“Well?Idon’thaveallday.”

“Look, about the creditcardthing.”

Tiffany smiled merrily,“You mean the one youstole?”

“You know I didn’t stealit.Youputitinmywallet.”

“I know no such thing,”

Tiffanyshookherheadwhilewrinklinghernosepetulantly.“ButIdoknowitwasinyourwallet. Gosh, Scumantha,how did it get there?” shegaspedsarcastically.

“Please don’t call meScumantha,” I said softly.Was she trying to get me tohitheragain?

I noticed Madison wassnarlingbesideme.

“Did the credit card fairytake it out of my wallet and

drop it into yours?” Tiffanysneered.

I rolled my eyes,frustrated.The“let’stalkthisout” approach wasn’tworking. “Tiffany, are youstill mad about your yachtpainting?”

Tiffany rolled her eyesbackatme.

Since talking sense didn’tseem to be working, I wasgoingtohitherwhereithurt.Iwastiredofherbullshit.“Or

are you still mad that I’mwith Christos and youaren’t?”

Tiffany started gnawingon her lower lip like a rabidchipmunk.

Yeah,thathadhurther.“Tiffany,” I said calmly,

“nothing you do is going tobreakme andChristos apart.I’m not going back home toD.C. Even if you manage toget me kicked out of SDU,I’mheretostay.Youneedto

acceptthat.Sowhydon’tyousave us both a bunch oftrouble and let it go?” Isounded waymore confidentthan I felt. The last thing Iwantedwastogetkickedoutof SDU. I loved takingclasses with Madison andKamiko and Romeo. I lovedmy art professors. I couldn’timagine giving all that up. Itwould breakmy heart to saygoodbye to SDU. But Iwasn’t backing down, I

wasn’t letting Tiffany getawaywith framingme. “Tellthe tribunal the truth. Tellthemyouputyourcreditcardin my wallet. Oh, and I’msorry for slapping you. Inevershould’vedonethat.”

Tiffany’s face burnedbright red. Words spat fromher mouth, “FUCK YOU,YOU STUPID BITCH!!!!”She had to take anotherbreath before she screamedagain, “I’M GOING TO

RUIN YOU, YOUFUCKINGCUNT!!!”

===A gigantic fiery phoenix

burst from the clouds of aflaming sunset. Its long,trailing tail feathers blazedbehind it like the train of aglowing gown as it swoopedacross the sky. The phoenixwasparteagle,partwoman.

Thatwomanwasme.“That looks awesome,

Sam!”Kamikosaid,standing

overmy shoulder, looking atmyroughsketch.

“You think it’ll work forBrandon’s show?” I asked. Itwasstill justasmallpenandink drawing in mysketchbook colored withmarkers.

Romeo was sitting anddoinghomeworkatoneofthework tables against the wallin Christos’ studio. He slidhischairoutandwalkedoverto take a look. “Wow,” he

smiled,“Iloveit,Sam.”I crinkled my nose.

“Thanks.” I still wasn’t usedto all the praise I’d beengettinglately.

“Okay,nowIhavetotakealook,”Christossaid.Hewassitting in a reclining deskchairwithhisfeetproppedona window sill, sketching inhis own sketchbook. Hewastrying to work up ideas forthe rest of the paintings heneeded to do for his

upcoming solo show, whichwould be hosted atCharboneau sometime afterthe Contemporary ArtistsShowclosed.

Christos rested a hand onmy shoulder and leaned overmetogetabetterlook.

Romeo blurted, “Redalert! Red alert! Boo-EEEP!Boo-EEEP! Christos isputting the moves on Sam!AbandonshipbeforeChristosfireshistorpedointoher!”

“Must everything comedown to sex for you,Romeo?”Iasked.

“Yes,” he grinnedunapologetically.

Kamiko giggled. “Romeo,youaresowonkykong.”

“Wonky kong?” Romeosaid, “I’ll show you wonkykong.” He started jumpingfrantically in the air. Everytimehedid,hesaid,“Boing!”His monocle dancedchaotically at the end of the

stringattachedtoabuttononhissteampunkcoat.

“What are you doing?” Ilaughed.

Hecontinuedjumpingandstarted whooping, “DoodleleeDEEdo!DoodleleeDEEdo!”

Kamiko shook her head,amused. “I think he finallygave himself a stroke fromtryingtoohardtobefunnyallthetime.”

Romeo paused from his

insane jumping routine,“Don’t you guys play videogames? I’m Mario fromClassicDonkeyKong!”

“Huh?” Kamiko said.Kamiko never played videogames because she spent toomuchtimewatchingcartoons,studying for all her insanepre-medclasses,anddrawingin every spare moment. Idon’tknowifsheeverslept.

“Come on, Kamiko!”Romeo pleaded. “You’re the

one who called me DonkeyKong!”

“I called you wonkykong,”shesaid.

Romeo stopped jumpingand jammed his fists on hiships. “What the fuck is awonkykong?”

Kamiko spread her handsand raised her eyebrows, “Idon’t know,” she saiddefensively,“DonkeyKong’scrippled brother who has agimpleg?”

Christos and I bothchuckled.

“You’re crazy, Romeo,” Isaid.

He opened his eyes reallywide and made them docircles while he waggled histongue and made crazynoises.TheLocoLocomotivewasback.

Kamiko shook her head.“He’s truly an idiot.Somebody get the butterflynets.”

“Hey, Romeo,” Christossaid thoughtfully, “do thatjumpingthingagain.”

“What, this?” Romeoasked as he started jumpingupanddownafewtimes.

“Yeah, that,” Christossaid.

Romeo did it a fewmoretimesthenstopped.

“Canyoudoitagain,withthejumpingnoises?”Christosasked,totallyserious.

Romeo frowned, “Uh,

okay.” He did a half heartedjumpandnoise.

“No,” Christos said, “Imeant like before. Try toreallygetintoit.”

“Wait,” Romeo saidshrewdly,“you’remakingfunofme,aren’tyou?”

“No,” Christos saidblandly,“I’mtotallyserious.”

Romeolookedconfused.I had no idea what

Christos was doing, nor didKamiko. I said, “It’s okay,

Romeo.Youdon’thavetodoit.”

Romeo dropped his armstohissidesandlookedatus.

“No,please,”Christossaidsincerely. “I want to seesomething.” He soundedtotally serious, but not in ameanway.

Romeo shrugged hisshoulders. “Okay, but I needa second to prepare. I’m anactor,afterall.”

Kamikolookeddoubtful.

“Hush, Kamiko,” he saidbeforesheopenedhermouth.“I’ve taken acting classes.College acting classes.”Romeo shook his shoulders,rolled his neck and stuck histongue out a bunch of timeswhile humming. Then, hestarted jumping again, moreenthusiastically andspastically than before.“DOODLE LEE DEE DO!!!DOODLE LEE DEE DO!!!”Hestoppedafterafew.“Like

that?”Christos shook his head.

“No, now you’re forcing it.Like before. When it wasspontaneous.”

“What are you doing,Christos?”Iasked.

“Trust me,” he saidcryptically. “Go ahead,Romeo.”

“Okay,” Romeo said. Hecalmed down and closed hiseyes. “Kamiko, make fun ofme. Say something

judgmental, like younormally would.” Eventhough his eyeswere closed,he was grinning, not takinghimselfseriously.

“Uh…” she stammeredandchuckled.“Yourmonocleisoutofstyle?”

“That’s perfect,” Romeosaid,“I thinkI’vegot it.”Hestartedtosmileabig,naturalsmile. He nodded, “Yeah,that’sit.”Hissmilewashugenow.Heopenedhiseyesand

started jumping, “Doodle leeDEEdo!DoodleleeDEEdo!DoodleleeDEEdo!”Hehada huge grin on his face thewholetime.

Christos nodded, rapt,smiling his dimpled smile,that mysterious, fascinatedlookstillonhisface.

Pretty soon, me andKamiko were giggling, thenwewerelaughing.

“Okay,” Romeo huffedafter the nineteenth time,

“I’m getting out of breathnow.”

“You can stop,” Christosgrinned.

Romeo sagged into thenearest chair. “Whoo! Thatwas a lot of work! Did myunabashed athleticism bringyourideatocompletion?”

Christossaidsarcastically,“I’m totally turned on rightnow.”

After a moment, Romeolooked at the three of us

expectantly, “Hey, aren’t anyof you going to stuff somedollar bills in my G stringnow?Thatwashardwork!”

“Are you even wearing aG string?” Kamiko askeddoubtfully.

Hehoodedhiseyelidsandasked, “Would you besurprisedifIwas?”

“I would be surprised ifyouweren’t,”Ilaughed.

KamikoandChristosbotheruptedintocackles.

“I want my dollar bills!”Romeo whined. “That’s thelast free show you guys aregetting. Sex workers nevergetanyrespect,”hechuckled.

“That was sex work?”Kamiko frowned skeptically.“Ithinkmyeyesarebleedingfromwatchingyoudance.Orwhateverthatwas.”

Romeo grimaced atKamiko. “Admit it, Kamiko,you’re totally jealous of mymilkshake.” Romeo turned

around, lifted the tail of hissteampunk coat, and thrusthisassatuswhilerestinghishands on his thighs andjigglinghisbuttupanddown.

“That deserves a dollar,”Christos chuckled and pulledout hiswallet.Hewalked upto Romeo and jammed thebill in the belt of Romeo’sblackskinnylegjeans.

Kamikofishedadollaroutof her purse, and I grabbedone from mine. We both

laughed as we put them inRomeo’sbelt.Hewassmilingthewholetime.

Romeo finally stoppeddancing. “A good milkshakealways gets paid,” he saidsuggestively.

The four of us laughedtogether.My friends andmyboyfriendallrockedfifty-fivegallon drums of awesomesauce.

===CHRISTOS

“Aren’t you getting boredofstaringatyourselfnaked?”Samanthaasked.

I stood naked in front ofthe big full length wheeledmirror in our painting studiowithapalettecovered inoilsrestingonmyforearm.

I was working on theportraitofmethatwashalfofour dual portrait entitledLOVE. The image ofSamantha was already

finished, and it lookedfantastic.

Samantha stood besideme,fullyclothedandwearingapaintingapron.

I smirked at her, gazinginto her eyes, “I never getbored of staring atperfection.”

“Did youmeanme?” Shebattedhereyelashes.

I flicked my eyes at themirror,“Imeantme.”Iturnedto face the mirror square on

and flexedmy abs.All eightof them popped, as did thefingers of my externalobliques. I was as ripped asever.

“Your ego is so big,”Samantha joked, “I’msurprised everything in thesolar system isn’t suckedrightintoit.”

I chuckledwhile Ipaddedup to the canvas in my barefeet,andappliedsomefreshlymixed color to the canvas.

“How’s your phoenixpaintingcomingalong?”

Samantha had beenworkingon it likecrazyeversince she’d finished thesketch and showed it to usoveraweekago.Itsatonhereasel in her corner of thestudio. Based on my advice,she’ddecided to do it in oilstogive it thewidest rangeofcontrast from light to dark,and the most vibrant colorspossible.

“Good,” she smiled. “It’sway more work than Iexpected, but I’ve got ahandleonit.”

Iwalkedovertolookatit.Shewas doing a really goodjob considering she’d onlyhad one class on oil paintingso far. I think all the timeshe’d been spending at mydad’s studio watching overhis shoulder was probablyhelping a lot. I knowwatching him and my

grandad paint everydaygrowing up had been a hugehelp for me. I noddedsupportivelyas I lookedoverthe painting. “It’s alreadykicking ass. When it’sfinished, people are gonnaloveit.”

“Do you think Brandonwill put it in theContemporary show?” sheaskedtentatively.

“Ifhedoesn’t,heandIaregoing to have a long talk

involvingalotofknuckles.”“I’ll keep that in mind,”

shegrinned.“I’lldomyverybest. For the sake ofBrandon’steeth.”

I walked back to themirrorandposedtomatchthepainting. This self portraitshitrequiredalotofwalking.I walked back to the canvasand put down another brushstroke.“Youknow,I’vebeenthinking.”

“Yeah?” Samantha asked

fromhereasel.“I really need to do a

portraitofjustyou.”“You don’t have to do

that,” she dismissed. “WealreadyhaveLOVE.Itshowsthetwoofus.Whatcouldbebetterthanthat?”

“I’m loving theLOVE,” Igrinned, “but I’ve beengetting inspired by yourPhoenix painting. You’vecomesofarsinceImetyou.Isort of want to capture how

you’ve changed as a person.How I see you, the womanyou’re turning into rightbeforemy eyes. Not just thewaywearetogether.Butyou.Samantha Anna Smith. Andthe way you’ve grown soquickly into the mostamazing woman I’ve everknown. You’re myinspiration, you know that,agápimou?”

Sheblushedandsetdownher paint brush. “Oh,

Christos. That’s so sweet. Ilove you so much.” Shewalkedovertomeandleanedup to kiss my cheek. “But Idon’t know, isn’t that goingtobetoomuchofmeinyourshow? I mean, how manypaintingsofmedoyoureallyneed?Isn’toneenough?”

“How could there ever betoo much of you, agápimou?”

Abashfullookknottedherfaceasshesaid,“Whowants

tolookatmeallthetime?”“Ido,” I said.Grinning to

myself, I marveled at howSamantha still doubted herown beauty. The irony was,her innocence elevated herlevel of sexiness into thestratosphere.

In my experience, hotwomenwho knew theywerehottendedtoplayitup.Ihadalways been able to seethroughtheiractslikeitwasapracticed performance.

Becauseofthis,thesewomenlacked a certain spontaneity.Knowing men worshippedthem turned theirbeauty intoa tiresome facade sooner orlater, as if it had become aburden or a job, and theywereboredwithit.Ironically,they would never give it up,neverwalkoutthefrontdoorwithout maximizing theirbeautywithhair,makeupandclothes. These womencouldn’t even go to the

Emergency Room in themiddle of the night withoutmakingsuretheyhadat leastatouchofeyelineron.

Samantha was the totalopposite. She had a smudgeof paint on her cheek andanother on her forehead, andher hair was in a messyponytail. Her beauty was anafter thought for her. Theoutcome was that she was aconsiderate, thoughtfulperson who was always

tryingsohardtobekind.Shedidn’t think about her looks.She thought about being agoodperson.

Everyminute I spentwithher was refreshing, genuine,andinspirational.

Iknewthatcombinationofher determination and heropen hearted authentic spiritwaswhereallthemagicwas.Shemightdoubtit,butIsawiteveryday.Iwantedittogointo a painting of just her.

SamanthaAnnaSmith.“What do you think?” I

asked.“You really want me to

pose again?” she said withconsiderabledoubt.

“Ido,”Igrinned.A strange look flashed

acrosshereyes.“I do,” she swallowed, “I

mean, I will.” She blinked abunchoftimesandsmiledupatme.

I leaned down and kissed

herpassionately.

Chapter23

SAMANTHA

Brandonsatat thedeskinhis office at Charboneau andflipped through Kamiko’snew paintings. Me andKamiko sat in the chairsfacinghisdesk,on the edgesofourseats.

Brandon reminded me ofone of those fashionmagazinephotosyouseeofayoung guy in a stylish suitsittinginafancyoffice,doingimportant things, all whilelooking ridiculously dashing.AllBrandon needed to do tosell the image was stand upand lean against his deskwhile lookingout ahigh risewindow at a throbbingmetropolis. But La Jollawastoo quaint and beachy for

that. And instead of stylishdesigner furnishings, theoffice walls were crowdedwith amazing paintings. Butthatdidn’tmakeBrandonanylesshot.

Henoddedthoughtfullytohimself, engrossed in thepaintings. I hoped thatwas agoodsign.Afterheexaminedthelastone,helookedupandsaid, “Kamiko, this isexcellent work. You paintedallofthese?”

She noddedenthusiastically.“Uhhuh.”

“Ihadnoideayouweresoversatile,”hesaid.

Ishookmyheadandhidasmirk. There were a lot ofthingsBrandumbdidn’tknowaboutKamiko.Ifhegaveherhalf a chance, maybe he’dfindout.

“Youpaintinawiderangeof diverse styles, Kamiko,”Brandon said. “Few artistshave that ability. I’m

impressed,”hesmiled.“Does that mean you’ll

accept one of my pieces forthe Contemporary ArtistsShow?”sheaskedhopefully.

Brandon leaned back inhis chair and steepled hisfingersinfrontofhisface.

Me and Kamiko leanedforwardaninch.

Heliftedaneyebrow.We leaned forward

anotherinch.Oh boy, he better say yes

or I was going to jump overhis desk and stab him in theheart with the brass letteropenersittingonhisdesk.Ohwait, if he said no, it wasbecause he didn’t have aheart, so I’d have to stablower,where it would hurt amanthemost.

Brandonopenedhismouthtospeak.

Kamiko and I leaned sofarforwardwewereabout toslip off our seats and fall on

ourbuttslikeidiots.IdrilledBrandonwithmy

gaze and put my ESP towork.SAYSOMETHING!!!

Kamiko glanced at me, asurprised look on her face.Had she heard my ESP?Kamikoraisedaneyebrowatme. I think someone hadfinally heard my ESP! Yay!But Brandon hadn’t heard athing.

Hetookadeepbreathandsaid,“Yes.”

“Oh my god!” I startedclapping and threwmy armsaroundKamiko.“Youdidit!”

“I did?” Kamiko saidskeptically.

Brandon nodded, “Yes.But.”

BOOM.I knew Brandon was

always toogood tobe true. Iscowledathim.

“You’ve brought me adozen pieces, Kamiko. But Ionly have room in the show

foronemore.”Kamiko looked from

Brandontomeandsaid,“Butwhatabout…”

“I really like this one,”Brandon said, pointing toKamiko’s painting of thethree kimonoed Kamikosstandingonabridgeoverkoifish Brandons. “Somethingaboutitreallyworksforme.”He chuckled as he looked atit.

Kamiko gave me a

surprised glance and bit herlip.

I wasn’t going to sayanything.

Brandon held the paintingup to examine it moreclosely, “Yes, I really likethis,” he smiled. “It has agreat sense of humor. Arethese triplets supposed to beyou,Kamiko?”

Ohshit,hewasfiguringitout!

Kamiko grimaced,

“Ahh…yes?”Note her guilty question

mark.“Who is the fish?”

Brandonaskedinnocently.“An old boyfriend of

hers!” I blurted. “From highschool!” There were thoseguilty exclamation pointsagain.

“Uh, yeah!” Kamikonoddedfrantically.

Brandonchuckled,“That’sgreat. I’m sure he was a

completejerk.”Kamiko and I gapedwide

eyedateachother.Inunison,webothsaid,“Yes!”

“Love it,” Brandonsmiled, completely unaware.He set the painting down onthe desk. “Kamiko, if youleavethiswithme,I’llhaveitframed and hung for theshow.”

“Okay,”shesmiled.Brandonstoodupfromhis

desk and clapped his hands

together once. He smiled,“This means I’ve got all theslotsformyshowfilled!”

“But what about…”Kamikotrailedoff.

“What about what?”Brandonasked.

“Sam’spainting?”Kamikosighed.

Brandon cocked his headtoward me, “You brought apainting for the CA show aswell?”

I nodded nervously. The

last thingIwanted todowasforBrandontohavetodecidebetween my painting andKamiko’s.Iwasafraidofthisturning into a replay of ourlast visit. If Brandon chosemypaintingoverKamiko’s,Iwould die. Then I wouldhaunt Brandon from beyondthe grave until hewentmad.Itwasn’tmypreferredchoiceof outcomes. I was still intothisbeingalivething.Butifithappened, I would faithfully

hauntBrandon,outofrespectforKamiko.

“Uh,” Isaid,“that’sokay.Mine’s not very good. Andyou’ve got your show filledupanyway.”

“Come on,” Brandonsmiled. “Let me see it.” Hemotionedwithhishand.

“Goahead,Sam,”Kamikogroaned.

Crap,shewasworriedtoo.Ipulledmyphoenixpaintingoutoftheblackportfoliocase

I’d bought to carry it andhandedittoBrandon.

He took it carefully withbothhands.“Wouldyoulookat this?”hegawked. “This isamazing.”

Great.“I need to see this under

good lighting,” he said.“These oils are spectacular.Follow me.” Carrying mypainting in both hands, hewalked out of his office.Wewalked along the upstairs

hallwayandintoalittleroomthat had a couch against onewall and an empty easelstanding opposite. Brandonset the painting on the easeland slid some light switcheson the wall. Little spotlightscame to life, shining on thepainting. Then he turned offthe fluorescents, darkeningthe room, except for thepainting.

There was a fricking spotlightonmypainting.

Brandon slid his handsintothepocketsofhisslacks,pushingbackhisstylishsportcoat.

“This is really nice,”Brandon nodded, enrapturedbymypainting.

Irolledmyeyes.Thiswasridiculous.

Brandon sat down on thecouch, on the edge of it,knottinghishandstogether.

“What is this room,anyway?”Iasked.

Kamiko said flatly,sounding slightly annoyed,“It’s a viewing room forcustomers who need someconvincing tobuyapainting.Thelightingissetuptoreallymake a painting look itsbest.”

Brandon wasn’t payingattentionbecause,ohmygod,he was literally worshippingmypainting.Holy shit, I feltlikeanassandanidiot.AllIcould think about was what

might be wandering throughpoor Kamiko’s mind at themoment.

Anysecondnow,Brandonwas going to turn tome andask me if he could use mypainting in theContemporaryArtists Show instead ofKamiko’s.Then Iwould feellike a total jerk and Kamikowould hate me. I wouldn’tblameher.

Brandon turned on theoverhead fluorescents again

and said. “This piece isphenomenal, Samantha, butit’s not right for theContemporaryshow.”

I glanced at Kamiko. Thefrigid scowl that had etcheditsway intoher facewarmedthirtydegrees.

Brandon turned toKamiko, “I really like yourpiece,Kamiko.It’sstayinginthe C.A. show.” Then heturned back to me.“Samantha,youandIneedto

talk about you puttingtogethersomemorepaintingsforme.Foryourownshow.”

Whatthewhat?!?“Myown?”Istammered.“Solo show,” Brandon

grinnedandnodded.“Wow, Sam,” Kamiko

smiled.“That’sawesome!”I grinned sheepishly as

Kamikohuggedme.Phew! More than

anything, Kamiko’sexcitement meant she wasn’t

bothered by all the attentionBrandon was giving mypainting.

That had been a reallyclosecall.

MaybeBrandonwasn’tsobad.

===I was completely naked,

standing in front ofChristos.Hewas clothed, at his easel,working on the nude soloportraitofjustme.

He paused frommixing a

pile of paint and looked upfrom his palette.He grinned,“I’m really missing theVikinghelmet.”

“Maybe next time?” Irolled my eyes at him, butheld the pose, which was astanding one. I also had tohold my arms out wide,which was really tiring. Sowhenever Christos wasn’tstudyingmypose,Irestedmyarms at my sides. It wasreally hard work. But I was

determinedtodoagoodjob.Iwas alsohighupon top

ofachair,whichstoodatopafoot tall stage, putting myheadovereightfeetintheair.I looked down on the wholestudio.Fortunately,thestudiohadareallyhighceiling,soIdidn’t have to worry aboutbumpingmyhead. “WhyamIupsohighagain?”

“It makes you look moremajestic,” he smiled, back tomixing his paint. When his

brush was loaded, he lookedatmeandsaid,“Ready?”

Inoddedandassumed thepose, which was also onmytiptoes. I heldmy arms aloftand arched my back.Fortunately, Christos hadmade so many charcoalsketches of this pose, hecouldmostlyworkfromthemand from memory at thispoint.So Ineverhad toholdthe extreme pose for morethan a minute or two at a

time. If I’d had to hold itlonger, my neck andshoulderswould’vecementedinto place permanently, andno amount of massagingwould ever be able to workoutthekinks.

A minute later, Christossaid,“Gotit,youcanrelax.”

I lowered my arms andmassagedmyownshoulders.“You’re totally gonna oweme a hundredmassages afterthisisdone.”

“Let’s make it athousand,”hesmiled.

“Sounds good to me,” Igloated.“You’resure?”

Sitting in his chair, heleanedhiselbowonhisknee,holding a brush in one handandtheellipticalpaletteintheother. With his thick darktousled hair, his chiseledfeatures, shoulders bulgingbeneath thematerialofhisVneck tee, and his dimpled,cocky grin, he was the

consummate sexy artist. “Ofcourse I’m sure. Having anyexcuse to rubmyhandsoverevery inch of your body forhoursatatimeishardlywhatI’d call work. I think you’llbetheonewhogetstheshortend of the deal on themassages.”

I grinned at him. Iwasn’tgoingtoargue.“So,whendoIgettoseethepainting?”

The canvas was huge, atleast eight feet high and five

feet wide. Christos wouldnever let me look at it. Ihadn’t even seen the finalsketches he’d done, beyondthe very first rough, whichjust gave me an idea of thepose so I knew I wasn’tflashing my lady junk at theworld. My knees were closetogetherinthepose,soitwasfine.

“You’ll see it when it’sfinished,”hesmiled.

I pouted, “I don’t get a

sneakpreview?”“Nope. No one does.

Sometimes, the surprise iswhatmakesitspecial.”

Igavehimagrinningdirtylook, “You’re such an asshamster.”

Hechuckled.“Ahamster?I like to think of myself asmore of an ass weasel, ormaybe an ass ferret.Somethingwithfangs.”

“Take your pick,” I saidsarcastically. “Either way,

you’re a small, sniveling,furry animal used to wipepeople’sbutts.”

He snickered. “Who intheir right mind would wipetheirbuttwitharodent?”

“Primitive people whoweretiredofusingleaves?”

“Buthamsters?”“Did you say butt

hamsters?”Isnickered.He rolled his eyes, “You

knowwhatImean.”“Hey, I’m sure thousands

of years before the inventionofquiltedtoiletpaper,peoplelooked around for softeralternativesthanbirchbark.”

He grimaced, “Birchbark?”

“Scratchyashell,Iknow,”I smiled. “A wigglinghamster is way better. Plusthewigglingactiondoeshalftheworkforyou.”

He scoffed while smiling,“Maybe you need to go intoadvertising, because I’m

willing to buy your line ofbullshit.” He chuckled,“Don’t tell anyone, but yourinsanity is your mostattractivefeature.”

“Are you saying I’m notattractive?” Idemanded fromwhere I stood on the chair.“BecauseI’llsmiteyouifyousayI’mnot.”

He grinned up at me. “Imerely referenced yourintense beauty to give yourincredible insanity some

context. They could fill anentire asylum with yourcraziness.”

“Hand me a sword,becauseI’mabout togoonasmitingspree,”Igiggled.

My phone suddenly rang.Itsatonaworktablenearby.The ringtone was for anunknowncaller.

“Do you want me toanswer that for you?”Christosasked.

“Nah,Idon’tknowwhoit

is.Letitgotovoicemail.”Aminute later, the phone

rangagain.Christos glanced at me,

“Wantmetogetit?”“I’m sure it’s a

telemarketer,”Idismissed.Christos went back to

mixingsomepaint.“Canyoutaketheposeagain?”

“Sure.” I stood on mytiptoesandliftedmyarms.

My phone rang a thirdtime.

Christossighed,“Yousureyou don’twantme to get it?OrIcanturntheringeroff.”

“Whydon’tyouanswer itand say somethingmenacing,”Igrinned.

He arched an eyebrow,“Menacing?”

“I don’t know, you’re thetough guy. Be tough.You’retotally sexy when you’retough.”

He set his brush down,walkedover to the table,and

answeredthephone.“Hello?”“That’stough?”Iscoffed.He nodded his head,

“Yeah.” Nodded again, “Uhhuh.” Nodded a third time.Heturnedtomeandheldoutthephone,“It’syourmom.”

“What?” I climbed downfrom the chair and took thephone from Christos. If mymomcouldonlyseemenow,standingnakedinChristosX-ratedpaintingbrothel.Itgavemeexquisitesatisfaction.

“Hello, Mom,” I saidsarcastically. I put it onspeaker phone so Christoscould hear everything. Ididn’twant tohave to repeatwhatever horrid words mymom had to offer. I waspretty sure Iwasgoing tobedoing a lot of crying toChristosassoonasIhungup.But I was determined to domy best not to shed a tearwhilemystupidmomwasontheline.Stupidbitch.

“Sam,” she said, “Whoanswered your phone?” Inoticed that her words wereslurry. Had she beendrinking? I don’t think I’deverseenmymomdrink.

“Christos.”“Imighthaveknown,”she

chuckled.“Thenwhydidyouask?”I

sneered.Iwasalreadyonthedefensive, which wasn’t asurpriseconsideringmymomhad turned out to be the real

harlotinourfamily.Mom poured out another

syrupy,drunkenchuckle.“Why did you call,

Mom?”Igrunted.“Iwantedtofindoutwhat

stories your father has beentellingyou.”

“Stories? He told me youleft him and are living withsomeguywithamotorcycle.”I glanced over at Christos,whowatchedmeintently.

Hewinked andwhispered

quietly, “Guys withmotorcycles are alwaystrouble.”

I could tell he was tryingto be supportive by beingfunny. I wasn’t really in themood for a laugh anymore.Funny how my mom couldruin my good mood like aneutronbomb.ButIflashedaflat smile at Christos andrubbedhisarmaffectionately.

“Did your father tell youanything else?” Mom asked

inafriendlyvoice.“No,that’sprettymuchall

Dadsaid.”Oddly, my mom was

being vaguely polite. A firstforher.Wasshebeingcarefulbecausesheknewshewas inthe wrong? Maybe. I didn’treally know. It was possiblemy Dad had given me adoctored version of events.Hissideofthestory.Butthatdidn’tseemlikehim.No,mydad prided himself on telling

the truth, even when it hurtpeople’s feelings. He said awhite lie was still a lie.Honesty wasmore importanttohim than social graces.Ormy feelings when I was alittle girl. And a teenager.And a young adult. But atleast in this case, it meant Iknew what was going onbetween them. If my momwas about to make up abunch of stories that pointedall the blame at my dad, I

wouldknowshewaslying.My mom inhaled deeply

over the phone, “Sam, I’masking your father for adivorce.”

CRACK!Mymommanaged toslap

mefromthreethousandmilesaway. She had demonpowers,Ihadnodoubt.

“Have you told Dad?” Igrowled, suddenly angry. Idon’t know why, but I feltveryprotectiveofhimallofa

sudden. Maybe his honesty,however harsh it may havebeentodealwithgrowingup,was worth more than I’dgivenhimcredit forall theseyears. My dad would neverdoallthesneakingaroundmymomhadbeenuptolately.

Mom said, “Not yet. Iwantedtotellyoufirst.”

Somehow, I felt like shewas betraying Dad a secondtime, like she should’ve hadthecourtesytotellhimbefore

anybodyelse.Maybeshewastoo chicken to do it. Maybeshewas already trying togetme to take her side in thedivorce. It was the onlyrational explanation for herpoliteness.

“Sam, do you haveanything to say?” Momasked.

“What,otherthanyou’reabitch?”

I expected my mom tolash out at me. It was her

standard strategy when I gotdefiant.

“Ideservedthat,”shesaidcalmly.

“You deserve a whole lotmore than that!” I shouted.“Why did you do it, Mom?Wasn’tDadenoughforyou?”Icouldn’tstopmyself.It justcamerollingout.

“These things arecomplicated,Sam.Iloveyourfather,but…”

“But what, Mom?” I

demanded.Iwasshaking,myheart was pounding, and Iwasashotasanoven.

“But things weren’t…working out,” she sighed.“They haven’t been workingoutforalongtime.”

“What do you mean?Things looked fine to me!You guys were fine atChristmas! How could theyhave gotten so bad in only afewmonths?”

Why the hellwas I trying

toholdmyparents’marriagetogether? I’d always hadnothingbutdisdain for them.What thehellwashappeningto me? I hated the way thissituationwasmakingmefeel.

Christos slid his armaround my shoulders and Ileanedagainsthim.

“It’s hard to explain,Samantha,”shesighedsoftly.

Samantha?Shenevereverever called me Samanthaunless shewas reallymad at

me. But she wasn’t yelling.Shesounded…sad.

“Well,” Ihissedandcriedat the same time, “do yourbesttoexplainit.”Silenttearsdrippedfrommycheeks,ontomynakedbody.Somuchfornot crying until I got off thephone. I suddenly felt waytoo naked. I walked over tothechairwheremyrobehungandsliditon.

“Samantha, the sparkbetweenyourfatherandIhas

dimmed.”ThenIrememberedallthe

passion in my mom’s voiceevery time she’d warned methat Christos would love meand leave me a brokenwoman struggling to pick upthe pieces of my life. HadMombeenmourningthelossof a passion she had onceknown but had lost yearsago?

Geez, I didn’t know thefirst thing about adult

relationshipsandmarriage.IsteeledmyselfforwhatI

had to ask next. “Mom,” Isniffed,“isDadmydad?”

“What?” she said,confused.

“IsDadmyfather?”She chuckled, “What are

youtalkingabout,Samantha?Ofcoursehe’syourfather.”

Whywas shemaking thisso hard?Now Iwas shakingagain and my robe feltsweltering. “Is Dad, you

know,mybiologicalfather?”There was a very long,

drawn out silence. It lastedformonths.

“Of course he is, Sam,”shechuckled.“Wheredidyougetsuchacrazyidea?”

Wasshelying?Shehadtobe lying. “Tell the truth,Mom.”

“I am telling the truth,Samantha. I would know ifyou were some other man’sdaughter.That’scrazy.”

I had my lie detectorturned on to the mostsensitive setting. It allsoundedtrue.“Youmeanit?”

Mymomsighed.“Doyouwant to get a DNA test? Ifyou don’t believe me, I’mhappytodoit.Wheredidyouget this idea anyway, Sam?”sheaskedwithacombinationofurgencyandconcern.“Didyourfathertellyou?”

“No,”Isaid.“Then who?” she

demanded.“I don’t know.” I wasn’t

going to try to explain mysoapoperalogictomymom.

“Well it’s crazy,Samantha. You are Bill’sdaughter,andI’myourmom.Okay?Youhavenoideahowmuch your father and I loveyou, no matter what ishappening between him andI.”

Why did that make mewant to cry ten times harder

than I already had? Maybemyparentsweren’taslameasI’d thought. “Then why areyouleavingDad?”Isobbed.Ineeded to sit down. I lookedaround for the nearest chair.But Christos had alreadywheeled one of the officechairs in the studio over tome. I sat down and hekneeled beside me, huggingmearoundmyshoulders.

“It’s complicated,” mymom said. “Isn’t that what

yougirlssaynowadays?”Isniffledareply.Mom took a long, deep

breath.“Idon’tknowhowtoexplain it, Samantha. Maybewhen you’re older, you’llunderstand.Idon’tknow.”

Understand? When I wasolder? I hoped I neverunderstoodwhatitwasliketobe in my mom’s shoes rightnow.IlookedatChristosandhe kissed me softly on thecheek. My heart was sling

shotting around in my chestlikeoneofthosegiantbungieridesatanamusementpark.Icouldn’tevenspeak.

Momsaidinakindvoice,“Iknowthisisalottotakeinrightnow,Samantha.”

That was anunderstatement. I wasliterallyspeechless.

She said, “It sounds likeyou need some time toprocess all this. Why don’tyoucallmeat thisnumber if

youwant to talk further. It’smy cell phone number. It’salwayson.”

That was a shock in itsown right. My mom had acellphone?Iwantedtomakea joke about her finallysteppingintothe21stcentury.I wanted to accuse her ofusing it tomake secret planswith her new boyfriend,because duh, she obviouslyhad. But I couldn’t talk. Mymomhadstolenmypowerof

speech.After more silence, my

mom said, “I’m hanging upnow, Samantha. Call me ifyouneedanything.”

Thelinewentdead.Myheartdidtoo.

===TIFFANY

I closed the front doorbehind me as quietly as Icould.Ididn’twantanyonetoknowIwashome,mymother

orthehousestaff.Iwassickoftheelaborate

marble grand foyer of myparents’ lavish mansion.When Iwasagirl, this foyermademe feel like a princessreturningtohercastle.Nowitwas like coming home to anelegant,expensiveprison.

Icouldn’tstandit.Everything about this

house reminded me of mymother Gwendolyn, the evilqueen of her domain. The

merethoughtofhermademenauseous. Literally. Butlately, when it came toturning my stomach, thishousecameinaclosesecond.

I leaned against the frontdoorandslippedoffmynew$1,000 Louboutin ankleboots.AsmuchasIlikedthewaytheylengthenedmylegs,they made way too muchnoise on the marble floor ofthefoyer.

I padded toward the

staircaseontheright.What was the point of

having two staircases whenthey went to the exact sameplace? Vanity? Gasp! Thatcouldn’t be. Gwendolyndidn’t have an ounce ofvanityinherbody.

Shehadgallons.My father,Westin-Conrad

Kingston-Whitehouse, tapdanced down the oppositestaircase. I swear, he alwaysmanaged to keep at least

thirty feet away from me atall times. “Your mother islooking for you,” he said ashe slid out the front doorwithoutsayinggoodbye.

I could never decide whowasmorescaredofmymom:meormydad.

I turned three corners andas many hallways onwhispering feet beforemaking it to my bedroom. Ihadmyhandon thepolishedbrass door handle, about to

turnit.Almostsafe.“Did you go out looking

like that?” Gwendolynsneered from the far end ofthehallway.

TypicalGwendolyn.Throwing barbs at your

back when you weren’tlooking. But she loved thefaceoffjustasmuch.

“No, Mother,” I saidrespectfully. “I changed intothis outfit in the car before I

walked in the door,” I saidsarcastically, “just to irritateyou.”

She strutted toward me,sashaying her hips.Gwendolyn wore stylishoutfits at all times andchanged them at least threetimes a day. I don’t knowwhoshewasshowingofffor.The maids? I’m sure theydidn’t give a shit as long asGwendolyn signed theirchecks.

Gwendolyn half hoodedher eyelids. One of themflickered spasmodically. Shewas so damn good at thatlook.Itdrovemecraycray.Ithink her expression rightnow could induce epilepticseizures in the weak andsubservient. It was madeworse by her ugly beauty.Yes, I had been blessedwithGwendolyn’s good looks. Itwasmycrosstobear.

Gwendolyn smiled like a

piranha.“Mustyoualwaysbeso snide? I’ve taught youbetterthanthat,Tiffany.”

She taught me how to besnide, that was for sure. Notconsciously. I’d picked thatupfromheralongtheway.Itwasunavoidable.

If you asked Gwendolyn,shewasdetermined to fixallthe mistakes she’d made inher own life, which sheclaimed were few, withmine.

Sadly, thatmadehera taddomineering.

Her snideness was just abonus.

“Mother, now is not agoodtime,”Isighedgrippingthe door handle to my roomlikealifepreserver.IfIcouldjust get through this doorunharmed…

“Ineed to speakwithyouabout the summer gala. Youstill haven’t picked out adress.”

She was referring to theannual gala at the La JollaCountry Club. Gwendolynhad to make a splash everyyear, each year bigger andbolder than the last. I was apart of her display. One ofthese years, I think sheplannedonhiringsomeonetobuild a parade float so shecoulddriveuptothegatesofthe country club on a thronemade of five hundredthousandfreshorchids.I’dbe

stucksittingbyherfeetlikeajewelondisplay.

Gwendolyn folded herhands in front of her waistand said, “Since you havebeen dissatisfied with thedress options I’vegivenyou,I’ve had Fred Segal courierdown several new gownsfrom their Los Angelesboutique. They should behere this afternoon. I’d likeyou to try them on. Two ofthem are smashing off the

shoulder numbers from a hotnewdesignerinBeverlyHillsnamed Rocco Ferrara, who Iabsolutely adore. Please trythem all on and pick one,Tiffany. I won’t have youattending the gala in yourstreet attire.” She eyed myoutfit with obvious disgust.But it didn’t show on herface. She kept a perfectlypleasant smile in placearound the clock. I think herface was frozen that way. It

wasjustthatawfulflintyglintin her eyes that gave awayherirritation.

I arched my eyebrows,hoping she was finished. I’dlearned to say little in thepresence of Gwendolyn. Itgave her fewer opportunitiestopickatme.

“Have you decided on anescort for the gala?” sheasked.

Sometimes, the silencedidn’thelpany.

“No,”Isighed.“Have you considered

BrandonCharboneau?”“No,Mother,” Imuttered.

Nomatter howmany hints Idropped to Brandon, he wasalways too busy. I wasstarting to wonder if he wasgay. It was the onlyexplanation, considering howobviousI’dbeenwithhiminthepast.

“What about ChristosManos?” Gwendolyn cocked

her head slightly. “I’vealways been fond of thatyoungman.”

My lips tighteneddown. Icouldfeelmyeyelidswantingtoflutterfrommyimpendingtears. I was determined tohold them back. “Christosis…busy.” I choked. Myvoice was on the verge ofcracking. Gwendolyn alwaysstruck with practicedaccuracy.Rightatthejugular.

“I don’t understand what

yourproblemis,Tiffany.AreyouscaringoffalltheeligiblebachelorsinSanDiego?”Shemade it sound like getting agood man was as easy asfilling a gas tank at the gasstation.

“No,mother,”Imuttered.“Speak up, dear. That

mousy voice of yours is halftheproblem.Nomanwantsamousy girl. Show someconfidence. You’re aKingston-Whitehouse.”

“Can I go now?” I askedinagarbledvoice.

“Yes. But be ready whenthosedressesarrive.Iwanttoseehowtheylookonyou.”

She was determined totreat me like a dress up dollnomatterwhatIdid.Iopenedmydoorandsteppedintomybedroom.

“Tiffany?”Istopped,mybacktoher,

bracing for the usualcriticism. I still clutched the

brass doorknob. I imaginedmyselfyankingitoffthedoorand planting it right in thecenter of Gwendolyn’sforehead.

“Is that skirt tight onyou?”sheaskedthoughtfully.Mymotherhad theheartandeyesofaBeverlyHillsplasticsurgeon.

Yes,myskirtwastight.Itlookedlikeitwaspaintedon,andIlookedawesomeinit.Iworkedmyassoffatthegym

andatelikeamousetomakesureofit.

“Do you need to lose apoundortwo?Yourwaistlineisabitpuffytoday.”

TypicalGwendolyn.Ididn’tanswer.“No matter,” she sighed

heavily. “Those dresses willbe here shortly. With anyluck, you won’t burst anyseams when you try themon.” She sounded defeatedalready. Double crossed by

the puffy waistline of hertraitorous daughter. Didn’tGwendolyn know what aperiodwas?Oh,wait.I thinkshehadheruterusremovedalongtimeago.Myguesswasthatshe’dhiredasurrogatetocarry me to term rather thanstretch her waistline. And Iknew she would never havestoopedso lowas tohaveanelective C-section. Itwould’veleftascar.

I quietly closed my

bedroomdoorbehindmeandwalkintomyexpansivewalkin closet. It held moreawesome outfits than aMercedes-Benz FashionWeek. At least there weresome perks to being aKingston-Whitehouse. Iplaced my red lacquer soledLouboutins in the shoe rackamongstdozensofothers.

Back in my bedroom, Ipulled a photo album off ofmydeskandsatdownonmy

plushcomforteratopmyfourposterbed.Ileafedthroughit.There were photos goingback to when I was a littlegirl.

Certain ones stood out,andIlingeredonthem.

Aschoolplayinthefourthgrade. Robin Hood. I playedMaid Marian and Christoswas Robin Hood. Of course.Hewasdashingeventhen.

AnEasterEgg huntwhenI was six. I had known then

that I was in love withChristos. I’d even told him Iwantedtomarryhimthatday.

Christos at the beach,sometime in high school.Hewas shirtless and ripped. Notattoos yet, but muscled andhandsome.Themanhewouldbecomewasalreadyobvious.Allthegirlshadeyesforhim.

My eleventh birthdayparty. Surrounded byballoons and confetti andfriends. The birthday cake

wasrightinfrontofmeandIwas blowing on the candles.Christos was leaning towardme, a sly look on his face,kissing my cheek. I hadn’twashedmycheekforaweekafterthatday,Iremember.

I rubbed my cheeklongingly.

Tears dripped onto theplastic sleeve covering thephotos.Ipulledthephotoouttogetabetterlook.

ChristosManos.

Christos.I squeezed my eyes shut

and my head dropped to mychest. I stifled my sobs.Gwendolyn had ears like avampire bat and would nodoubt senseme out and giveme shit if she heard mecrying in my room like ababy.

Christoswasgone.I shook my head, not

wantingtobelieveit.It was that stupid

Samantha.She’druinedeverything.She’dtakenhimfromme.Itwasallherfault.Christos and I had been

getting closer over lastsummer, before classes hadstarted. We’d been hangingoutallthetime.Almosteveryday. I had started to thinkmaybe we’d had a chance.Christos had finally cleanedup his act, working on hispaintings, becoming a

respectableyoungman.Ithadbeen touch and go with himfor several years. But he’dfinally gotten his shittogether. He wasn’t anembarrassmentanymore.

And Samantha hadswooped in and stolen hisheart.

Ifuckinghatedthatbitch.Ihatedher.I hated her with all my

heart.I was going to make her

lifemiserableifitwasthelastthingIdid.

Starting with her hearingin front of the SDU tribunal.ShewasgettingkickedoutofSDU.Whateverittook.

I stood up from my bedand walked into my closet,closingthedoorbehindme.Iwenttothebackoftheclosetand pushed aside coats andgowns. Like I needed yetanothergownforthesummergala. I had three that still fit.

But no, they’d been wornonce. In public. Gwendolynwould be ashamedofme foreven suggesting I wear oneagain.

Hidden in the corner,behind my ski jackets andsnowpantswasaduffelbag.I sat down on the carpetedfloor of my closet andunzipped the bag. I reachedinside and felt immediaterelief.

Ipulledanold,rattyteddy

bear out of the bag. Her furwas tattered and she wasmissing one button eye. IfGwendolyn knew I still hadMs. Bear, she would’veburned her. Gwendolyn hadthrown out every doll andstuffed animal I had when Iturned thirteen. She’d saidthey were childish. I’dmanagedtosaveMs.Bearbyhiding her under my bedwhen Gwendolyn wasn’tlooking.

I huggedMs. Bear to mychest.

Still weeping, and in ashakyvoice,Isaid,“Youstilllove me, don’t you, Ms.Bear?”

Ms. Bear stared back atmeblanklywithheroneeyedsmile.

I hugged her to my chestandsobbedsilently.Mybodyshook and spasmed withsadness.

Forty minutes later, when

the gowns arrived, therewasno sign left on my face thatI’dbeencrying.

I never allowedmyself tocry long enough formy facetogetpuffy.

Gwendolyn would nevertolerateit.

Chapter24

SAMANTHA

“Let’s crash this bash!” Icheered as me and the gangwalked into CharboneauGallery on the night of theContemporaryArtistsShow.

Theplacewaspackedwithpeople. Unlike the crowd at

Christos’soloshowlastyear,whichhadbeenmoreupscale,thiscrowdwasmuchyoungerand hipper. They had a DJinstead of a string quartet.People were talking muchlouder, and drinking morefreely.IsawcansofRedBullin people’s hands instead ofwine glasses. It was a partyvibeforsure.

Kamiko was alreadyinside. She’d arrived earlybecause she was one of the

artists. Christos and I hadpicked up Romeo and metMadison and Jake on thestreetbeforecominginside.

“Let’s go find Kamiko,”Romeo said, “I want to seewhat cosplay character shedressedupasthistime.”

“Okay,” I said as Romeopulledmealong.

Christos, Madison, andJakestrolledbehind.

Despite the bomb mymom had dropped about

askingmydadforadivorce,Ihad managed to hold myselftogether in the days sinceshe’d called. Sure, my legswere still wobbly and Iwantedtothrowupeveryfiveminutesmostdays,butIwasdetermined to enjoy myselftonight.

“This place is packed,” Isaid, “we’re never going tofindKamiko.”

Romeo was examining apiece of paper, “I grabbed

oneofthepaperpricesheets.It says she’s number thirty-two.Sheshouldbeovertheresomewhere,” he pointedtowardtheright.

The four of us walked inthatdirection.

“Dude,” Christos said toJake as we wove our waythrough the crowd, “you stillthinking about surfing theNorthShoreallsummer?”

“Hellsyeah,”Jakesmiled.“I’mdreamingaboutPipeline

everynight.”The two of them were

rightbehindmeandMadison.I frowned at her andwhisperedinherear,“IsJaketalkingaboutyourpipeline?”

Madison cackled, “No,sillySam.He’s talkingaboutthe reef break at BanzaiBeach,inOahu.”

“Oh,” I nodded. “I justassume when guys startthrowing terms around thatdon’t make sense, they’re

talkingaboutsex.”“It’s a safe assumption,”

Madisongrinned.Christos asked Jake, “Are

youtakingMadswithyou?”Jakenodded,“Ofcourse,I

would never go to Pipelinewithout bringingmy favoritepipelinewithme.”

Christos and Jake bothstarted chuckling. Me andMadisonturnedtoeachotherandsaidinunison,“Men!”

Jake wrapped a muscled

arm around Madison andsaid,“Youknowyouloveit.”He smiled his endearinglywhite smile, always such abrilliant contrast against hisbronze skin, before kissinghercheek.

Madison leaned into him,“Ifyouweren’tsodamncute,Jake, you would never getaway with talking like aheathen.”

“Does that mean I cankeeptalkinglikeaheathen?”

Madison rolled her eyesformybenefit,butIcouldtellshe was totally in love withJake.

Christos wrapped an armaroundme.

Ishothimawarningglare,“Don’tstarttalkingaboutmypipeline,”Ijoked.

“Whosepipeline?”Romeoasked. “I’m all about thepipeline. Laying it, boring itout,pluggingitup,drainingit—”

“Draining it?” Jakegrimaced.

“Dude,” Christos smiled,“whatdoesthatevenmean?”

Romeo examined hisfingernailsandgrinned,“Youreallywanttoknow?”

“NO!” me and Madisonblurted.

All the young peoplearound us were dressed invarious hipster garb orclubbing outfits. I was justwaiting for the lights to dim

and the neon glow sticks tocome out. But it still was anart gallery. There were somanypeoplewecouldbarelyseethepaintingsonthewalls.

“It’s this way,” Romeosaid, leading everyone. “Ohmygod!”

“What?”Isaid,curious.“I can’t belieeeeve it!”

Romeosingsonged.“What, what?” I couldn’t

see past the people Romeohadjustsqueezedbetween.

I exchanged an excitedlook with Madison as wesqueezed up to Romeo, whohadhisarmsaroundKamiko.

“You’renotdressedlikeacartoon!” Romeo cheeredwhilehuggingKamiko.

“Okay,” she grimaced,“don’t break me.” She mayhave been complaining, butshewastotallygiggling.

When Romeo broke thehug, I finally saw Kamiko’soutfit.

“Damn, Kamiko!” Ismiled. “You look totallysexy!”

Kamikowore a sleevelessred on black colorblockbodycon zip front dress. Shestood tall on black platformsandals and her hair wasdown.

“Whoa,” Christos said.“Kamiko,youlookhot,girl.”

Kamikoblushed.Jake nodded approval.

“Nicedress,Kamiko.”

“Does anybody want topullherzipperdownasbadlyasIdo?”Romeoasked.

“Please don’t,” Kamikopleaded.

“I’m kidding,” Romeosmiled. “You look amazing,Kamiko,” he said genuinely.“Innowaydoyouresembleacartooncharactertonight.IfIwas straight, I would totallydoyou.Youlookfabulous.”

“Thanks,” she smiledbashfully.

Romeo gave her anotherbighug.

Christos grinned, “If youdon’t get at least ten phonenumbers from good lookingguys tonight, I’d besurprised.”

“Thanks,” Kamiko rolledher eyes like the idea of hermeeting a guy was about aslikely as the sun suddenlyexploding. She said, “I justhope I sell my paintingtonight.”Shestoodrightnext

toit.Christos took a closer

look. “Oh shit, is thatBrandon’s face on thosekoi?”

Kamiko’s eyes widenedandweexchangedagiggle.

“OMG,” Kamiko tittered,clearly embarrassed, “is itthatobvious?”

“Maybe to me,” Christosreassured, “but I’ve knownthatbottom feeder for a longtime.”

“Which bottom feeder?”Brandon Charboneau asked,suddenly standing next to allofus.

Whoops. I guess thatcatfishwas finally out of thebag.Well,itwastechnicallyakoi.Whatever. Either way, Ihope Brandon wasn’toffended.

“Brandon!” Christos saidextravagantly, clapping himon theback, clearly trying todistractfromtheobvious.

“Greetings, everyone,”Brandon smiled, lookingdashing. “It’s a crowdedhousetonight,isn’tit?”

“Totally,” Christos saidloudly, trying to keepBrandon’s attention awayfromthepainting.

Maybe if Brandon didn’tfigureouthewas the subjectof Kamiko’s painting, hewould takenoteofhowsexyKamiko looked in her dressinstead, and finally ask her

out.“Doesn’t Kamiko look

sexy in her dress?” I said toBrandon. I wasn’t abovehinting.

Brandon glanced at heroutfit and smiled politely,“Verystylish,Kamiko.”Thenhe looked at the rest of us,“Well, I’ve got to circulate.”He raised his eyebrows andsmiledashesqueezedpastusintothecrowd.

StupidBrandumb.

At least Kamiko didn’tseem to care. “Phew!” shewhispered.“Thatwasclose!”

“What are you worriedabout?”Romeoasked.

Kamiko glared at him,“Areyouinsane?Ifhefiguresoutthat’shiminmypainting,he’ll probably ban me fromselling in his gallery everagain.”

Istartedtosay,“Ifhedoesthat…”

Then,twothingssuddenly

happened simultaneously inthenexttwoseconds.

First, Brandon suddenlyleaned back through thecrowd toward us and said,“Oh,hey,Kamiko?”

And, I finished mysentence, “…thenBrandon isafuckingasshole.”

Kamiko’s eyes buggedout.

Oh,fuckmebackwardandsideways. That foot of minestill had a mind of its own

when it came to jumping inmymouth.

Romeosuddenlywentintooverdrive. “Uh, what Sammeant was, ahh…Brandon,you are the opposite of afucking asshole!” Romeo’seyes shone like he’ddiscovered the cure forcancer. “Yes! The completeopposite!You’reanunfuckedasshole! You’re the type ofasshole who’s never seen aday’s work! You’ve never

been used for fucking!You’re tight as a drum!Couldn’t pass a turd the sizeof a vitamin pill even if youtried!”

Note Romeo’s guiltyexclamation points. Theywereallovertheplace.

Brandon arched aneyebrow.

The rest of us stood andwatchedinmutehorrorastheLoco Locomotive crashedinto the side of a mountain.

Oh, the calamity.At least hewastryingtosavemyass.

Romeo continuedshoveling, “Brandon,youarethe most pristine asshole theworldhas ever known.Freshoff the rack.Untouched, likeadiamond.Anassholein therough. Ahhh…” Romeofinally ran out of steam,looking flummoxed. “Thatdidn’t come out quite right.Sorry.”

Brandonnoddedsourly,“I

gettheidea.”“What was it that you

wanted?” Kamiko askeddesperately, her teethclenched in terror, doing herbest to sweep the awfulmomentundertherug.

Brandonclearedhisthroatwhile shooting a ninjathrowingstarglareatRomeoandme, “Iwas just going totell you, Kamiko, that acoupleofbuyershavealreadyaskedmeaboutyourpainting.

Theyreallylikeit.Ithinkwemightsellitthisevening.”

A longmomentof silencepassed between the seven ofus as we all stared at theceiling, our toes, ourfingernails.Anythingtoavoidthe social disastersurroundingus.

Brandon looked ateveryone,hiseyebrowsraisedhigh.“Anythingelse?”

Ishookmyhead,contrite.“I did compare him to a

diamond,” Romeo whisperedinmyear,as if thatmadeupforeverything.

Istompedonhisfoot.Brandonturnedawayfrom

thegroupofus.At least Brandon had

never noticed hewas the koifishinKamiko’spainting.

Brandon turned back asecond later, “Oh, one otherthing.” He leveled a glare atKamiko,“Don’tthinkIdidn’tnoticethatwasmeonthekoi

inyourpainting.”Thud.Kamikowentwhite.Quick,somebodypropher

upbeforeshefainted.“Oh, Brandon,” Kamiko

begged while hyperventilating, “I’m so sorry! Ididn’tmeanto!Imean,I,ah,oh…”Shewasgoing topassout.

Brandon’s mouth curledintoaslysmile,“Whydoyouthink I wanted your piece in

theshow?”What?He grinned, “I’ve got a

senseofhumor.HowuptightdoyouguysthinkIam?”

“You’re not tight at all!”Romeo said. “You’re totallyloose! Diarrhea loose! Likerun off from a strip miningoperation!”

“Romeo!”we all shouted,exceptBrandon.

Brandon chuckled, “Cansomeone turn this guy into a

painting?Because I’m sure Icould build an entire showaroundhim,”helaughed.“I’llcheck in with you later,Kamiko,” Brandon smiled atherandfadedintothecrowd.

Wow,Brandonwasn’thalfbad.

“Does anyone want adrink?”Christosasked.

“After that, I need aboutten,”Jakesmiled.

IturnedtoKamiko,“CanIgetyouanything,Kamiko?”

“A MUTE button forRomeo would be nice,” shesaid, “or at the very least, abag to put over my head sonobodynoticesmetherestofthe night. I’m dying ofembarrassment.”

Christos said, “Don’tworry, Kamiko. Brandon iscool.He’snotgoingtoholditagainstyou.”

“Whataboutme?”Iasked.“I was the one who calledhimanasshole.”

“A fucking asshole,”Romeo corrected. “The kindused for putting dicks in.Frequently.”

IrolledmyeyesatRomeo.“What?” he said

defensively.“Yousaidit.”Kamiko mimed pressing

theMUTEbuttononaremotecontrol, “It’s not working,”shegrinned.

===Afterwegotdrinks at the

bar and brought one to

Kamiko,whobadlyneededit,Christos and I circulatedaroundthegallery,lookingatallthecoolpaintings.

The Contemporary ArtistsShow really had an eclecticmixofart.Therewasgraffitiinfluenced art, screen printeddigital creations, collagescombining paint and foundmaterials, even a large piecedoneentirelyincrayons.

“Hey,” I said, looking attheplacarddescribingit,“it’s

acrayonpainting!”On the placard, beneath

the dimensions, the cardlisted the medium as,“Crayola 96 color box onpaper.”

Christos nodded, gazingappreciatively at the piece,“Thisisawesome.”

It was an amazinglydetailed picture of aRenaissance era palaceinterior.ItwasreminiscentofM.C.Escher,butinfullcolor.

Thetilesofablackandwhitefloor transformed into birdsand fish as the floor recededinto the distance, with theblack bird tiles taking flightandthewhitefishtilesdivinginto a blue pond. The pondemptied into a blue streamthat flowed toward theforeground of the painting,and the streammorphed intoa blue runner threaded withgold as it approached thebottom of the canvas. The

law of gravity was not ineffect, and peoplewalked onthe ceiling and the walls,going about their business.Then I noticedall thepeoplewereanimalswalkingontwolegs. Pigs, cows, horses,chickens,geese,sheep,goats,and any kind of farm animalyoucouldimagine.Therewasevenawolfwithanactualredridinghoodcloakmakingoutwith threegirl pigs in a darkcorner at the top of the

painting.“Thatwolf is sure getting

a lot of action with thosepigs,”Christossaid.

“It’s a regular porkyorgy,” I smiled. “Whosehousedoyouthinkthey’llgobackto?”

“You mean the straw,wood,orbrickhouse?”

“I think they’ll start withthe straw house and bangtheirwaythroughthatandthewood one, until they end up

in the brick one,” Christoschuckled.“Everyoneknowsabrickhouseismightymighty.No amount of bed shakingcan bring a brick housedown.”

“Gross!” Igrimaced.“Areyou suggesting that wolf isgoing to have sex with thethree little pig sluts? Andinstead of blowing theirhouses down, they’re goingto, uh, fuck the housesdown?”

Christos grinned, “Hey, Ididn’tpaintthepainting.”

“You’re terrible,” Ifrowned.“But,whatIwanttoknow is, why is the wolfwearingaredridinghood?”

“I don’t know,” he saidthoughtfully. “Either it’s thewolf who ate Little RedRiding Hood, or it’s a shewolflookingforsomesowonbitchaction.”

I grimaced. “That’s uberdisgusting.”

“Again,Ididn’tpaintit.”Christos and I walked to

the next painting, arm inarm.

We circled the gallery,enjoying all the art andmaking more snappycommentsabouttheimagery.One large painting had acrowd around it.Most of thepeople were talking ratherthan looking at the painting,so I tried to squeeze pastthemtogetabetterlookatit.

“Excuse me,” I said as Islid behind some womandressedentirelyinwhite.

“Watch where you’regoing!”sheblurted.

Iturnedtoapologize.It was Tiffany Kingston-

Whitehouse.Great.Whywasshehere?She wore a white

sleevelesskeyholemididress.And I had to admit, shelooked really good in it. Thedress contrasted nicely

against her tan skin andgoldenhair.Ialsonoticedshehad glittery lip gloss thatsparkled almost as much asher diamond earrings. Itshould’ve looked cheesy, butit was subtle, and on her, itonly enhanced. Tiffany wasuniquelybeautiful.

“Excuse you,” shesneered, holding herchampagne glass out of theway. Champagne sloshedaroundit.

She was also uniquelybitchy. How did such anamazing bitch get into suchanamazingbody?

I noticed Tiffany wastipping her glass toward meand the champagne was amillimeter from spilling overthe rim and pouring on myshoulder.

“Hey,Tiff,”Christossaid,catching her hand with his,stopping the champagnewaterfall.“Youalmostspilled

your drink,” he saidknowingly.

Tiffany frowned at him,staringintohiseyes.

Christos stared back. Hestill held her hand. “Don’t,Tiffany,”hesaidquietly.

“Let go of me,” shedemanded. Christos did andshe threw her drink back,swallowingitinseverallargegulps. “I need another drinknowthattheriffraffishere.”She shouldered past me,

bumpingintomehard.“Hey!”Iblurted.Sheignoredme.I rubbed my shoulder

where she’d slammed itwithher own, “What’s she doinghere?”IaskedChristos.

“She always comes toBrandon’sopenings.”

“Fantastic,”Isighed.“Don’t worry about her.

I’ll deal with her if she getsoutofhand.”

“That’s what I’m worried

about.She’llprobablygetoutof hand just so you have todealwithher.That’swhatshedidonheryachtNewYear’sEve. I saw the way she wasdrooling over you just now.”Did I sound jealous? Ihopedonlyalittle.

“Don’t worry about her,agápimou. I’m not going tolet Tiff come between youandme.”

“Promise?”“Promise,” Christos

reassured.“Nothingwilleversplitusapart.”

I winced as a wave ofnausea sloshed through mystomach. The word “split”mademethinkofmyparents’impendingdivorce.

Christos gave me acompassionate look. “You’rethinking about your parents,aren’tyou?”

Inoddedmutely.Christoswrappeda loving

armaroundmeandpulledme

into his chest. He kissed myforehead softly. “I’m notgoing anywhere. I’ll be byyour side, no matter whathappens.”

“Really?”“Really,” hemurmured in

myear.I inhaled thewarm loving

scent emanating from hischest as I wrapped my armsaroundhiswaist. “I loveyouso much, Christos AdonisManos.”

“Iloveyoutoo,SamanthaAnna Smith,” he said as hekissedthetopofmyhead.

“Getaroom!”Romeosaidashecamewalkingup.“Andstop being such a coochmooch, Christos. You’vebeenhoggingSamforthelasthour. There’s more thanenoughofher togoaround.”He slid his arm between meandChristosandpulledmetohissideforaquickhug.

“Cooch mooch?” I

chuckled. “Are you callingmeacooch?”

“You have one, don’tyou?” Romeo scoffed,releasingthehug.

“Yeah, but it’s not like Igo around calling you aneedlesspenis.”

“I’m hurt, Sam. Are yousuggestingmygoodhumorisnot wanted?” He made adroopy, sad face, jutting outhis lower lip. His shoulderssaggedcomically.

“Oh, Romeo,” I giggled,“Your penis is alwaysneeded.”

“That’s what I’m told,”Romeo grinned. “Do youwant to swing by Kamiko’spainting and say hello? I’mafraid someone is going tokidnapherinthatdress.”

“Awww, are you worriedabout her, Romeo?” Icrooned.

“Of course I am, Sam.Who knew a cartoon

character could be so sexy?”hequipped.“I’ddoherifshehadadick.”

Iwinced.“Wrongimage.”“It would be a very

feminine dick,” Romeo said.“Smallish with a tiny littlepinkwrapper.”

I winced wider. “Nothelping!”Iwarned.

“What’swrongwithdicks,Sam? You like them, don’tyou?”

I shook my head, and

started laughing. “Romeo,please!”

“What?”RomeolookedatChristosforsupport.

“Don’t look at me!”Christos chuckled. “I’m allaboutmoochingthecooch.”

I shook my head. “Youguys have one track mindstonight. Did we walk into abrothel without me realizingit?”

“Everywhere I go,”Romeo quipped, “I bring the

brothel.”That was one hundred

percenttrue.===

Christos, Romeo, and Isqueezed through the crowdtowardKamiko’spainting.Atthemoment,shestoodalone.The show had been goinglongenoughthatmostpeoplehad seen all of the art andwere now busy socializingandgettingdrunk.

“Hey,guys,”Kamikosaid

nervously.“How’sitgoing?”Iasked.

“Hasyourpaintingsold?”“No,” she said, sounding

disappointed.I hadnoticed thatmostof

the other paintings Christosand I had looked at had reddotsontheplacards,meaningthey’dsold.Iwasn’tabouttotellKamikothat.

“It seems likemostof thepaintings are selling,”Kamikosighed.

Oh well. She’d figured itoutherself.“Yourswillsell,”Iencouraged.

“Excuse me, guys,”Christos said, “I think I justsaw a buddy of mine. I’mgoingtogosayhey.”

“All right,” I said. “I’mgoing to stay here withKamikoandRomeo.”

Christos kissedme on thecheek.

“Don’t I get a kiss?”Romeosmirked.

“Next time,” Christoswinked at Romeo beforewalkingintothecrowd.

I turned back to Kamiko.She looked increasinglydistraught.

“I don’t knowwhat Iwasthinkingenteringmypaintinginto the show,” she said.“Maybe my parents wereright about me being pre-med.Thisartthingishard.”

“Don’t be silly,Kamiko,”Romeo said dismissively.

“Yourartisawesome.”Kamiko looked at him

despondently.Ididn’tknowwhatelseto

say.Brandonsqueezedthrough

the crowd toward us, “Hey,”he said.He didn’t sound anymore enthusiastic than therestofus.

Disappointmentballs.“How’s it going?”

BrandonaskedKamiko.She rolled her eyes. “The

truth?”Brandonnodded.“My feet are killing me.

I’ve been standing here twohours.”

Romeo said, “Kamiko,maybe you should unzip thefront of your dress and sayyoucomewiththepainting.”

Brandonchuckled,“Whilethat might work, I’d like tothinkKamiko’s art stands onit’sowntwofeet.”

“Yeah,” she said

sarcastically, “but mypainting isn’t wearingplatform sandals,” shegroaned. “I’m the one doingallthestanding.”

“Maybe this will help,”Brandonsaid, leaning towardKamiko.

I was suddenly sure hewasgoingtokissher.

Instead, he pressed a reddot onto the placard of herpainting. “It sold,” hegrinned.

“What?”Kamiko’sfacelitup.

“For two thousand,”Brandonsmiled.

Kamikoclappedherhandsto her face. “Ohmygod! Idon’tbelieveit!”

“Believe it,” Brandonchuckled. “I had two buyers.The price started at fifteenhundred,buttheyarguedtheirway up to two grand beforeoneofthemboughtit.”

“Wow!’ Ismiled.“You’re

a hot commodity tonight,Kamiko! Isn’t she hot,Brandon?”Ihintedwithzerosubtlety.

“She’s on fire tonight,”Brandon smiled beforewalkingoff.

I looked at Kamiko andsighed,“Itried.”

“Oh,” Kamiko said, “Idon’t care about Brandumbanymore.” She lookeddisappointed, but then herface lit up and she started

hopping in her heels andclapping,“Isoldmypainting!Isoldit,Isoldit!”

Romeo smiled, “I knewyou would, Kamiko. Comehere, you cartoon character,”hesaidwithgenuineemotion.HegaveKamikoahugehug.“I knew you could do it.Didn’t I tell you in highschoolyouweregoingtobeabigartistsomeday?”

Kamiko’s eyes werewatering, “You did. You’ve

always stood by me, youmonoclewearingfairy.”

They laughed and huggedagain.

Kamiko said, “Whoneedsa boyfriend when I haveRomeo?”

“Hey,guys,”Christossaidashesqueezedpastpeopletogettous.

“Kamiko sold herpainting!”Icheered.

“You did?” Christosbeamed. “That’s awesome,

Kamiko.”Kamiko nodded, grinning

atChristos.A cute guy squeezed out

from behind Christos. Heworeablack suitvestover agray button down shirt withsleeves rolled up to theelbows, black skinny jeans,anda redbow tiechecked inblack.Histhickdarkhairwasmussed and a sexy curldipped over his brow. Oneach forearm he had a tattoo

of a cartoon character. Bothwere from Adventure Time,Kamiko’s favorite cartoon. Itotally recognized them fromall the times I’dwatched theshow with her since schoolstartedlastyear.

Kamiko’s jaw dropped,andshegasped,“WhattheF?Why do you have tattoos ofMarceline and PrincessBubblegum?”

Hipster guy frowned atKamiko like she was

completely stupid. “Duh.Because they rock,” hegrinned.

His sexy smile had pantydropping potential for sure.NotthatInoticed,butitwentwell with his emerald eyes.Again,notthatI’dnoticed.

ButRomeohad.Ithinkhewasdroolingattheguy.

“Hey,Samantha,”Christossaid, “remember I told youback in November that abuddy of mine did

storyboards for AdventureTime?”

Inodded.“This is him,” Christos

grinned. “Everybody, meetDillonMcKenna.”

Dillon shook hands witheverybody.

Kamikolookedlikeadeercaught in headlights. Icouldn’tdecideifshewasfangirling because Dillonworked on her favoritestcartoon ever, or because he

wassohandsome.“Charmed,” Romeo said

as they shook, soundingtotallygirlie.

I grinned to myself as IimaginedRomeoandKamikofightingoverDillon.

Christos said, “Kamiko isa huge fan of AdventureTime. And she painted thatpainting,” he motionedtowardit.

Dillon glanced at thepainting, then did a double

take. He stepped toward itand gave it a closer look.“Wow,youdidthis?”

Kamiko noddednervously.

“This is tits,” he said,looking at it closely. “Whydoes the face on the koi fishlookfamiliar?”heasked.

Weallbrokeintoa laugh,exceptforDillon.

“Inside joke,” Kamikosmiled.

Dillon nodded as he

scrutinized her paintingfurther. “This is really good.Whatwasyournameagain?”

“Kamiko Nishimura,” shegrinned.

“You sure can paint,Kamiko,”hesmiled.

“So,” Kamiko saidnervously, “you storyboardforAdventureTime?”

“You watch the show?”Dillonasked.

“Totally! I have everyseasononDVD!Idressedup

as Marceline lastHalloween!” She soundedtotallynervous.

“You do cosplay?”Dillonasked her, soundingimpressed.

Kamikonodded.“Nice,” he said. “I made

my own Ice King costumelastHalloween.Ihavepicsonmy phone, if you want tosee.”

“Shut up!” KamikogrinnedlikeitwasChristmas.

Dillonnoddedashepulledouthisphone,“ButI’mgoingto make an Earl ofLemongrab costume for SanDiego Comic Con thissummer.”

“What! Do you havetickets?”

“Yeah, we get thembecause we work on theshow,”hesaidashethumbedthroughhisphone.

“I canneverget tickets toComic Con!” Kamiko said.

“It’salwayssoldout.”“Icangetyouinthisyear,

if you want,” Dillon smiled.“They always have extras attheoffice.”

DillonhandedhisphonetoKamiko.

Sheexaminedthepictures.“Wow! Your Ice Kingcostume rocks! You made ityourself?”

Dillon smiled a huge grinandnodded.“Totally.”

Turning to me and

Christos, Romeo said, “Ithinkwe need to leave thosetwo alone. Kamiko’s eyeshaveturnedintocandyhearts,or something equallyjuvenile.”

“I think they’re little pinksmiley faces right now,”Christoschuckled.

Christos,Romeo,andIallsmiledateachotherwhileweslowly retreated, leavingKamiko and Dillon to geekout about Adventure Time,

cosplay, and the San DiegoComicCon.

===CHRISTOS

The DJ turned up thevolume as the crowd grewmore boisterous. People hadto talk loud to be heard,enhancingthenightclubvibe.

Idon’tknowwhyIhadn’tthought to introduce Kamikoto Dillon sooner. They wereperfectforeachother.

Samantha demanded,“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyourAdventure Time friend wasso hot? And perfect forKamiko?”

I frowned, “Are youreadingmymind?”

“What?” she asked,confused.

“Never mind,” I grinned.“Anyway,IguessIhadotherthings distracting me backthen.” I gave her a knowinglookandleaneddowntokiss

herlips.Romeo grunted,

“Somebody getme a bucket.There’s so much true lovearound here tonight, I’mgoingtopuke.”

“Oh,” Samantha saidcompassionately, “I’m sorryRomeo. Christos, do youhave any hot steampunkfriendsforRomeo?”

“I’ll have to check,” Ismiled.

Brandoncamewalkingup.

“How are you all?” hesmiled.“Enjoyingtheshow?”

“Great show, Brandon,”Samanthasaid.

I think her mood hadimproved ever since Kamikohad sold her koi painting. IknewSamanthawastryingtokeep a game face about herparents’ split, but you couldonly fake somuch. Her gutswere probably flip floppingevery sixty secondsmorning,noon,andnight.Iknowmine

had when my mom had leftmydadoveradecadeago.

Fuck,mygutsstillknottedwhen I thought about mymom.

(mom)“Thank you,” Brandon

smiledhisstockMr.Pleasantsmile.“Christos,canItalktoyouforafewmoments?”

“Sure,”Isaid.Iraisedmyeyebrows at Samantha andRomeo.

“Let’s go look around,

Sam,”Romeosaid.HepulledSamanthaoffintothecrowd.

“What up, Brandon?” Iasked.

“I wanted to check inabout your progress on yourpaintings.Caretotakeastrollinthesculpturegarden?”

Inodded.Wewalked out back. The

sculpturegardenwasn’tquiteas crowded as the inside ofthegallery,anditwasoutsideso we had a vague sense of

privacyinthehedgesmazingaround under the starlight.Brandon was all aboutappearances, so taking meback here meant he hadsomething to say that wasgoingtoirritateeitherhimorme.

When we were secluded,heasked,“How’sthatportraitof Isabella coming along?Did you make the changeslike Stanford Wentworthsuggested?”

Ichuckled.Asif.“What?”Brandonsmiled.Did I tell Brandon now

thatI’ddestroyedthepaintingofIsabellainafitofrage?Orlet him find outwhen itwasnoticeably absent from mysolo show? Fuck it. I didn’tfeel like dancing tonight.“I’ve decided to go in adifferent direction for theshow.”

Brandon narrowed hiseyes.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“I’m trashing the idea ofusing models. It wasn’tworkingforme.”

“I thought they werelookingprettygood.”

“YouheardWentworth,”Ichuckled. “You were there.He said the paintings werelifeless.”

“I could sell them,”Brandonscoffed.

“Youcouldsell acar toacanary.”

Brandon frowned, “Why

would a canary want a car?Theyhavewings.”

“Exactly.”Brandon dismissed my

comment. “Christos, you andI have known each other alongtime.”

Inodded.“I’m trying to build your

career,”hesaid.Isaid,“ButIdon’twanta

careerpaintingmodelsIdon’tgiveashitabout.”

“Beautiful women sell,

Christos. They never go outofstyle.”

I arched an eyebrow andnoddedathim.

“At any rate,” hecontinued,“Ican’tbuildyourcareer if I don’t have anypaintings to sell. Here’s asuggestion.Wesellthenudesyouhavenownextmonth,atyour solo show. Next year,we transition you into moremeaningful subject matter.The important thing is we

keep your momentum going.Ihavefifteenpossiblebuyerslinedup foryourpaintings. IevenhaveonefortheIsabellaportrait. I don’t care whatStanford Wentworth said, Icangetusone-twenty-fiveKforit.”

Whoops. I could use$125,000. Nothing likeattorney’s fees to drain yourwalletdowntozero.FuckingHunterBlakeley.

Sadly, if I dug the tatters

oftheIsabellapaintingoutofthe dump now, I don’t thinkBrandonwouldgetfiftycentsforit.

He asked, “How muchlonger do you think itwouldtake for you to finish fifteenpaintings?”

Brandon needed a realitycheck. He was under theimpression I’d been busilyworking away in the studiothese past few months,cranking out more paintings

of his L.A. models. I’d kepthiddenuntilnowthefactthatI’dfallenwaybehindbecauseof the Horst Grossman trialandbecauseI’ddecidedtogoin a different direction withmyart.

“Months,”Isaid.Brandon’s eyes goggled.

“Months? I don’t havemonths. I’vegot shows linedup for the rest of the year. Ican’t shift things around.Christos,” he said, sounding

deeply disappointed, “I can’tkeep these buyers waitingaround. If I don’t close themnow, they’re going to goelsewhere.”

“Whydon’tyousell themon some of your otherartists?”

“These are big namebuyers.They’renotinterestedin my other artists, Christos.They’re interested in you.Theywant theManosmagic.I need your paintings. Now.

Howmanydoyouhave?”“Three are finished. The

ones you’ve seen of Avery,Jacqueline, and Becca. I’vegotthreemoreinprogress.”Iwas thinking of the LOVEpaintingofmeandSamantha,the solo portrait of her, andthesurpriseIhadbrewingforeveryone.

“Six? I thought you hadseven. I know I sent youseven models and you wereworkingonallofthem.What

happened?”“The, ahhh…well…” I

wasgoingtohavetotellhim,“The painting of Isabella isR.I.P.”

“What? Why?” He wasfrowning.

“I told you, it wasn’tworkingforme.”

“Youdidn’tchangeit,didyou,likeWentworthasked?”

“No,” I scoffed. “He’s anidiot.”

“Good. Because I’m

telling you, I can sell thatpainting for six figures forsure.”

Fuck. He may as wellknow.“It’sgone.”

“What, did you sell italready?” he chucklednervously.

IfIhad,Iwouldbeatotalprick and Brandon wouldreconsider our businessrelationship. I wouldn’tblame him. Lucky for me, Ihadn’t. “I, um, tore it to

pieces.”Brandon’s eyes goggled

wider than before. “Why thehell would you do that?” Heactually sounded angry.Brandon never lost his cool.“I had a buyer lined up. Theguy buys nothing but highpriced nudes. He wouldn’tthink twice about paying ahundred grand for yours.You’re crazy, Christos.”Brandon shook his head andfrowned, looking half

defeated.Thenhepausedandhis angry expression easedinto an easy grin. “You’repulling my leg, aren’t you,Christos?”

I shook my head, “No. Itore the shit out of it andthrewitaway.”

Brandon’s eyes goggled athird time. “You’re serious,aren’tyou?”

Inodded.“Christos, you’re killing

me,” he sighed. “I can’t put

up a solo show with sixpaintings. The gallery willlook empty. I’m going toneedmore.”

Ifeltbad.Ihadputmyselfin this position. “Look,maybeIcanmakeitnine.”

“Nine?” he askedskeptically.

“Inever finished the threeonesoftheothermodels.”

“Whynot?”“I told you, I started on

newpieces.”

“Christos, what are youdoing to me?” he pleaded.“Howfarareyoualongonalltheunfinishedpaintings?”Hesounded totally exasperated.“Are you going to have anyof themdone in time?”Nowhe sounded like adisappointedparent.

Poor Brandon. I couldn’tblame him. I was fuckingeverythingupandIknewit.Isighed, “The three new oneswilldefinitelybefinished.IfI

hustle, I can get the otherthreefinishedtoo.”

“You’ve only got a fewweeks to do it, Christos. Isthat going to be enoughtime?” He said it like heknewitwasimpossiblebuthewas being too polite to callmeonit.

“Ihopeso,”Isaidquietly.Brandon eyedme like I’d

gone from being his hotpropertytoathorninhissideinthespanoffiveminutes.

BecauseIhad.I felt bad. I was taking a

huge risk with my newartistic direction. Brandondidn’tdeservethestressIwaspiling on him. Despite thefact he annoyedme at times,he’dalwaysbeengoodtomeandmyfamilyovertheyears,andhe’dbeencountingonmetodeliveracertainamountofwork in a certain amount oftime.NowIwasblowingmydeadline.Butwhatthefuck.I

didn’twant to spend the restof my life painting for otherpeople.

I thought the whole pointof this artist thingwas to dowhatyouwanted?

Fuck.Maybe I was being a bit

too narrow minded in myviewofthings.

===SAMANTHA

Madison and Jake had

already gone home from thegallery because they weregettingupearlytosurfinthemorning.Romeowaschattingwith Dillon and Kamiko outback in the sculpture garden.Now that Kamiko’s paintinghad sold, she was ready torelax.

I wandered around in themain gallery, still entrancedby all the art. It blew mymindthatsomanypeoplehadsold paintings tonight. Most

of themwere inexpensive bygallery standards, rangingbetween $500 and $3,000.That meant Kamiko’s hadbeenoneofthehigherpricedpieces tosell. Iwassoproudofher.

Maybe one day, I’d sell apainting for a thousanddollars.

Out thecornerofmyeye,I noticed Tiffany stumbletoward the entrance. Shelooked totally drunk. I think

shewas leaving,but shewasinnoshapetodrive.

I ambled toward thedoorwayassheleft,watchingher sway onto the sidewalkoutside. Maybe she wouldwrap her car around atelephone pole on her wayhomeand Iwouldn’thave toworry about her getting mekicked out of college at myupcoming SDU tribunalhearing.

Isighed.

As much as I hatedTiffany, I couldn’t let herdrivehometotallydrunk.

ThenInoticedherstumbleintoaguysmokingacigaretteoutside. He wore a tatteredleatherjacketandwasleaningagainst a parking meter. Sheleaned into him and clutchedthe lapels of his jacket. Helookedsurprised.Butthenhetook a good look at Tiffanyand a smile crept across hisface.Hedroppedhiscigarette

and tamped it out with hisboot. I guess Tiffany knewhim because he put an armaroundherwaistandheldherup.

There were two youngwomen smoking outside,huddled together and talkingto each other.Had the jacketguy been talking to themwhenTiffanycameoutside?Iwasn’tsure.Odd.

Threeguysfrominsidethegallery walked past me,

laughingatsomethingoneofthemhadsaidastheysteppedontothesidewalk.Jacketguystared at them. One of thethreeguysnoddedathimandsaid,“Hey.”

Jacketguynoddedback.“There you are!” Romeo

said from behind me. “I’vebeenlookingalloverforyou.I think Dillon and Kamikoneededsomeprivate time, soI left them alone in thesculpture garden. Besides, I

couldn’t take any morecartoon talk. They’re stilltalking about AdventureTime. I think Kamiko is inlove. Do you want to see ifthebarhasanyboozeleft?”

“Sure,” I said absently asRomeograbbedmyhandandpulledmeinsidethegallery.

Wewalkedtowardthebar.The crowd had thinnedsubstantially. People wereheading out the door. Itwouldn’t take long to get a

drink.NotthatIwasgoingtohave any alcohol. I was thedesignateddrivertonight.

Tiffany.Jacketguy.Something about that

hadn’tlookedright.“I’ll be right back,

Romeo,” I said to him,pulling my hand free fromhis. I danced past severalpeople strolling casuallytowardthedoor.

By the time I was on the

sidewalk, I knew somethingwaswrong.

Tiffany and jacket guyweregone.

“Tiffany?”I whipped my head left

and right. I didn’t see her. Iturned to the two girls stillsmoking outside. “Did youseewhichway that girl withthe platinum blonde hair andwhitedresswent?”

One of the smoking girlssaid, “You mean the chick

with that guy in the leatherjacket?”

“Yes.”“I think they went that

way,” she pointed with hercigarette.

“Thanks.” I took off at adeadrun.

Ohmygod,Tiffany.Now that I was thinking

about it, Jacket guy hadlooked a little too mangy tobehertype.

“Tiffany!”Ishouted.

I passed an alley andstopped.Ipeereddownitintodarkness. I didn’t see her.And I didn’t see anythingthey could be hiding behindlike a dumpster or trashcansorwhatever.

I sprinted down thesidewalk until I stopped at afour way intersection. Myheart was hammering in mychest. Not from the running,but from the panic machinegunning in my stomach. I

lookedupanddownthecrossstreet. It had lots of brightstreetlightsinbothdirections.But straight ahead, the streetwas dark. I think I sawmovementahead.

Yup.ThesmalldotofTiffany’s

hair and white dress glowedfaintlyinthemoonlight.

“Tiffany!” I shouted. Thelight was red, but I rananyway.Acarblareditshornand swerved around me.

Luckily, ithadn’tbeengoingvery fast. I dodged clear andcrossed to the other side ofthestreet.

I sprinted down thesidewalk, screaming at thetopofmylungs,“Tiffany!”

It was definitely jacketguywithher,hisarmaroundherwaist. They turned downastreetbeforeIcaughtup.

When I rounded thecorner, jacket guy hadTiffanypinnedagainstabrick

wall. Her purse was on theground. Tiffany was pushingat him with limp hands. Shewas too drunk to fight. Shefell down on her knees.Jacketguygrabbedherbythesleeve and I jumped on hisback, pounding the back ofhis head with everything Ihad. He stood up andstumbled backward,slamming me into thewindow of a parked car.White lighting shot up and

down my back as painexplodedinmybody.

I slid down the car. Mybutt thumped onto thesidewalk.

Jacketguywhirledaround,looking surprised. His lipswere peeled over crookedclenched teeth. He washunchedover like an animal.He swung his booted foot atmy face, but I rolled to theside and scrambled to myfeet. His boot clunked into

the car door where my facehadbeen,dentingit.ThenhelungedformeandIrakedmynailsacrosshischeek.

“You cut me, bitch!” heshouted.

I saw Damian Wolfram’sfacefallintoplaceoverjacketguy’s. Anger blew up insideme like a neutron bomb andmy visionwent red. I swungmy arms at him likehelicopter blades, aimingmynailsathiseyes.Hestumbled

back and tripped overTiffany’s legs. I keptswinging my arms. I had noideawhat I was doing, but Iwasn’tgoingtostop.

My fingers peeled backskinfromhisothercheek.Hescrabbledawaylikeasquirrelon all fours.When he got tohis feet, he stopped andglared atme.He touched hisbloody cheek and examinedtheblood that cameawayonhisfingertips.

“I’m going to cut youopen, bitch,” he said as hepulled a knife out of hispocket. He flicked theserrated blade open with histhumb.

Ohno.Iwasscrewed.He advanced toward me.

IfIran,hewouldnevercatchme. But I couldn’t leaveTiffanyalonewithhim.

Jacket guy’s face was nolongerDamianWolfram’s. Itwasjustuglyjacketguywho

had fingernail gashesdripping red. Inoticed spittleon his lower lip. I becameobsessed with that spittle. Itwassowhiteinthedarkness.Icouldn’tstoplookingatit,IthinkbecauseIdidn’twanttothinkabouthisknife.Ididn’tknow what to do. SomeonewasgoingtogetstabbedbutIwasn’t ready to accept thatfact.

Hetookasteptowardme.Spittle.Spittle.Spittle.

He started to chuckle likea rusty hinge, waving theknife slowly through the airinlazycircles.

His eyes suddenly wentwide,drawingmyattentiontothem, breaking the spittlespell.

“You’re not cuttinganybody,” Tiffany said. Shewas behindme. I turned andsaw she sat on the ground,holding a small silver pistolin both hands. She was

staring right at jacket guy.“Unlessyouwantmetoblowyourballsoff,asshole.”

“Putthegundown,”jacketguysaid.

“Are you insane,douchebag?”Tiffanysneered.“I’mgoingtogiveyoutothecount of three to run away.”Tiffany slurred her words,obviouslydrunk,butsheheldthepistolsurprisinglysteady.“One…”

Jacket guy smiled like a

cobra, “You’re not going toshoot.”

“Two…”He took a confident step

toward Tiffany, “You’re toodrunk. You’ll miss me by amile.”

“I’vebeentakingshootinglessons since Iwas ten yearsold,youprick,”shechuckled.“Which ball do you want tokeep,therightortheleft?Ah,fuck it, I’m going to see if Icangetbothwithonebullet.”

Shecocked thegun like theyalwaysdidinthemovies.

Cha-CHAK!“Three…”Tiffanysaid.Jacket guy ran away so

fast,hewasablur.Igulped,andfeltmyheart

slidebackdownmythroat.“Asshole,”Tiffanysaidas

sheloweredthegun.Ikneltnexttoher,mylegs

quiveringlikejelly.Icouldn’tstand up if I wanted to. Mystomach was on spin cycle.

“Areyouokay?”Tiffany took a good look

at me. After a moment,recognition dawned on herface,which souredwhen sherealized it was me. “I’mfine.”Shecarefullyeasedthehammer thingon thebackofthegun. Iknewthatmeant itwasn’t about to go offanymore. She slid the gun inher purse with a loud huff.Shetriedtostandup,butwashavingtrouble.

“Do you need help?” Iasked, hands resting on mythighs

“No,”sheblurted.I watched her struggle to

all fours, but that was as faras shewas getting. “Here,” Isaid, and looped my armsaround her arms and stoodherup.

Tiffanyleanedagainstme.Adrenalinstillflickeredin

my veins. My hands shook,mykneeswobbled,shit,even

my hair was tingling. I wassurprised I could stand, letaloneholdheruptoo.

“Whichway isyourcar?”Iasked.

“I don’t know,” sheslurred,totallyfrustrated,likeIwasannoyingher.

“Oh my god! Sam!”Romeo squeaked behind me.“Whatthehellhappened?”

I turned Tiffany andmyselfaroundtofacehim.

“What the hells bells?”

Romeo gawked. “Are youandTiffanyscissorsisters?”

“Yes, Romeo,” I saidsarcastically. “We were justabout to flick each other’sbeans for awhile beforelockingcrotches.”

“Can I watch?” he askedinnocently.

I frowned. “I thought youweregay?”

“But this is a historicevent,” he said, “andsomeone is going to have to

document it. You’ll needproof.Otherwise,noonewilleverbelieveit.”Hepulledouthis cell phone. “I’m totallytakingapictureofyoutwo.”

“Can I shoot him?”Tiffanyasked.

“Please,”Igiggled.Itonlytook about three seconds formy giggles to turn into tearsofrelief.

Chapter25

SAMANTHA

Twoofmyfingernailsstillhadn’t grown completelyback after I’d ripped themdown to the quick the nightI’d saved Tiffany. They hadthrobbedlikecrazyfordays.

But now, they were a

minornuisance.Isatinarowofchairsina

hallway on the second floorof the History and SocialSciencesbuilding,whichwasnear the Dean’s office,awaiting my SDU tribunalhearing for supposedlystealing Tiffany’s credit cardmonthsago.

Iwore the sameoutfit I’dworn to court the dayChristos had been on trial.Black blazer, gray pencil

skirt, white blouse, blackhose, and black pumps. Mymakeup was light, justenoughtolookprofessional.

The outfit seemedappropriate because now Iwas the one about to be ontrial.

A woman wearing afrumpy business suit openedone of the doors off thehallwayandleanedout.“Youcancomeinnow,”shesaid.

She held the door for me

asIwalkedintoaconferenceroom. At the far end of thebigwoodenconference table,Dean Livingston sat at thehead,wearing a suit, flankedby an older woman and amiddle aged guy. Both woresuitsandIassumedtheywereSDU administrators. Tiffanysat near them, a few seatsdown.Mr. Selfridge, my oldboss from the museum, satacross from Tiffany. Withanyluck,hewouldbeableto

saysomethingthathelpedmycase.Thewomanwhohadletme in sat near the door,behinda laptopsetupon theconferencetable.

I nodded atMr. Selfridgeandsmiledathim.

Hesmiledback.I wasn’t entirely sure

where I was supposed to sit.But nobody seemed to betelling me where to go, so Ichose a seat closer to thedoor, not wanting to get too

close to Tiffany. Also, If Ineededtobeatahastyretreat,Icouldslipoutthedoorwithnoonenoticing.Not.

At least this wasn’t anactual courtroom with thearmedbailiffandthejuryandthedefense tablesandall therules. Knowing that I had aslight degree of control overthingstodayeasedmynervesslightly. It’s not like Iwouldgethauledawayinhandcuffsifthingswentbadly.

I set my coffee on thetableandmybookbagonthefloor. There was no way Icould get through thismorning massacre withoutcaffeine.Idebatedpullingmylaptop out, but it’s not like Ihad case files to review, orwhatever.All Iwas going todowastellthemwhatIknew,whichwasn’tmuch,andhopetheybelievedme.

IwishedChristoshadbeenhere toholdmyhand,buthe

had toomuchwork to do onhis paintings. Itwasn’t like Iwouldendupin jail if thingswent badly today. If I endedupgettingkickedoutofSDU,I’d see Christos every singleday.

But I really, really hopedto avoidgetting expelled. I’dworked too hard to throw itallawaynow.Ididn’twanttostoptakingmoreawesomeartclassesandseeingmyfriendseveryday.BecauseIknewif

I got kicked out, no matterwhat anybody said, I wouldsee a lot less of Madison,Romeo,andKamiko.

Sigh.DeanLivingstonmumbled

back and forth with the twoadministrators sitting besidehim, then he turned to me,“Thankyouforyourpatience,Miss Smith. I think we’rereadytobegin?”Heraisedhiseyebrows and glanced ateveryone.

Nobodyobjected.Dean Livingston folded

hisfingersonthefiles layingon the table in front of him.“Asyouknow,MissSmith,”henoddedatme,“thereasonwe’re here today is becauseMiss Kingston-Whitehousehas accused you of theft.Theftofhercreditcard,tobeexact, while she was avisitingpatronoftheEleanorM. Westbrook art museum,where you worked at the

time.”Iwantedtosay“Iobject!”

butIwasn’talawyerandthiswasn’t a courtroom. I knewenough to keep my mouthshutuntiltheytoldmeitwasmy turn to talk. Only thenwould I dive over the tableand throttle Tiffany by theneck while demanding shetellthetruth.

The Dean turned to Mr.Selfridge and said, “Mr.Selfridgewould like to say a

few words on your behalf,MissSmith.”

I hadn’t expected that. Ihoped he didn’t bad mouthme.

Mr.Selfridgestoodupandsmoothed his jacket. Heclasped his hands in front ofhis waist and smiled at me.“Although I only had thepleasure of working withMiss Smith for a few shortmonths, in that time I foundher to be a diligent, hard

working, forthright youngwoman. She always did herjob, and did it well, wasalways pleasant with thevisiting patrons, was neverimpatient, and she wasalways responsible.” Hesmiledatmebeforeturningtothe administrators. “I trustedSamantha implicitly, andhadnoconcernsaboutleavingherin charge of the museumwhenIneededtostepoutforerrands.”

Dean Livingston glancedup atMr. Selfridge and said,“It is my understanding thatyou weren’t present at thetimeofthetheft?”

“No,” Mr. Selfridge saidapologetically, “I was in ameeting with the Provost ofAdams College at the time.You know howBill is abouthis meetings,” Mr Selfridgegrinned.

The Dean smiled at him,“Yes I do.” Then his smile

faded. “But you weren’t atthemuseumatthetimeoftheincident?”

“Regrettably, no,” Mr.Selfridge said. “I was onlypresentafterward,whenMissKingston-Whitehousereturnedforhercreditcard.”

The Dean nodded, as didthe two administratorsflanking him. The womanadministratorshotmeaquickglance. I gave her my bestsmile,tryingtolookinnocent

andpleasant.Shelookedaway.Hadshe

alreadydecidedIwasaguiltyliar?Ihopednot.

The Dean glanced at thepapers in front of him andsaid, “Mr. Selfridge, am IcorrectinsayingthatyousawMissSmithremovethestolencreditcardfromherwallet?”

“Yes.”“Butyouneversawhowit

gotthere?”“No.”

“Thank you, Mr.Selfridge,”theDeanfinished.“Youcansitdown.”

Mr. Selfridge sat downandtossedanervoussmileinmydirection.

I smiled back genuinely.He’d tried. Imean,whatelsecouldhesay?Hehadn’tseenhow the card had gotten intomywallet.Heck, I’d been inthe restroom when it hadhappened. For all I knew,Tiffany had hired ninjas to

sneak into the museum andputitthere.

It occurred to me at thatmoment that being in therestroom was possibly theworst alibi of all time. Howwas I supposed to prove it?Fish my old tampon out ofthe sewer somewhere andhave it carbon dated to thetime I’d used the ladiesroom?Yeah,right.

Ihadnothing.“Miss Kingston-

Whitehouse,” the Dean said,“Canwehearyourversionofevents?”

Tiffanystooduptospeak.Sheworeasexysilverpencilskirtandafittedlilaccoloredblousethatwasonlybuttonedhalfwayuphercleavage.Herblondehairwaftedacrossherbosom. She lookedridiculously hot. I guess itwas fitting.When theQueenshoutedfromherthrone,“Offwith her head!” she usually

woreafancyoutfit.The Dean, Mr. Selfridge,

and the other maleadministrator lookedhypnotized by Tiffany’sbeauty. The womanadministrator, rather thanbeingcatty, seemed similarlyentranced.

Wasn’titafactthatpeopletended to trust attractivepeoplemorethanunattractiveones?

Even when it was a

stranger?If that was true, Tiffany

was so beautiful in thismoment that theadministrators were going tobelieve every word she said.When I got up to speak, theDean would already have anoose in his hands, and he’dbe fingering the knots inpreparation for my hanging.Theguynexttohimwouldbeloading a rifle for my firingsquad, and the woman

administrator would bedrawingpoisonintoasyringesoshecouldgivemea lethalinjection right here on thespot.

Tiffany made a show ofsmoothingherskirt.

Ihadnoideawhatshewasgoing to say. Maybe, justmaybe, she might tell thetruth. Naw. Who was Ikidding? This was TiffanyKingston-Whitehouse. Allshe did in life was get her

way. Oh well. Even if I gotkicked out of SDU, shecouldn’t take Christos awayfrom me, and she couldn’tstopmefromstudyingart.

Whatever.Tiffany nodded at the

Dean, “Dean Livingston, Idon’tknowwheretobegin.”

Idid.Howaboutthetruth?“You see…” Tiffany said

nervously.She better be nervous.

WhenIliedthroughmyteeth,

Iusuallywas.“Um…” Tiffany

stammered,“thishasallbeenabigmisunderstanding.I,uh,well…I sort ofputmycreditcard in Samantha’s walletmyself.”

IthinkIactuallyheardwetpoppingnoises as everyone’seyes jumped out of their eyesockets. That was of courseridiculous. Because I neededtogetmyearschecked.TherewasnowayI’dheardTiffany

just saywhat I thought she’dsaid.

Tiffany looked verynervous while theadministratorsgapedather.

“Come again?” the Deansaid.

“I put my credit card inher wallet…” Tiffany said,“…as a, uh, prank. I don’tknow why. It was a stupidthing todo.AndI lethergetin trouble.”Tiffany turned tome,apainedlookonherface.

“I’mreallysorry,Samantha.Iwas a total jerk for doingthat.” She turned to theadministrators. “I know, I’mprobably in big trouble now.That’s fine. I’ll acceptwhatever you guys decide todo.”Shesatbackdown.

The Dean and the twoadministrators muttered backandforth.Icouldn’tmakeoutwhat they were sayingbecausetheysatsofaraway,but I could see them raising

theireyebrowsindisbelief.Iwas as surprised as they

were.Wow, when Tiffany had

stood up to speak twominutes ago, I had thoughther hypnotizing beauty hadbeen nothing but a devilishrusecoveringherrottencore.I was wrong. It had been areflection of her change ofheartaboutme.

It turned out TiffanyKingston-Whitehouse was

fullofsurprises,notshit,likeI’dfeared.

Wow.I learned something new

today.Peoplechanged.Evenhatefulbitches.

===There was another

Wombat staff meeting atToastedRoast thatafternoon.Justin had emailed everyonetwodaysagoandsaidhewasgoingtoannouncethewinner

of the campus-wide vote offbetween my drawing andTammyLemons’forthenewWombat mascot today. Icouldn’t wait to find out theresults.

Was it possible forlightning to strike twice inone day? I crossed myfingers.

I met up with Romeo infront of the Main Librarybefore going to the StudentCenter.

“Wow, Sam!” Romeosqueed, “you look hot ashell!”

Istillworemysexyoutfitfromthetribunalhearing.

“Do you have a jobinterview?” he askedenthusiastically. “Or are yougoing to walk into somecorporate boardroom andwow a bunch of executiveswho make decisions thatshapetheworld?”

“Stop,Romeo,” I giggled.

“I had to wear it for mytribunalhearing.”

“How’d that go?” heasked,suddenlyserious.

“Tiffany admitted toputtinghercardinmywallet.Shesaiditwasjustaprank.”

“What?” Romeo gaped.“You’retotallylying.”

“No,I’mserious.”“Seriously hot,” Justin

Tomlinson said suggestively,walking toward us fromacross the wide bridge that

led back toward the MainLibrary. “You’re dressed tokill today, Samantha.” Helookedmeupanddown.

“Yeah,” Romeo grinned,“shehas an automaticwith asilencer in her book bag andshe’s going to use it later toassassinatesomeheadofstateaftergivingheadtohisstate.”

“Romeo!”Ichastised.“What?” Romeo asked

defensively.“Noheadofstatewould ever let you get close

enough to assassinate himwithout seducing him first.Don’t you watch spymovies?”

I leaned toward Romeoand made a big show ofstaringintooneofhisears.

“What are you doing,Sam?” he blurted, pullingaway.

“I’mtryingtoseeintothatbrainofyourssoIcanseeallthe crazy ideas floatingaround inside. It’s probably

more fun thananamusementpark in there,” I giggled. Ileaned toward him again,peeringintently.

Romeoswattedbothhandsatmerepeatedly likeakittenatplay.“Enough!They’remyideas, and I chargeadmission!” He startedlaughing,stillflailingwithhishands.

IbackedawaybeforeIgotslapped,“Iwaswrong.Itwasjustearwax.”

Justin crinkled his noseand laughed at us, lookingsuper cute. “You guys arecertifiably cray cray,” helaughed.

“Totally,” I said, smilingat Justin. I noticed his eyestwinkling at me. Yeah, hepretty much looked like hebelonged on the cover of ateeny bopper magazine. Butin a twenty year old sort ofway that was swoony to allwomen under the age of

forty.Before Icould lookaway,

Justin turned to Romeo, hiseyesstill twinkling,andsaid,“Romeo, let me know whatyouchargeforadmission.I’dpay to see the crazy factoryinsideyourhead.Isthereanywaywe can bottle it forTheWombat?”

“There is. I’ve beenworking with Willy Wonka,you know, the guy with theChocolate Factory, to

formulateasecretrecipe.Butwe haven’t yet decided onwhether to distill my geniusintohardcandiesorchocolatebars.”

“I vote for hard candies,”Justin smiled, “they lastlongerandcostless.”

“Yes,” Romeo saidseriously, “but, like an evilvillain, my only goal is tofleece children of theirallowances worldwide, so asto pad my own coffers.” He

brokeintoasmile.Justin was still smiling at

him.“Howdoyoudoit?”hemarveled. “You always havemore ideas.” Justin leanedtowardRomeo, sort of like Ihadearlier.Butsortofnot.

“What are you doing?”Romeo asked nervously,leaningaway.

Justin beamed a smile athim. “I don’t believeSamantha when she said allshesawwasearwax.”

“Uh, okay?” Romeo saiduncertainly.

Justin grinned awkwardlyandsuddenlybackedoff,“It’sprobably just earwax.Anyway,weshouldgettotheToasted Roast. It’s time forthestaffmeeting.”

Justin started walkingtoward the Student Center.RomeoandIfollowed.

We found Keith, Micah,Alyssa, and Tammy alreadysitting at two tables pushed

together in the quad outsideToastedRoast.

“Hey, guys,” Justin said,sittingdown.

RomeoandIfoundchairs.“Believe it or not,” Justin

said, “we got almost sixthousandvotesaboutthenewWombatmascot.”

“Wow,”Alyssasaid.“Shit,” Keith said, “and I

didn’t think anybody readTheWombatanymore.”

“We’re fucking trend

setters,” Micah said. “Ofcoursetheydo.”

“What were the resultsalready?” Tammy Lemonsdemanded.

Justin pulled a sheet ofpaper out of his bookbag. Itshowedascreengrabprintoutofthepollresults.

“It was a close race,”Justin said. “3,277 votes forSam, 2,649 for Tammy.Congratulations, Sam! Youwon! We have our new

mascot! Potty the PotSmokingWombat!”

“What?” I said. I musthaveheardhimwrong.

“You won, Sam!” Romeocheered. “You won!” Hethrewhisarmsaroundmeandhuggedmevigorously.

Justin, Keith, Micah, andAlyssaallclapped,bigsmilesontheirfaces.

“Congratulations, Sam!”Alyssabeamed.

“Potty for President”

Micahsaid,pumpinghisfist.“NowIjusthavetofigure

out where Potty buys hischeeba,”Keithgrinned.“Thatbluntofhisishumungous.”

Micahhigh fivedhimandtheyboth snickered like totalpotheads.

At the end of the table,TammyLemonsfrowned.

“Sorry, Tammy,” Justinsaid.

IfeltbadforTammy.Sortof.ButIdidn’twanttoshove

it in her face. I’d won!Lightning had struck twicetoday!

Whoopee!A smile spread acrossmy

face.I glanced at Justin,

expectingtoseehistwinklingsmile.

ButhiseyeswerealloverRomeo.

Whatthewhat?How had I not noticed

before?

===Romeo walked me to my

car in the North Parking lotafter The Wombat staffmeeting.Thesunfloatedhighover the horizon, drenchingthe sky inwarmyellowsandoranges. It already felt likesummer weather in SanDiegoeventhoughitwasstillspring.

“Romeo, I think Justinlikesyou,”Isaid.

“Yeah, and he likes you

too,”Romeosaid.“So?”“No,Imean,likelikes.”Romeo scoffed and shook

his head, “No way, Justinisn’t gay. I would’venoticed.”

“That’s what I thought.But,Idon’tknow,maybeit’sbecause we were bothnervous getting to knoweveryone at the staffmeetings. And you werealways focused on trying tocome upwith funny ideas to

impress everyone. I knowhowyou are.You totally getcarriedawaywhenyou’reonaroll.”

Romeo noddedthoughtfully. “Well, don’tyou think you would’venoticedhewasgaybynow?”

“Maybe.But,Romeo,youexudesomuchgaynessatalltimes that it scrambleseveryone’sgaydar.”

Romeoraisedaneyebrow,“Youhaveapointthere.”

“Somaybeyoushouldaskhimout?”

Romeo chuckled, “WhywouldIdothat?”

“Because, for all yourenthusiasm for the male ofthe species, I’ve never seenyou on a date with man norbeast.”

“I’vebeenon someprettyhairy dates with some menwho may have been beasts.Rawr!”Romeoquipped.

I stopped walking and

narrowed my eyes at him.“When?”

“Whenever,”hedismissedand kept walking toward theparking lot. “When am I notoutonadate?”

I jogged to catch up tohim. “Slow down! I’m inheels!”

He slowed until I caughtup.

“Come on, Romeo. Don’tyou think you would’veintroducedmetooneofyour

dates by now? I’ve knownyouforninemonths!”

“I like to keep mypersonal life personal,” hesaidwhilewalking.“Besides,I never date anyone for verylong.”

IgotthesenseRomeowastryingtoescape.Igrabbedhisarm and stopped him again.“Howlong?”Iasked.

“What?”“How long do you date

themfor?”Idemanded.

Romeo rolled his eyesdesperately and gave me apleading look. I’dnever seenhim look so genuinelynervousbefore.

Ileveledagazeathim,buthewasavoidingmyeyes.

“You need to ask Justinout,”Isaid.

He suddenly goggled atmelikeIwasinsane.“Ican’taskJustinout!”

“Fine. I’ll askhimout foryou.”

“This isn’t high school,Sam,” he said like he wasparentingme.“Icanaskhimoutmyself.IfIwantedto.”

“So,whydon’tyou?He’stotally cute.And he couldn’tstopstaringatyouduringthestaff meeting just now. Andhelovesyoursenseofhumor.Seems like a good match tome.”

Romeo rolled his eyes.“So what? You know I’mtotally gayballs for Christos.

I’m saving myself for him.”Hisusualsarcasmwasback.

“Romeo, you were alsogayballsforHunterBlakeley.Andhowdidthatturnout?”

“Perfectly! Christos savedme from him! I practicallyswoonedonthespotwhenhetripped Hunter that day aftersculptingclass!”

I wasn’t buying it. It wasall the exclamation pointsRomeo was using. I knew athing or two about them

myself.I rolledmy eyes. “I think

you’re scared, Romeo. Justinisobviously intoyou.UnlikeHunter,whoisstraight.Aftertoday’s meeting, and thatweirdmomentwhen he triedto look intoyour ear in frontof the Main Library, he’sobviouslygay.”

Romeo flinched when Imentioned the librarymoment.

“And,” I continued,“Iget

thesenseJustinisavailable.Ithinkitscaresyou.”

Romeocringed.“Romeo, are you

consciously trying to avoiddatinganiceguylikeJustin?Orisitoutofhabit?”

Romeo smiled andshrugged his shoulderssqueamishly.

I nodded and folded myarmsacrossmychest,“That’swhat I thought. You’re allgay talkwithout the rainbow

walk.”Romeo glanced around,

making sure no one waslistening to what he wasabout to say. A few randomstudents walked here andthere, but no one was closerthanfiftyfeetaway.

In a low, embarrassedvoice, Romeo mumbled, “Imay talk like I’m 50 Shadesof Cray when it comes toliving gay, Samantha, but itdoesn’t mean I have any

practical experience when itcomestothewaysoflove.”

I shook my head, “Wait,what? What are you talkingabout,Romeo?I thoughtyouwent toHillcrest all the timetocruiseforguys.”

Romeo waved his handdismissively, “I was justgoing down to the OldGlobe.”

“What’stheOldGlobe?Agaybar?”

“No,” he smiled, “it’s the

classicShakespearean theaterinBalboaPark.Theaterintheround,outsideunderthestars.You should totally go sometime if youwant to see howShakespeare was performedback in his day. Anyway, Ihelp with the costumes andwork as an usher when theyhaveshows.”

“Soyoudon’tgodowntothe Brass Rail to meet guysforvomitsex?”

He shook his head. “You

have to be twenty-one to getintotheRail.It’saregularbarthatservesalcohol.”

Icouldn’tbelievemyears.“And you’re not hooking upwith a new gay guy everyweekend,orwhatever?”

He shook his head again,“Ihaven’tevenbeenoutonadate before. Well, I tookKamiko to our Senior prom,butthatwasn’treallyadate.”

“You took Kamiko toprom?”Igasped.

“Yeah,wehadablast.Butitwasallforfun.Wewentasfriends.No boning after,” hegrinned.

“Soyou’veneverbeenonarealdate?”

“Nope.”“With neither man nor

beast?”“Not even yaks. I swear.

I’ve never been on a datewithanyone.”

His mention of yaksbrought a smile to my face.

Yak sodomites…that hadbeenlastyearwhenhe’dsaidit to bring me out of myemotional distress overChristos. Wow, my life hadbeen as exciting as thatamusement park insideRomeo’s head ever since I’dstartedatSDU.

“Wow,Romeo,” I sighed.“I’mtotallysurprised.”

“Me too. It’s patheticactually. Don’t tell anyone.EvenKamikodoesn’tknow.I

tellherallthosestoriesaboutcruising for men in Hillcrestso she won’t bug me aboutmeetingsomeone.”Heraisedhiseyebrowsexpectantly.

“Point taken,” I said. “I’llstop bugging you aboutJustin.”

“Thank you. When I’mreadytodate,Iwill.Fornow,IthinkIjustlikehangingoutwith you and the gang.” Hewrapped one arm aroundmyneck and tried to give me a

noogieontopofmyhead.“Stop,Romeo!”Icackled,

pulling away. “You’re goingtomessupmyhair!”

He was laughing, but helet go and smiled at me.“Come on, Sam. Let’s getyou to your car. I think youhave some good news tosharewithChristos,right?”

Ismiledathim.“Totally.”“And don’t tell anyone

aboutmydirtylittlesecret.”I crossed my heart. “I

won’t. To me, you’ll alwaysbe the gayest gay on theplanet.”

“And you’ll be thefaggiest hag of all time,” hegrinned.

WelaughedtogetheraswewalkedtomyVW.

Chapter26

SAMANTHA

Finalsweek breezed by. Ifelt good going into myexams. Ever since Nikoloshad hired me to help out inhis studio, my life hadbalanced out better than Ievercould’veimagined.

When my third tuitionpayment for Spring Quarterhad come due last month,Nikolos had insisted onloaning me the money. Hesaid I could work full timeduring the summer. I wasn’tgoing to argue with him. Ispent half the time at hisstudio watching him paintanyway. I’d learned a tonalready.

I didn’t tell Nikolos thateven if Iworkedfull timeall

summer,Iwouldn’thaveanymoney left over to covertuition payments in the fall,notafterpayinghimbackthemoneyIowedhimalready.

Ihadnoideaifmyparentsplanned on signing my loanpapers for next year or not.Theywerebusysweepingupthe pieces of their brokenmarriage. I hadn’t heardmuch from them lately, butwhat was there for them totell me? They were splitting

up. So? Half the kids inAmerica had already beenthrough it. Whatever. I’ddeal.And I’d figure out howto pay for next year’s tuitionwhenthebillscamedue.

On Thursday of finalsweek, I walked into thelecture hall for AmericanHistory 3. Itwas packed fullof students anxious to startthetestandgetitoverwith.

I knew I hadA’s in PleinAirPaintingandDrawingthe

Costumed Figure fromtalking to my professorsduring office hours. And IsuspectedIwouldgetanAoraB in Sociology 3 based onhowwellmy final had gone.American History was thelast hurdle before my firstyear incollegewasofficiallyover!

When I flipped throughthe questions on the examsheet, I felt a surge ofconfidence. I knew exactly

what to write for my essayanswers. My hours ofcramminghadpaidoff.

Afteronlytwohours,withanhourtospare,Iclosedmyblue book with a smile. Iknew I’d aced it. I strolleddown to the bottom of thelecture hall and dropped myblue book on the small pilethat had already formed onthetableinfrontofthechalkboard.

I couldn’t help myself. I

had to do a happy dance. Isquealed no louder than amouse as I twirled aroundoncebeforegettingaholdofmyself. I’m sure the studentsstill writing wanted toconcentrate.

TheT.A.sittingbehindthetablesmiledatme.

I smiled back beforeturning and walking up thestairs.

I grinned from ear to earas I walked outside. The

weather was absolutelyperfect. The sunwas high inthe sky. It was probablyseventy-five degrees. I woreshorts and a T shirt overmybikinitop.MadisonandIhadbeengoingtothebeacheverychance we got since thebeginningofMay.

Iwastanfromheadtotoe.Welcome back to My

BeachLife,setinSanDiego,California, my favorite placeon the planet! I was never

going back to drearyWashingtonD.C.

I jumped in the air andscreamed for joy. I was soexcited! I’d made it throughmyfirstyearincollege!

“Hey,crazygirl,”Christossaid,walkingoutoftheshadebeneath a tree beside theentrancetothelecturehall.

“Christos!” I jumped intohisarms.

Thelast timeChristoshadbeen waiting for me outside

ofa finalexamhadbeen lastDecember. At the time, I’dthought we were broken up.After Damian Wolfram, Ithought I’d never find truelove.HowwrongIhadbeen.

Christos gave my butt agoodsqueezewhilehekissedme briefly. “How’d you do,agápimou?”heasked,settingmebackontheground.

“Great! I totally aced myfinal!”

“I think we need to

celebrate,” he said, flashinghisdimpledgrin.

“Hells yeah!” I cheered.“What did you have inmind?”

He opened his mouth tospeakandhiscellphonerang.“Hold on a second,” hesmiled, fishinghis phoneoutof his pocket. He looked atthescreen.“Ineedtotakethiscall.” He suddenly lookednervous.

“Okay,” I said hesitantly.

His nervousness wascatching. So much forcelebrating.

Christosheldthephonetohisearandsaid,“Hey!”ashewalked toward the lawnacross from the lecture hall.Heobviouslywantedprivacy.

Notthisagain.I was determined not to

feel deflated, nomatterwhatbadnewshemighthaveafterhehungup.

Crap.

I looked skyward andstarted searching for silverlinings. The blue sky wasflawless and empty of allclouds.Theonlycloudinthearea was the dark one insideChristos’stupidphone.

I wanted to break thatstupidthing.

===CHRISTOS

“Russell!” I said as Iansweredthephone,tryingto

soundcasual.“Whatup?”Russell Merriweather

chuckled on the other end ofthelinebeforehesaidaword.It was always good to hearfromhim,nomatterwhatthenews.“Christos,myboy,howhaveyoubeen?”

“Awesome,” I said,grinning.

“Anymorefights?”“Not lately,” I chuckled.

“ButIseemtorememberyousayingsomethingaboutbeing

abletokickmyass.Whenareyougoingtobackthatshitupin the ring?” I was grinningasIsaidit.

He laughed, “You don’twant to mess with me, son.You know I throw brickswhenIputthegloveson.I’llbreakyourface.”

“Bring your bricks,” Isnickered. “They’ll bepowderbythetimeI’mdonehammeringyourass.”

“Considering that thick

headofyoursismadeofsolidrock, you might have apoint,” he chuckled. “But Isuggest we keep your prettyface intact, for the sake ofyour lady friend Samantha. Ilikeheralot.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome,” Ismiled. “So, what’s up? Iknow you didn’t just call toharassmyass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Russellsighed. “I wanted to get youup to speed on the civil suit

thatyourpalHunterBlakeleyis still waving over yourhead.”

Shit,I thinkI’dblockeditcompletely out of my mind.I’d been too busy with athousandother things togivea shit about Hunter FuckingBlakeleyandthebloodynoseI gave him months ago.Besides, Russell was on topofthingsandItrustedhimtohandleit.

“And?”Iprompted.

“And, my people didn’thavemuchluckwiththewaitstaff at Hooters. Those girlsrememberyouandJakebetterthantheydidHunterBlakeleyandhispals.Apparently,”hechuckled, “you and Jake areexcellenttippers.”

“Wetry,”Isaiddryly.“And I think one of the

waitresses is sweet on you.Sherememberedexactlywhoyou were. She even had theaudacitytoaskmyguyifshe

could get your phonenumber,”helaughed.“Atanyrate, she mentioned she sawyou and Jake having drinkswithtwoyoungwomen?”

“Oh yeah. Theywere lawstudentsoveratUSD.”

“Anything I should knowmore about?” Russell askedwithahintofamusement.“Itseems like everywhere yougo, the ladies throwthemselvesatyou,son.”

“What can I say?” I

grinned. “But no, they weregone before Hunter showedup.”

“Also,”Russellcontinued,“I’vehadachancetogooverthe statements from HunterBlakeleyandhisthreefriendsin detail. They are all verysimilar, and they all point toyoubeingtheaggressorinthefight. As things stand rightnow, it doesn’t look good. Ihad my people check everynearbybank security camera,

traffic camera, conveniencestore camera, everything wecould thinkof.Nothing isonvideo. All we have is theword of Hunter and hisfriends against you and Jake,who, by the way, is a fineyoungman.After I had Jakecometomyofficetogivehisdeposition. Rhonda andBrianna couldn’t stop talkingabouthimwhenhewasgone.Thosetwoweredroolingoverhim so badly they needed

bibs,”Russellchuckled.I blurted a laugh, “That’s

my boy. Yeah, Jake isawesome,” I shookmy head,smilingatthethought.ThenIsighed.Backtobusiness.“So,whereareweat?”

“Where we’re at is thatyourcourtdateisinacoupleweeks. I don’t think there’smuch else I can do besidesspend more of your moneychasing dead ends. All wecan do now is hope that by

virtue of some miracle, wecanholdourgroundincourt.I suggest you start practicingyour sad eyes for the jury. Iwantthemlookingatyoulikeyou’re Tiny Tim in AChristmasCarol.”

“God bless us, everyone,”Imuttered.

“That’sthespirit,”Russellsaid. “I’ll do what I can,Christos. But there are noguarantees.I’llbehonestwithyou.Thisfeelslikeit’sgoing

to be a closer race than I’dlike.”

"Thanks,man.”“We’llbeintouch.”Iendedthecall.So much for celebrating.

I’ddomybesttokeepagamefaceonforSamantha.Mysadfacecouldwaituntilcourt.

===SAMANTHA

WhileChristoswasonthephone, I grew more nervous

by the second. Despite thewarmweather,Iwrappedmyarms around myself to stopfromshaking.

When Christos finallyhung up and walked towardme,helookedhaggard.

“Who was it?” I asked.“Ordo Inotwant toknow?”I’d had enough bad newslately.Maybeitcouldwait.

“I’lltellyou,ifyouwant,”hesighed.

What was love without a

few troubled spots along theway?“Imayaswellknow.”

“ItwasRussell.AbouttheHunterBlakeleytrial.”

“Oh.”“It’s lookingprettygrim,”

hesighed.“Oh,” I sighed with him.

“Whatdoesthatmean?”“It means I might owe

Hunter a pile ofmoney afterthetrialisover.”

“What’sapile?”“The last estimateRussell

gave me, which was over amonth ago, was anywherebetween two hundred fiftyKandeighthundred.”

“What?”Igasped.Henodded.“That’s absurd! For a

brokennose?”“Hey,” Christos chuckled

sourly, “theywereasking formorebefore.Russellhasbeennegotiating with Hunter’sattorney since this started.Russell is trying to settle out

of court, have me only payfor Hunter’s medical bills,which are minor, and saveeveryoneabunchoftimeandmoney.Because, let’sfaceit,Ihittheguy.ToobadHunterand his attorney haven’taccepted any of our offers. Isuspect someoneworking forHunter’s attorney did somedigging and found out myfamily has more than a fewdollarstoourname.”

That was an

understatement. BetweenSpiridon and Nikolos, theManos family hadmountainsofmoney.

Christos continued, “I’msureHunter’s attorneywouldlike to take a big bite out oftheManosfinancialpie.He’sprobably thinking he can gettomydad’scashthroughme.That’s never gonna happen,”hesaidconfidently.

But I could tell a vein ofnervousness pulsed beneath

the surface of Christos’bravado. The seriousness ofhissituationwassinkingin.Itwas possible that he wouldlose in court this time.Therewasn’t a secret surprisewitness like me to save theday.Allthefactswereonthetable,asfarasIknew.AndIdidn’t think Christos washolding anything back thistime.Hemightverywelllosehis case and end up owingHunterahugesumofmoney

that I couldn’t even imagine.Christos had said on the lowend, it would be $250,000.Gulp. Who had that kind ofmoney? I said, “Can youafford$250,000,orwhatever,if things don’t go well incourt?”

Christos shook his head,“Notevenclose.”

“Canyouaskyourdadforthe money?” I askedtentatively. “I mean, if youhadto?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.That would be playing intoHunter and his attorney’shands.Mydadisn’tapartofthis.”

Howlamewasitthatbothof us were having moneytroublesatthesametime?

“IfIenduphavingtopayout,” Christos said, “I’llfigure it outmyself,” he saidgrimly,afarawaylookinhiseyes.

I didn’t like the sound of

that. If therewas one thing IknewaboutChristos,whenhewas backed into a corner, hedid whatever it took tosurvive,nomatterhowcrazydangerousitwas.

Whateverittook.Gulp.Mycelebratorymoodwas

officiallydeadandburied.“Anyway,” Christos said

resolutely, “fuckall that shit.Fuck Hunter. It’s time tocelebrate!” His face glowed

with a huge smile. “Youfinished your first year incollege, agápi mou! I’m soproud of you!” He squatteddown,grabbedmebythehipswith both of his big hands,and shot me up into the airlikeIwasweightless.Despitehis crippled financialsituation, Christos wasphysicallystrongerthanever.I caught air before fallingbackintohisarms.

“Christos!” I shrieked.

“Putmedown!”Hechuckledandsetmeon

my feet before leaning downto kiss me passionately. IcircledhisneckwithmyarmandwekissedforalongtimeundertheSanDiegosun.

In that moment, my lifewasperfect.

I hoped it wasn’t atemporarything.

Chapter27

SAMANTHA

“What do you think?” IaskedMadison,Kamiko, andRomeoasItwirledinfrontoftheminmynewdress.Itwasa black asymmetrical maxiwith a slit halfway up myright thigh. It had a blue

zipperedfrontandbluestrapsthat crossed in back. I woreblue platform ankle strapsandalstogowith.

Theyall satonmybed intheManoshouse.

Myhouse.“Wow,Sam,”Romeosaid,

“I’mgoingstraight.”Iwinkedathim.“I love it, Sam,” Kamiko

smiled.“I’m with Romeo,”

Madison said. “Let’s have a

four way with Sam becauseshe’ssodamnhot.”

I grinned at them. “Youguys are the best. Are wereadytogo?”

“Ready when you are,”Kamikosaid.

They were all dressed uptoo. Christos had given meinstructionsthateveryonehadto wear black tie tonight athisgalleryopening,includingblackdressesonthewomen.Ihadn’t seen any of his new

paintings because he saidthey were top secret. I stillhadn’t seen the portrait he’ddone ofme. Iwas excited tofinallyseeit.

Madison and Kamikowore sexy black dresses.Romeo wore a black doublebreasted suit coat with tails.He also had a high whiteVictorian collar, a black tophat, and his monocle. Itwasn’ta tux,buthecertainlylookedformalenough.

Igiggled,“WemakethosegirlsonSexandtheCitylooklikefashiondisasters.”

We all high fived andheaded downstairs to myVW.Spiridonwas already atthe gallery, otherwise Iwould’ve asked him to driveus in his Woody stationwagon so we could arrive instyle.

Nexttime.When we walked into

Charboneau Gallery in La

Jolla, itwasamuchdifferentatmosphere than theContemporaryArtistsShowamonth ago. Itwas still early,and no guests had arrivedyet.

Standing right inside theglass front doorswas a hugebrass easel with a large cardthatreadsimply,“Manos.”

Everything in the roomwasdoneinblackorsilver.Itinstantly felt more upscalethan Christos’ previous solo

show. Waiters in black withlong black ankle lengthaprons were busy settingthingsup.

The string quartet fromChristos’ solo show wasnowhere in sight. Instead, aDJ was already behind amixing board, playingmellow ambient dubstepsoundscapes. Much hipperthan a bunch of guys withviolins.

The room was filled with

little round cocktail tablescovered in black tablecloths.The center piece on eachtable was an elegant blackandsilvermetalsculpture.

Dozens of delicate silvermobiles hung from theceiling, rotating languorouslyin the slight breeze comingthrough the front doors. Themobiles consistedof swirlingshapes of metal that seemedto fold in on each other ininfinite spirals. They were

beautiful.Black silk streamers

draped down from the centeroftheceiling,curvingtowardthe corners of the gallery.Eachpaintingalongthewallswas covered by a sheet ofblack silk. The gallery wasfilledwiththem.

I paused. I didn’tremember somany paintingsaround the studio at home.Were all the coveredpaintings painted by

Christos? That seemedunlikely, but where had theyallcomefrom?WasImissingsomething?

“What up, C-Man!”Romeosaid.

“Hey guys,” Christossmiled as he came walkingup, wearing a short sleeveblack shirt and tight blackjeans over his boots. Hismuscled arms and razoredtattoos were the first thing Inoticed. Then I noticed his

incrediblyhandsomefaceandstunningblueeyes.

“Your tattoos areshowing!” I blurted. “Ithoughtyouhadtokeepthemcovered so you didn’t offendpotential buyers who are tooconservative?”

“That was the old me,”Christos said. “That wasBrandon’s idea. This is myshow now. I’m introducingmyarttotheworld,myway.”

“I like,” I said, looking

around. “Why are all thepaintingscovered?”

“There’s going to be anunveilingateighto’clock.”

“That’s awesome!”Kamikosaid.“I loveabitofmystery.”

“How come everything isinblackandsilver?”Madisonasked.

“So the only color in theroom is in the paintings onthewall,”Christossaid.

“Smart,”Madisonwinked.

“Where’s Jake?” Christosasked.

“He’s coming later. He’sstill surfing up at Trestles.He’llbelate,”shegrinned.

“Samoula!” Spiridon saidas hewalked toward us. “Sogladyou’rehere.Wecouldn’thave a Manos family eventwithoutyou.”Hewrappedhisarms around me in a hugehug.

After the hug, Spiridonsaid hello to the rest of the

gang.“Holy shit!” Romeo

blurted, looking behind me.“There’sthreeofthem!”

Nikolos came walking upbehindme.

“Everyone,”Spiridonsaid,“this is my son, NikolosManos.Christos’father.”

Romeo’s eyes werebuggingout.Heturnedtomeand whisper wheezed, “He’ssohot,Sam!” I thinkRomeowas about to cry with joy. I

couldn’t blame him. Nikoloswas a slightly older, equallyhotversionofhisson.

Nikolos chuckled atRomeo, “You must beRomeo. I’ve heard all aboutyou,” he grinned whileshakingRomeo’shand.

Romeo appeared ready tofaint.Afterthehandshake,hesqueed, “I’m never washingthishandagain!”

“Justdon’t use it towipe,andyou’ll beokay,”Nikolos

chuckled.“Ifyoueverdoendup wiping with it, don’t eatwith it.” He winked atRomeo.

No one had beenexpectingsuchadirtyjoketocome out of the mouth ofsomeone who was all ourparents’ ages, so everybodybusted up laughing, evenSpiridon.

===Over the next few hours,

people filed intoCharboneau

Gallery until the place waspacked. Everyone woretuxedos andblackdresses.Alotof themwereolder, someof whom I recognized fromChristos’soloshowlastyear,including rich Mrs.Moorhouse.

Christos’ attorney RussellMerriweather showed up andhe chattedwith Spiridon andNikolos like they were oldpals. Probably because theywere.

As we neared the officialstart time of the show,Christos pointed to onecouple walking into thegallery. A beautiful middleaged blonde woman and ahandsome salt and pepperhairedman. “Guesswho thatis,”Christossaid.

“I don’t know, the PrinceofMonacoandGraceKelly?”

“Nope,” he chuckled,“Close. That’s Westin-ConradKingston-Whitehouse

and Gwendolyn Kingston-Whitehouse. Tiffany’sparents.”

I frowned, “How manynamesdoesherdadhave?”

“At least thirty,” Christoschuckled.

“I can see where Tiffanygets her beauty. Hermom isgorgeous.Althoughshelooksabit…severe.”

“That’s anunderstatement,” Christossmirked.

“Really?How?”“You don’t want to

know.”“Oh,comeon.NowIhave

toknow,”Ibegged.“Do you have about four

hours? I can’t even begin todo justice to all the shit Icould tell you about theKingston-Whitehouses inanylesstime.”

Ibuggedmyeyes,“Wow.Isitthatbad?”

“That family is a prime

time soap opera,” Christossaid. He almost sounded, Idon’t know, sad? He hadknownTiffanyforyears. I’msurehewouldfillmeinsomeothertime.

“I have to go say hi tothem,”Christossaid.“Caretojoinme?”

Isaidsarcastically,“I’llletyou handle that. Tiffany’smomscaresme.”

“You and me both,”Christos said over his

shoulderashewalkedtowardthem.Hetalkedtothemforabit before greeting otherguests.

I hung out withMadison,Romeo andKamiko near thedoor.Ashortwhilelater,Jakecamewalkingin.

“What the fuck are youwearing, Jake?” Madisondemanded, her brows knittogether.

Jake wore one of thoseblack T shirts with a tuxedo

silk-screened on the front inwhite. At least his shirt waslong sleeved and hugged histan, muscled bodyflatteringly. He also woreblack jeans and black Vanstennis shoes. His blond hairwas golden and naturallyfeathered and weathered. Itdrapedacrosshis forehead inthis way that probably madeanything with a double Xchromosomewanttoruntheirfingersthroughit.

“Idon’t have a tux,” Jakehissed apologetically. Hethrust his hands into hispockets. He looked like agiantkidoutofhiselement.

Madison rolled her eyesand smiled at him. She tip-toed up to kiss his cheek. “Istill love you, you big surfbum.”

The lights overhead fadeddown suddenly and the DJsoftened the volume on thedubstep until it was a

murmur.“Goodevening,ladiesand

gentlemen,” Brandon saidover a microphone fromsomewhereintheroom.

The chatter ofconversationaroundtheroomquieted. All eyes turned toBrandon, who appeared nearthe DJ booth. A spotlightshoneonhim.

“We have a very specialevent here tonight atCharboneau,” Brandon

continued, “and I want towelcome everyone to a onceina lifetimeexperience.Thisis a first, ladies andgentlemen. You may havenoticed that the placard outfrontreadsimply,Manos.Allof us in the art world knowthere are three Manos men.How could I, BrandonCharboneau,havemade suchanoversight?”Hepausedandsmiledexpectantly.

Thecrowdchuckled.

“I assure you, it was nooversight.”

I sawChristos,whostoodwith some of the olderpatrons,grinandrollhiseyesatBrandon.

“Because tonight, ladiesand gentlemen,” Brandonsaid mysteriously, “we haveall three Manos men inattendance. Spiridon?Nikolos? Christos? Will youpleasejoinme?”

The three Manos men

workedtheirwaythroughthecrowd into the spotlight nextto Brandon while the crowdmurmured.

It only took a secondbefore people startedclapping. I mean, loudly.Soon,peoplewerecheering.Ihad never appreciated howfamoustheManosmenreallywere until now. But I didn’tknow then that thiswasonlythetipoftheiceberg.

The Manos men now

stood beside Brandon. Theyall smiled and waved, andthey all looked so damnhandsomeandhumble. Iwastruly the luckiest girl in theworld to be part of theirfamily. Well, at least anhonorarymember,sinceIwasonly Christos’ girlfriend. It’snot like I was his wife. But,boy,was I proud of all threeof them right now. I startedtearingupwithjoy.

Madison bumped my

elbow and whispered, “It’sokay,Sam.Letitout.”

“Idon’twantmymascarato run,” I sniffled, dabbingthecornerofmyeyewithmypinky.

“Here’s a handkerchief,”Romeo said, proffering onefrom his coat pocket, “It’ssilk. Go ahead,” he saidaffectionately. “I’ve onlyblown my nose in it oncetoday,” he grinned. “I’mkidding.”

I giggled and took it toblotmyeyes.

When the applause dieddown, Brandon said,“Tonight, ladies andgentlemen, not only do wehave all three Manos menhere in attendance, but wealsohavetheirmasterfulart.”

On cue, spotlights cameon throughout the gallery,illuminating all of the blacksilk covered paintings on thewalls.

“The Manos family isback!”Brandoncheeredoverthe mic. “Welcome to thefirst ever showing of theunseen art of Spiridon,Nikolos and ChristosManos!” He was yelling onhis final words. He handedthe microphone to the DJ sohecouldclapvigorously.

The entire room joinedhim.

“Yeah!”Jakeshouted.“Woo hoo!” Madison

cheered.“All right, Christos!”

Kamikoclapped.“I’d do him!” Romeo

shouted.I grimaced and smiled at

him. “You are so Romeo,Romeo!”

Hegrinnedwide,“Iknow,right?”

Myfriendswereawesome.Normally, I wasn’t the kindof girl to cheer at socialevents. But tonight was

special. And I couldn’t helpmyself. I cheered away,“Yay,Christos!Woo!!!!”

It didn’t take long for thewhole room to explode withnoise. It was like being at aconcert when a famous bandcame out on stage at thebeginning of the show. Theroom roared with approvalandapplause.

It was totallyoverwhelming.

The spotlights still shone

onTheManosMen.ChristossteppedbetweenSpiridonandNikolos and put his armsaround their necks. Theybowedinunison.

After awhile, the cheeringfaded.

Backonthemic,Brandonsaid, “Anybody ready to seesomeart?”

“Yeah!!!” the crowdshouted.

This was hardly what Iexpected from an art gallery

opening. But what did Iknow? It was frickin’awesome!

TheDJcuedupabumpingdubstep track at the exactsamemomentalloftheblacksilks rippled to the floorbeneatheachcanvas.

The crowd literallygasped.

The room was filled withart. Portraits I’d seen inNikolos’ studio. LandscapesI’d seen in Spiridon’s house.

And Christos’ nudes, and afewotherpaintingsIcouldn’tsee. There was so much tolookat.

Everyone gazed aroundthe room, speechless.Afteramoment, people gravitatedtoward the paintings and theconversation was soon asloudasthemusic.

Iwalked around the roomwith the gang, looking at allthe art. I made commentsabout the portraits I’d seen

Nikolos working on at hishouse. They all lookedamazing and had lots ofcharacter. But my favoritewas still his portrait ofSpiridon, maybe because Iknew Spiridon so well andthe portrait practicallybreathedwhenIlookedatit.

As for Spiridon’slandscapes, I’d seen some ofthem before, but not all. Inanycase,I’dneverseenthemproperlylitinagallery.They

glowedfromtheirframeslikeportalstoanotherreality.Youcouldfeel thebreezeonyourface or the sun in your eyes.Amazing.

“These paintings areincredible,” Kamiko said.“It’s almost like I can smellthe ocean breeze inSpiridon’s art like I’m rightthere.It’sunreal.”

“Iknow, right?” I said, intotalagreement.

“She’s just smelling my

farts,”Romeojoked.“Romeo,” Kamiko’s face

pinchedintoagrimace,“yourfarts smell nothing like anocean breeze. Believe me, Iknow.”

I threwmyheadbackandlaughed.

We finally worked ourway through the crowd toChristos’ paintings.We’d allseen the femalenudesbeforeinthestudio.Butnoneofthegang had seen the LOVE

portraitofmeandChristos.“I can see your boobies!”

Romeosaid.Iblushedinstantly.Thisis

whatIwasworriedabout.“Don’t worry, Sam,”

Madison said. “Half theplanet has boobies, and theother half has seen thembefore.”

I rolled my eyes. I hopednobody recognized me. I’dforgotten to bring a disguise.Ohwell.Maybetherewastoo

muchchaosinthegalleryforanyone to notice I was thenaked girl in the life sizepainting hanging on the wallunderaspotlight.

Someolderguybesidemeinatuxwasglancingbetweenmy face and the painting,backandforth.

“Yeah,”Romeosaidtotheguy,“that’sher.”

Irolledmyeyes,“Thanks,Romeo,” I hissedsarcastically.

“Anytime,”hegiggled.The older guy said, “It’s

an amazing likeness. That’sChristos with you in theportrait,isn’tit?”

Inodded.“I’ve never seen an artist

do a self portrait with awomanbesidehim,” themansaid.

“She’s his girlfriend,”Romeosaid,“That’swhy thepaintingiscalledLOVE.”

“That’s wonderful,” the

man smiled, then turned to awoman with silver hair whowas obviously his wife. Shesmiled at me before the twoofthemexaminedtheportraitindetail.

“Romeo,” I asked, “howdo you know somuch aboutChristos’paintings?”

Romeosaid,“Oh,uh…”“What the fuck!”Kamiko

literally shouted. She wasseveral paces ahead of us. “Ican’tbelieveit!”

“What!” Mads said,pulling Jake along as shemoved to see what Kamikowastalkingabout.

I followed them until weall stood before a hugeportrait. Of Romeo. Jumpingin the air exactly like Mariofrom Donkey Kong. Romeowasdressed inhis traditionalblack steampunk attire. Hismonocle hung suspended inthe air on the S curve of themonocle string. Romeo too

was suspended inmid flight,hisarmsthrustdownwithhisfingers splayed, his jacketbillowingoutaroundhim,hiskneesflungforwardandbacklike he was hurdling oversomething.HehadthelargestopenmouthedsmiledI’deverseen. The painting wasbeautiful.

“What’s it say on thecard?” Kamiko asked.“What’sthetitle?”

Madison leaneddownand

read it. “It just says,‘Romeo’.”

Romeo grinned, “Becausethat’sallitneedstosay.”

Christossqueezed throughthe crowd. “What do youthink?”heaskedme.

“I love it!” I smiled.“When did you do it? I hadnoideayouwereworkingonthis.”

He cocked his eyebrow,“Wheneveryouwereworkingatmydad’shouse.”

“It’s so good, Christos,”Madisonsaid.

“Thanks,”hesmiled.“HeyJake,I’mlovingthetux.”

Jake glanced down at hisTshirttux.“Seriously?”

Christos gave Jake athumbsup.‘Onlyyou,bro.”

Jake grinned and noddedwhiletheybumpedfists.

At that moment, Ihappened to notice that twopaintings between Christos’otherpaintingsstillhadblack

silk over them. One of themwas really big. “What’s upwith the two coveredpaintings?”

“It’s a surprise,” heflashed his dimpled grin atme.

“Ohreally?”“You’regoingtoloveit.”“Like I love the LOVE

painting?”Henodded,“Yeah.”“Ican’twait!”“Well, I’ve got to keep

circling,” Christos said.“People are asking questionsamileaminute.”

“Okay,”Iwavedashewasswallowedbythecrowd.

He wasn’t exaggerating.Everyone wanted to talk tohim. They all looked up athim with sparkling eyes, inawe of the rockstar artist. Iwassoproudofhim.

===Atonepoint,theganghad

wanderedoff tolookatmore

art.IstoodtalkingtoSpiridonandNikolosinfrontofoneofSpiridon’slargelandscapes.

Brandon suddenlysqueezed through the crowdand stuck a red dot on thelandscape. “Another onesold,”hesmiledatSpiridon.

“How many is that?”Spiridonaskedhim.

“Nine, and more on theway,”Brandonsmiled.

“Hey, Brandon” Nikolossaid,“who’ssellingmore,me

ordad?”“Right now, Spiridon has

youbytwo.”Spiridon clapped Nikolos

on the back, “I told you I’vestillgotit.”

“Yeah,” Nikolos said tohim, “but Brandon says I’mcatchingup.Brandon,gosellmoreofmypaintings.”

Brandon grinned andshook his head, “They’re allselling.”

Nikolos chuckled, “Well,

justmake suremore ofminesell. Can’t let the old manshowmeup.”

Spiridon rolled his eyes.“Ahh,youth,”hegrinned.

“So,” Brandon said toSpiridon,“tellmesomething.I’vebeentryingtogetyoutosell these landscapes foryears.” He motioned to thepaintings on the walls. “Butyou said you wouldn’tbecausetheymeanttoomuchto you. You even turned

down Stanford Wentworth’sofferforthelotafewmonthsago.Why’dyouchangeyourmindnow?”

Spiridon shrugged hisshoulders.“YouyourselftoldChristos he needed morepaintings on the wall if hewanted a successful show. Iwantedmy grandson to havea successful show. It’s thatsimple. Seeing him succeedmeans more to me thankeepingtheseoldpaintings.”

Nikolos noddedagreement. “The more themerrier,right?”

Brandon nodded. “I can’tthank you both enough foragreeing to do this. Andthank you, Nikolos, forsuggesting it. I’m so gladChristos agreed to it. Andyou,too,Spiridon.”

“It’s the least we coulddo,” Spiridon said, “forfamily.”

Nikolosnodded.

“Well, thank you,”Brandonsaid.“Thisistrulyahistoricevent.”

“Yes it is,” Spiridon saidreverently.

Everyone was in such agood mood, it wascontagious.

Brandonsmiled,“Ineedtoget back to it. People arewaiting for me because theywant to buy more art,” Heraised both eyebrows andsmiled before withdrawing

into the ocean of people intuxesandblackdresses.

IglancedattheplacardonSpiridon’spainting.Thepricetag read, $475,000. JesusChrist, the Manos familymademoneylikecrazywhenitcametosellingtheirart.

“Wheredidyoupaint thisone, Spiridon?” I asked,motioning toward thelandscape. It was a gorgeouspainting of sun breakingthrough clouds over a huge

mountainvalley.“Yosemite,”Spiridonsaid.“Youmeanyouwentback

after that deer tried to eatyourwatercolors?”Iquipped.

“You remembered ourstory about the deer!”Nikoloschuckled.

“Of course Iremembered!” I grinned athim. “I remember all yourstories. I’m going to writethem all down someday,” Iwinked.Ilookedaroundfora

moment and sighed,overwhelmed by all theexcitement and the amazingart. “Wow, you guys,” Ismiled, “You have so manyawesome paintings heretonight.Ican’tbelieveit.”

Spiridon and Nikolossmiledbackatme.

Spiridon shrugged, “It’sjustart.”

“Just art,” I scoffed.Maybe theywere boredwithlavish gallery openings after

decades.WhatdidIknow?“Hey,” Spiridon said,

“rememberthatshowyouhadinNewYork? I think it was1984?”

Nikolos chuckled, “I’vetried to block out all of1984.”

“You know the one. Theonewiththefire?”

Nikolos’ eyes widened.“Oh!Thatshow.”

Spiridon noddedknowingly.

“Whathappened,”Iasked,allears.

Nikolos said, “I got theidea that if I set one of mypaintings on fire in thegallery,itwouldcreatearealbuzzintheartworld.”

Spiridon grinned,obviouslyknowingwherethestorywasgoing.

Nikolos continued, “Toobad the only buzzwas whenthe fire department showedup and kicked everyone out

ofthegallery.”Spiridon shook his head,

smiling.“Did anyone get hurt?” I

asked.“Just my sales,” Nikolos

winked.“So you won’t set

anything on fire tonight?” Ijoked.

Nikolos looked atSpiridon, “Have I told youhow much I like this girl?”He wrapped an arm around

my neck and gave me afriendlyhug.

“Nikolos was alwaysabout themarketingfromthebeginning,” Spiridon said.“Heknewwhathewasdoing,and he wanted to sellpaintings. But setting thatpainting on fire wasn’t theonly brilliant marketing ideahe had, was it, son?Remember that time youcoveredyourself inpaintandrolled around on a canvas in

the middle of the galleryopening?”

My eyes widened, “Youdidthat?”

“Yup,” Nikolos nodded.“Nude.”

“While people watched?”Iaskedincompletedisbelief.

“For a packed house,” hesaid.

“How’ditgoover?”“People loved it.”Nikolos

madeafunnyface.“Iwasso‘experimental’,” he made

fingerquotes,“Iwaspushingtheenvelope.”

“Theonly thinghehadn’tfactored in,” Spiridon saidconspiratorially, “was howharditwastogetthepaintoffafterward.”

Nikolossqueezedhiseyesshut and cackled as he said,“Who knew peeling acrylicpaint of your privates wouldhurtsomuch!”

“What!” I gasped,coveringmymouth.

Nikolos nodded, “But theworst part was getting it outof my hair. I ended upshaving my head and myjewels.”

MymouthOed.“I warned you,” Spiridon

saidaffectionately.Spiridon and Nikolos

laughed and shook theirheadsatthesharedmemory.

These two were full ofendless stories about artadventures.

“So, did you sell yourpubic painting to public?” Iaskedsatirically.

Spiridon chuckled, “Pubicpainting…”

Iwinkedathim.“OfcourseIdid,”Nikolos

scoffed.“Did thebonuspubic hair

up the price?” I askedinnocently.

Spiridon and Nikoloschuckledheartily.

“Not that I remember,”

Nikolos said. “But it shouldhave. That buyer got myDNA. You can’t get betterauthentication than that.Hey,I should use that as amarketingangle.”

“What,” Spiridon said,“puttingyourpubichairinallyourpaintings?”

“Why not?” Nikolosgrinned.

“Know your limits, son,”Spiridon smiled smugly,pattinghimontheshoulder.

“So,” I said, “how muchdid the pubic hair paintingsellfor?”

“Oh,boy.”Nikoloslookedthoughtfully at the ceiling,remembering. “I think twotwentyfive?”

“Dollars?”Iasked.“Thousand,” Nikolos

chuckled.“$225,000?”Igasped.“Yeah,”hesmiled.“Wow, when did you do

that?”

“Waybackin’88,Ithink.I told you Iwanted to forgetthe eighties,” he grinned atSpiridon.

“Come on,” Spiridon saidenthusiastically, “you wereyoung.Youwerehavingfun.Inthosedays,thatwasallyouand Vesile did—” Spiridonsuddenly stopped himself,clampinghismouthshut.

Nikolos dropped his chintohischestandhisshoulderssunk.

“I’m sorry, son” Spiridonsaidtohimsoftly,drapinghisarmoverNikolos’shoulders.

Iwasn’tentirelysurewhyNikolos was so emotional.But I did know one thingfromworkingwithhiminhisstudio all the time.He nevertalked about his ex-wife,Christos’ mom, and I neverasked. I really knew hardlyanythingabouther.Andfromwhat I could tell, Nikolosdidn’tdateanybodyatall.He

just painted and spent timewithfriendsandfamily.

“Are you okay,Nikolos?”Iasked,suddenlyworried.Heseemedreallydistraught.

Nikolos raised his headand blinked away tears. “It’snothing. I’m okay.” Heturned his head away, tryingto hide the emotion on hisface. “Don’tworry about it,”he said a moment later. “I’llbefine,”hesniffed.

Wow,hemusthave loved

Vesile like crazy if he stillbroke down twelve yearsaftershe’dleft.

Ifeltsobadforhim.===

“All right everybody,”Brandon said over themicrophone.Hestoodinfrontof the two paintings stillcovered in black silk,“There’s one more surprise.The final unveiling. I’m sureyou’re all wondering aboutthetwopaintingsthatarestill

coveredup.”The crowd murmured

agreement.“I’llletChristosfillyouin

himself.”Brandonhandedthemic to Christos and steppedoutofthespotlight.

Christoshadbeensobusyforthelasthour,Ihadn’tsaidasinglewordtohim.

“Someofyoumayknow,”Christos said to the crowd,“that a very special womancame into my life nine

months ago. If you haven’tmet her, you’ve already seenher in my painting entitledLOVE. That’s me and her,Samantha Smith, together.Samantha, will you come uphere?”

Gulp.Christos shaded his eyes

from the spotlight with hishandandsearched thecrowdforme.

Nervousness suddenlyseizedme.DidIhavetostand

in front of everyone? Ofcourse I did. But maybe Iwouldn’t have to sayanything.

“Go, Sam,” Madisonproddedatmyelbow.

“Yeah,” Romeo said,pushingmybackgently,“getupthere.”

I didn’t have a choice. Imade my way through thecrowd and stepped into thespotlight. Itwas really effingbright. I squinted until my

eyes adjusted. I hopednobodywassnappingphotos.Iprobablylookedterrible.

Christostookmyhandandhelditinhis.

I’d never felt so on thespot in my entire life.Literally.

Christos smiled at me,gazing intomyeyes.Hesaidto the mic, “What none ofyou know is how muchSamanthameanstome,”

His blue eyes burned into

myheartinthatmoment,inagoodway.Ohmygod,wherewasthisgoing?

“Samantha has been aninspiration to me since theday we met,” Christos said.“If it wasn’t for her, I don’tknow that I’d be heretonight.”

Gulp.“Samantha saved my life,

and for that, I am forevergrateful. But more than that,she has been my guide. She

has shown me how toembrace myself, to be me.Not someone else. Hercourage blows me awayevery time I think about it.ShemovedallthewaytoSanDiegofromWashingtonD.C.with the dream of becomingan artist. And she neverwaveredfromit.Shestucktoher guns, no matter whatchallengeslifeputinherway.Shehascomesofarinsuchashort time. She has a natural

talent for art that I’ve neverseenbefore.Sadly,forallherhard work, Samantha hasnever had a painting in agalleryshow.”

Christos paused while thecrowdwent“Awww.”

He continued, “But sheshould. She’s an amazingartist already, and she’s justgetting started. So, withoutfurther ado, I introduce youall to master artist SamanthaAnnaSmith.”

One of the two remainingblack silks dropped to thefloor.

Iwasgoingtocryallovermyself.

It wasmy phoenix sunsetlandscape painting I’d donefor the Contemporary ArtistsShow, the one Brandonrejected. I couldn’t stopmyself. Tears ran down myface.

Thewholeroomclapped.Iwas overwhelmed by their

energy.IleanedintoChristosand hugged his chest. I waslaughing and crying at thesame time. I couldn’tbelievewhat was happening. Mytears dripped all over hisblack T shirt. I buried myfaceinit.

Christos leaned down andwhispered in my ear, “YouhavenoideahowmuchIloveyouSamanthaAnnaSmith.”

No,IthinkIdid.Isobbedandlaughed.

After a minute, hemuttered “Are you okay,agápimou?”

“Yeah,” Isniffed,“I thinkIdiedandwenttoheaven.”

Thecrowdwas starting tomake a bunch of noise.Everyone was talking aboutmypainting.

“Hold on,” Christos saidinto the mic. “We have onemore surprise. When I sawthis painting of Samantha’sthat you’re looking at now, I

wasblown awayby it. She’sonlybeenpainting inoils forsix months, and I think it’sfuckingincredible.”

Several people in thecrowdchuckled.

Ispontaneouslypulled themicrophone down to mymouth and said, “I had a lotofgoodadvicefromalloftheManos men. I couldn’t havedone itwithoutamillion tipsfromthem.”

Thecrowdchuckled.

“It was all her,” Spiridonshoutedfromtheback.

More laughs from thecrowd.

“Go, Sam!” Madisonshouted.

I thinkitwasJakenext toher who did one of thosereallyloudwhistles.

“SAAAMMMM!!!”Romeo squealed. “I want tobeyourbabydaddy!”

I heard Kamiko laughingnexttohim.

I was going to pass outfromhappinessinaboutthirtyseconds. I was totally,joyously overwhelmed. I’dnever felt so accepted, or soimportant,inmyentirelife.Itwasincredible.

Christos spoke into themic,“I’vebeensoinspiredbySamantha’s transformationfromamousy littlegirl toanamazing artist, I wanted toimmortalize the person Iknow her to be in my final

painting of the evening.” Hemotioned to the big paintingbehind him still covered inblacksilk.“Shehasawarriorspirit,andsheisindomitable.I wanted to pay tribute tothat.”

Christos nodded toBrandon and the final blacksilkfellaway.

The crowd gasped andwentsilent.

It was so quiet, not eventhe dropping pins made a

sound.Iwasalmostafraidtoturn

around and look at thepainting.

ButIdid.Oh,mygod.Itwasamazing.It was me, a life size

painting of me as a nakedangel with wings of fire. Itwas the most beautiful thingI’d ever seen. I stood in agraceful pose, my armsspreadwide to the sides, the

pose I’d held in our studiountil my neck and shouldershad cramped into knots. Thehugeangel’swings sproutingout behindmeweremade offiery red and gold feathers. Ifloated in the air above thesurface of the earth, whichwas a wide curve at thebottom of the painting,running from left to right.The purple blackness ofspace,surroundingthegoldenorangeflamesdancingaround

my legs, held thousands ofshiningstars.

Christos’portraitofmeasa fiery angel had a similarpalette of colors to myphoenix sunset. They lookedlike a matched set. His andhers paintings honoring theenergy of creation, done inredjewelsandmoltengold.

I was overwhelmed. Mykneesgaveout.

ButChristoscaughtme.Healwaysdid.

I was the luckiest girl ontheplanet.

===AfterChristosunveiledhis

painting of me as the fieryangel, everyone crowdedaround the two of us. Theycouldn’t get close enough toChristos. Everyone wanted apiece of him. It was kind ofscary, actually. It was thisweird mob mentality famething. I guess this was whatbeingfamouswaslike.Itwas

weird being the center ofattention, but with Christosbesideme,Iwasfine.

People were asking bothme and Christos tons ofquestions about the paintingsandour relationship.We justansweredthemastheyasked.Everyonewasentrancedwiththe idea that we were twopainters in love, inspired byeach other’s creative ideas. Iguess maybe I took it forgranted.Not in a thoughtless

way. I just never reallystopped to think about howspecial what we had reallywas.

One of themost commoncomments we heard wasabout the similarity of colorpalette and subject matter ofour two paintings. Whenpeople asked, Christos toldeverybody casually, “I knowgenius when I see it. I justtookSamantha’sideaandranwith it.” That was a total

exaggeration, but every timehe said it, even after thehundredth,Iwasstunnedandflattered and blushed likecrazy.

Ididsomuchsmiling,mycheeksstartedtohurt.Wasitpossible to get cheekmusclecramps? Iwouldn’tmind if Idid. It was worth it. I don’tthink I’d ever been thiscompletely happy in myentirelife.

At some point during the

evening, Christos whisperedin my ear, “Do you realizewe’ve been standing heretalking to people for almosttwohours?”

“I know. I totally have topee,”Ihissed.

“Keepholdingit.It’syourjob,”hewinked.

Brandoncamewalkinguptous.“You’renevergoingtobelieve this.” His eyes wereonfirewithexcitement.

“Iprobablywill,”Christos

saidcasually.“Everythinghassold.”“You mean all of my

paintings?” Christos saiduncertainly.“Orallofthem?”

Christos had less than tenpaintings in the show, sothat’sprobablywhatBrandonmeant. Christos sold morepaintingsathissoloshowlastyear. But between all thepaintings from Spiridon andNikolos, there were at leastsixty or seventy on sale

tonight. That was a lot ofpaintings to sell during asingleshow.

“No,” Brandon said,“Everything has sold. Yourfather’s, your grandfather’s,all of it. Well, everythingexceptone.”

I could only assumeBrandon meant my painting.Itwastheobviousonenottosell. Spiridon, Nikolos, andChristos were world famousartists with reputations. The

Manos family had a paintinglegacy, andpeoplewanted tobuy a piece of their fame tohang on their walls while itappreciated in value. I wasjust the girlfriend. I doubtedanyone actually wanted mypainting. Sure, it made for agood story to go withChristos’lifesizedportraitofme,butthatwasall.

“Which one hasn’t sold?”Christosasked.

I grit my teeth in

preparation of the news. I’dgetoverit.Oneday,I’dsellapainting at an art galleryshow.Justnottonight.

“Yours,”Brandonsaid.That’swhatIthought.Oh,

wait.Washetalkingtome,orChristos?

Christos said, “You meanSamantha’spaintingsold?”

Brandon scoffed, “Ofcourse Samantha’s paintingsold. I sold it five minutesafteritwasunveiled.”

“What?Noway!”Christosblurted.

Okay,mybrainmusthavebroken, because I thinkBrandon just said my sillylittle fantasy landscape hadsoldtonight.

Brandon nodded andgrinnedatmeandChristos.

“How much did it sellfor?”Christosasked.

Brandon’s smile peeledbackcharminglyandhesaid,“Twenty-seventhousand.”

I slapped my hand overmy wide open mouth,stopping my broken brainsfromrollingrightout.

Christosgrinnedatmeandrubbed my backaffectionately, causing ashiver to runupmyspine.“Iknewyouwould,”hesaid.

“I didn’t!” I said,flabbergasted. “You knowwhatthismeans?”

“What?”Christosasked.“I’m going to be able to

pay my tuition next year!” Ihoppedupin theairwithmyarmsovermyhead.“Yes!”

Christos hugged me andkissed me. “Congratulations,agápi mou. It was only amatter of time until youstarted selling. Didn’t I tellyouthatwhenwefirstmet?”

“You did!” I saidgleefully. Wow. I couldn’tbelieve it. My dreams werecoming true like I’d neverimagined!

I was definitely theluckiest girl in the worldtonight!

===CHRISTOS

“So, Brandon,” I said,turning to face him, “whichpaintinghasn’tsoldtonight?”

“Your portrait ofSamanthaasthefieryangel,”heanswered.

“Oh,” Samantha crooned.“I’m sorry, Christos. Your

paintingofmeissobeautiful.I would totally buy it, if Icould afford it. Would youtake twenty-seven grand forit?”Shewinkedatme.

“Thanks, agápi mou,” Isaid reassuringly. “Saveyourmoney for your tuition.Besides, if no one buys myportrait of you, I’ll fuckingkeep it,” I smiled. “I putmyheart into it.” I glancedbehindusattheeightfoottallfiery angelwingedSamantha

portrait hanging on the wall.“Yeah, I would never gettired of looking at it. It’s therealyou,agápimou,theoneIseeevery time I lookatyou,the one other people don’talwaysrealizeisthere.”

“Oh, Christos,” Samanthasighed,“Iloveyousomuch.”She leaned into me andhuggedmearoundthewaist.

“I love you too, agápimou,” I said and kissed thetop of her head. “Hold on a

second,” I blurted, suddenlyrealizing something.“Brandon, did my LOVEportrait of me and Samanthaselltoo?”

“Yeah,” Brandon nodded.“Forhalfamillion.”

“What?!” Samanthablurted

“Yes,” Brandon’s smilewidened. “You heard meright. A half a milliondollars.”

Samantha clapped both

herhandstoherface,“Ohmygod! I can’tbelieve someonebought a picture of you andmenude!”

I grinned at her, “Believeit.”I turnedtoBrandon,“So,whoboughtit?”

Brandon’s eyes flashedand he looked awaymomentarily. “It was, uh, ananonymousbuyer.”

I could tell Brandon washiding something.“Anonymous?” I said

sarcastically. “It’s not likewe’re selling porn or drugs.Youcantellme,Brandon.”

Brandon shook his headseriously, “I was givenexplicit instructions not toreveal the buyer’s identityunderanycircumstances.”

Samantha said, “Now I’mtotallycurious.”

“Ican’ttellyou,”Brandonshrugged.“Itwasinthetermsofthecontract.”

“Terms?” I asked. “It

wasn’t Stanford Wentworth,wasit?”

“No,”hechuckled.“Who’s Stanford

Wentworth,” Samanthaasked.

She’d been spared thetorture of enduringWentworth’s visit to mystudio that day he’d said Ineeded to change up mypaintings because they wereshit,andhadsaidSamantha’sCalla Lily oil study was

awful. Thinking about himnow, all I wanted to do waspunch his face in then rub itin the pile of money I wasmaking tonight.ThenIheardRussellMerriweather’s voiceechoing through my head,“No.More.Fights.” I smiledtomyself.

Brandon said, “StanfordWentworth is one of therichest art buyers in theworld, Samantha. He canmake someone’s career if he

buystheirart.”“Oh,” she said, “That

soundslikeagoodthing.”“He’salsoaprick,”Isaid.

“I don’t want his sorry assowning my art. I’m doingfinewithouthim.”

Brandon said, “What if Itold you he put in a bid onyourportraitofSamantha?”

“Noshit,”Ichuckled.“Hedid,”Brandonsaid.A smug smile spread

across my face, “I guess he

changed his tune about myart.” Knowing it gave me adelicious sense ofsatisfaction.

“Wentworth was one ofthe early bidders. Once theother buyers started drivinguptheprice,”Brandonsmiledconspiratorially, “he wasmysteriously unable to getany more bids through tome.”

IgrinnedbackatBrandon.Wentworth had been a prick

tohimthatdayatmystudio,too. Brandon was blockinghim out of the biddingprocess.Wentworthhadabitof a reputation as a starmaker. He would sweep upan artist’s earlywork, beforethey were famous, and holdonto it. This would drive updemand on the artist’s work,at which point Wentworthwouldoftensellitforaheftyprofit. Fuck him. He wasn’tgoingtomakeadimeoffmy

sweat.He’dhadhis shot thatday at the studio and he’dblownit.

“So, Brandon,” I asked,“what’s the status on thebidding?”

“Actually,” Brandonsmiled smugly, “It’s turninginto something of a heatedbattle. Two people heretonight have insisted thepainting must be theirs, andfour other buyers on thephone are calling me every

five minutes to find out iftheyneedtoraisetheirbidornot.”

“Ihopenoneofthepeopleon the phone are agents ofWentworth’s,”Isaid.

“No,” Brandon said, “Iknowallofthemwell.We’rein the clear. Wentworth willwalk away empty handedaftertonight.”

Inoddedapprovingly.“Wow,” Samantha said,

“If you’re turning buyers

away, that means you’retotallypopular,Christos!”

“What’s the bid up to?” IaskedBrandon.

He grinned, “One pointfivemillion.”

“Holy shit!” Samanthablurted.

Ifeltthesameway.Brandon’sphonerang.He

pulleditoutofhispocketandglancedatitbeforeturningtome, “Another bidder calls.The price keeps climbing.

I’ve got to answer this,” hesmiled as he walked off,holdinghisphonetohisear.

“Christos, that’s insane!”Samantha squealed. “You’remaking so much moneytonight!”

“Youaretoo,”Isaid.“I know,” she smiled.

“Twenty-sevengrand! Ican’tbelieveit!”

“You’remakingahellofalotmorethanthat.”

Her brows narrowed,

“Whatdoyoumean?”“I mean, I’m splitting

whateverIgetonmyportraitof you, and the LOVEportrait of both of us, withyou.”

“What?! That’s crazy.Those are your paintings! Ican’ttakeyourmoney!”

“What do you mean? Iwouldn’thaveeitherpaintingif it wasn’t for you. All I’dhave is a self portrait ofmyselfandsomepaintingsof

Brandon’s L.A. models. Idon’t think there’d be amillion dollar bidding warover any of them.Youmadeboth paintings special, agápimou. You, Samantha AnnaSmith. Because you’re mygirlfriend, you’re in thepaintings, and you’re anamazing artist in your ownright. This is the stuff arthistory books write about ahundredyearsfromnow.Thewhole story, the whole

package. Us. You and me.Withoutyou, I’dbe the thirdManos. With you and yourart,I’msomethingspecial.”

“I don’t know, Christos,”Samantha frowned, “it’s somuchmoney.”

“Sowhat?Itdoesn’tmeanyoudon’tdeserveit.”

“I can’t take yourmoney,Christos,”shesighed.

“Why not? Let me put itanother way. What if I’dpainted a portrait of you,

spent maybe two or threehours on it, and sold it for,say, two hundred bucks.Would you split the moneywithmethen?Igetahundredfor painting it, you get ahundredformodeling?”

Shefrowned,“Iguess.”“So what’s the difference

betweenthatandthis?”“Hundredsofthousandsof

dollars!”sheblurted.“No,” I shook my head

adamantly, “That shouldn’t

makeanydifference.Doyouthink just because moremoney is involved youdeserveless?”

“Well,no,Iguessnot.”I nodded, “In any fifty-

fiftypartnership, eachpersongetshalf,right?”

“But you’re talking aboutmore money than I’ve everimagined,” she saidnervously.

“So what? Don’tundervalue yourself, agápi

mou.”“It’sjustsomuchmoney,”

shesighed.“Halfofitisstillyours,”I

said. “But if you reallydon’twantit…”Ididn’tknowwhatelse to say. Maybe she’dchangehermindlater.

Romeo appeared out ofnowhere and said, “I’ll gohalvsies with you on yourpaintingofme,C-Man.”

“See?” I said, “Romeoknowshisworth.”Igavehim

afistbump.Kamiko stood beside

Romeo.Shesaid,“Istillcan’tbelieve someone bought thatWonky Kong portrait ofRomeo.”

“What?” Romeo scowled,“It’s awesome. And I thinkwhoeverboughtitgotitforasteal at $150,000. I told yousomeonewouldpaytohaveapaintingofme.”

Kamiko rolled her eyes.“Wait til theyget theportrait

into their house and have tostareatyou24/7.”

“You’re just jealousChristos didn’t paint you,”Romeosneered.

She rolled her eyes andstuckhertongueoutathim.

I said to Kamiko, “I’llpaint you formy next show.We’lldressyouupasoneofthe Adventure Timecharacters.”

Her eyes lit up, “Wow,Christos,you’dpaintme?”

“Sure,” I smiled. “I’drather paint a friend oversomerandommodel.”

Kamikoclappedherhandstogether,“Itotallywanttobepainted as Fionna fromAdventure Time! I’ll makethe costume myself! Whencanwestart!”

“We’ll do it over thesummer.”

Kamiko gasped. “Thatwouldbesototallyawesome,Christos!” Her and Romeo

wanderedbackintothecrowdwhile me and Samanthasharedachuckle.

A few minutes later,Russellwalkeduptousfromout of the crowd.“Congratulations, youngman,” he said. “It appearsyou’re doing rather welltonight.”

“Yeah,” I smiled.“Samantha, you rememberRussellMerriweather?”

“Totally,” she grinned,

shaking his hand. “Nice toseeyouagain.”

“Nice to see you too,young lady. Have you beenkeeping this character out oftrouble?”Henoddedatme.

“Definitely,”shesmiled.“Youknow,”Russellsaid,

“I bought one of yourgrandfather’slandscapes.”

“You did?” I asked.“Whichone?”

“The one of the valleybehindyour father’shouseat

sunrise. I’m always tellingNikoloshowmuchI lovetheview when I go out there.Since your grandfatherdecided to paint a picture ofit,Ithoughtthatwouldbethenext best thing to visiting.I’m hanging it in mydowntown office so I canalwaysseeit.”

I knew that Brandon hadpriced that painting at$75,000.“Wow,Russell, thatwasreallygenerousofyou,”I

saidappreciatively.“Fiddlesticks.” Russell

smiled.“Fiddlesticks?” I laughed.

“Who the fuck saysfiddlesticks?”

Samantha giggled atwhatI’dsaid.

“Ido,”Russell said inhismostseriouscourtroomvoiceever, “And if you want tokeep your teeth, you won’tmake any further issue of it.Areweclear?”Hearchedan

eyebrow, but it only took asecond for his face to relaxintoabigsmile.

I shook my head andsmiledathim.

“Besides,” Russell said,“Yourfamilyhasspentplentyof money on me over theyears,itwastheleastIcoulddo.”

“Thanks,man,”Ismiled."Well, I’ve got to go.

Good night, Samantha. Bothofyoupleasegivemyregards

to Spiridon and Nikolos,”Russell said before fadingintothecrowd.

“Russell is so cool,”Samanthasaid.

“Yup.”Brandonburst through the

crowdaminutelater.“Itsold!Your portrait of Samanthasold!”

Samantha’seyesgoggled.Sodidmine.“How much?” we both

asked.

“One point nine million!”Brandon was beside himself.I’d never seen him lose hiscool like this. I wasn’tsurprised.Asizablechunkofthe money we’d pulled intonightwashis.

Samantha threw her armsaroundmeandplantedahugekiss on my cheek beforesaying, “Congratulations,Christos!”

A second later, my dadand grandad were pushing

throughthecrowd.“Congratulations, paidí

mou!” my grandad said,leaningover tohugme.“Weheardthenews.”

“Thanks,Pappoús,”Isaid.My dad threw his arms

around both of us, “You didit,paidímou!”

“I couldn’t have done itwithoutyou,Bampás,”Isaid,lookingintomyfather’seyes.They were brimming withtears.Justlikemine.

Brandon grinned whileslapping my shouldervigorously,“Anumberofthemajor art magazines havealready called. They’reasking to interview you,Christos. You’re going to bethe talk of the internationalart world by tomorrowmorning.Itoldyoubefore,ifyoueverpaintedaportraitofSamantha, it would be yourMona Lisa. Now you haveit.”

“Mona Lisa?” I chuckled.“You know the Mona Lisalooks likeadude indrag.Atleast you could’ve saidEvening Mood byBouguereau. The girl in thatpaintingisactuallyawoman,andshe’sbeautiful.”

“But that painting isn’tnearly as famous,” Brandonsmiled. “Regardless, thisportraitofSamantha isgoingtomakeyourname,Christos.Iknowit.”Brandonmarveled

ashegazedatthepaintingonthewall.

He was entranced by it. Ithink knowing it sold for somuchcashmadeitthatmuchbetter in his eyes. I couldn’tblame him. Brandon torehimself away from thepainting and said, “Will yoube sad to say goodbye to itwhen the buyer takespossessionofit,Christos?”

“Nope.” I smiled down atSamantha, “I get to keep the

realthing.”“Iwill,”Samanthasaid.“I

love looking at it.” Sheglancedbackatthepainting.

“No need to worry,Samantha,”Brandonsaid.

Ifrowned,“Why’sthat?”Brandon grinned, “You

guyswillneverguesswhothebuyerwas.”

“Who?” I asked. Itcouldn’tbeWentworth.

“L.A. M.O.M.A.,”Brandongrinned.

My jaw dropped, “Nofuckingway.”

“What’s that?” Samanthaasked.

“The Los AngelesMuseum of Modern Art,”Brandongrinned.“Tohangintheir permanent collection.”Nowonderhewas so stokedabout selling my painting.This was a huge feather inCharboneauGallery’scap.

I said to Samantha, “Youknowwhat thismeans,agápi

mou?”Sheshookherhead.I grinned, “The whole

world is going to see mypaintingofyou.”

Her eyes goggled and shestartedlaughing.“Iknewit!”

“What?”Iwasconfused.“Everyone’s going to see

menaked!”I laughed and so did

Brandon.“No,” I grinned,

“everyone’s going to be

inspiredbyyourbravery.”Samantha rolled her eyes,

butI leaneddownandkissedherpassionatelyanyway.Thecrowd around us, which wasstill a bustling mass of menandwomeninfancyblacktieevening wear, started toapplaudandhoot.

Me and Samanthacontinued kissing under thespotlight for a long time infrontofeverybody.

It was a perfect evening,

allthewayaround.The only thing still

bugging me was whether ornot I’d made enough moneyafter giving Brandon his cuttopaybackHunterBlakeley.If I lost his civil suit againstme in court I was going toowehimenoughcashtofillabank vault. I noticed Russellhadn’t mentioned the trialwhen he’d said goodbyetonight. He probably didn’twanttospoilmyevening.

Man,whydidIhavetohitfucking Hunter in the firstplace? It’s not like I didn’talreadyknowIcouldkickhisasstentimesover.

Ohwell.I’d worry about it

tomorrow.Nowitwastimetogather

everyoneupandgocelebratesomeplaceelse.Therewasnoway I was letting HunterBlakeley ruin my perfectevening.

Nofuckingway.Besides, what where the

chances of running into himtonight?

Chapter28

SAMANTHA

The band on stage at theBelly Up Tavern rocked thehouse.Theplacewaspacked.After the crowd atCharboneau Gallery hadfinally thinned, we all droveheretounwindandcelebrate.

Christos and Jake knewthebouncers outside, so theyletme,Madison,Romeo,andKamiko all sneak inside tosee the band. But theymadeus promise not to order anydrinks.ChristosandJaketoldthe bouncers they’d keep aneyeonus.

The Belly Up was acombination bar and musicvenue. It had a really bigstageatoneend,andtwobarsat the other. A huge great

white shark statue hung overoneofthebarsoncablesandsurfboardslinedthewalls.

“I’ve never been in a barbefore,”IhissedtoMadison.

“What?”sheshouted.The band was so loud, I

don’t know why I waswhispering. I leaned over toherearandsaidloudly,“I’veneverbeeninabarbefore!”

“Me neither!” shehollered.“Isn’titawesome?!”

Inodded.

We danced casually,swayingtothemusic.

Romeo randomly startedtwerking, his butt thrustingbehind him as his armsextended in front of him,stirring the butter churn. Itdidn’t make any sensebecausethebandplayedrock,nothiphop.Istartedgigglinginstantly.

“What are you doing,Romeo?”Kamikolaughed.

“Trying to lasso me a

man!”Hegrinnedandlookedaround, but the only peoplewatching him lookedhorrified.Romeo didn’t care.Hetwerkedawaylikecrazy.

Iglancedbackatthestageandnoticedthedrummerandthe bass player lookedfamiliar. I turned toMadisonand shouted, “Hey, aren’tthose two guys Jake’sfriends?!”

“Yeah!”Madisonshouted,“That’s Lucas Summer on

bassandhisbrotherLoganonthedrums!”

“TheyhelpedChristosandJake move my stuff into thehouse!”Ishouted.

Madisonnodded.Thebandwasreallygood.

The song they were playingstarted to speed up. Thewhole house was rocking intimetothemusic.

Loganwasgoingcrazyonthe drums. He looked like awild animal. A total contrast

tohowshyhe’dbeenthedayI’d met him. What was thatold saying? Still waters randeep?Orwasithotshyguysmadegreatrockdrummers?

MeandMadisonreallygotinto the music, banging ourheadslikeidiotsuntilourhairtwirledaround.Wewerebothlaughinganddizzyandhadtostop.

I almost tripped over myplatformsandals,butChristoscaught me in his arms and

stoodmeup.Hehollered,“MeandJake

aregoingtogetsomedrinks!Doyouguyswantanything?”

“We told those bouncerswe wouldn’t drink!” Ihollered uncertainly. I mean,I’d be happy to have a drinkor two. I didn’t plan ongetting drunk. But I didn’twanttogetanyoneintrouble.

“You’resuchagoodgirl!”Christosquipped.

“Icanbebad!”Igrinned.

“Now?! Or do I have towaituntillater?!”

“Uh…”Ididn’tknowhowto respond to that. I hadn’tbeenthinkingofgettingdownand dirty on the dance floor.“MaybeyoucanhaveRomeotwerkforyou?!”

Christos took one look atRomeo, who was in a jerkytwerking trance, and blurtedlaughter. “No!” Christosshouted.Hekissedmycheekand said, “You can showme

how bad you are later!” Hesqueezed my butt and Ijumped. “Me and Jake willget you guys some waters!Andyoucansharemydrink,ifyouwant!”

“Okay!” I smiled as thetwo of them squeezedthroughthecrowdtowardthebar.

The next song the bandplayed was a slow, heartwrenching ballad. The lightson stage faded to a mellow

bluetomatchthemoodofthemusic.Lucassangonthemicatthefrontofthestagewhileplaying his bass guitar. Hehadasmooth,sexyvoice.I’dalready thought he was cutewith his surfer good looksand blue eyes, but hearinghim sing, I had no doubtdrooling packs of womenchased him everywhere hewent.

Based on what I couldmakeoutofthelyrics,Ithink

the song was about a guywhose girlfriend had died orhad left him. I wasn’t surewhich.

LucasandLogansang theheartfelt chorus together, inperfectharmony:“WhenIawokeYoudidfallasleepNowyoureyesareclosed,

andIcanonlyweep.”

“Whydidyougo,girl

IjustfoundmyselfNowI’mallalone,andIreallyneedyourlove.”

The brother’s voicesblended fluidly, expressing asorrowful sense of lossperfectly. They were bothtotalheartthrobs.

After Lucas and Logansang the chorus a secondtime, the spotlight shiftedaway from them toward theother side of the stage. It

stopped on the guitar player,who I finally noticed was ayoung woman with longflowing hair. If I had toguess,shewasaboutmyage,maybealittleolder.

She had been hidingtoward the side of the stagefor most of the show, notreally calling much attentionto herself. Shewas acting soshy, she almost seemedfragile.Butwhenitwastimefor her guitar solo, she stood

at the front of the stage,inchesfromthecrowd.

The spotlight glimmeredbluediamondsoffherguitar.I saw arms from the crowdreachingup to touchher likeshe was a pagan shamanperforming a magical ritual.Maybeshewas.Ithoughtshemight be distracted by thereaching hands, but she wasin her own world, totallyfocused.Sheplayedherheartout.

The sound of her electricguitar poured out of thespeakers like a human wail,the gut wrenching sound oftears and heartbreak and itsweptmeaway.Thismysterygirl seemed like she was sofull of sadness that shecouldn’tcontainitanylonger,and the only way she couldreleaseitwasthroughplayingherguitar.

I was in total awe of herability to grab my emotions

andconnectminetoherswithsuchimmediacy.

Asherguitar solobuilt toa crescendo, she threw herhead back, her long hairdanglingbehindher,hereyesclosed,herfaceoverwhelmedwith pure emotion. Shewasn’t fragile at all. She hadto be strong and courageousto channel all the emotioninside her and project itthrough her guitar with suchhonestyandvulnerability.

I felt chills coursingthrough my body and myeyes were suddenly hot andbrimmingwithtears.

This young woman wasamazing.

After she finished herguitar solo,LucasandLogansang the chorus again, butwithnewwords.“Nowit’stimetohealTimeformetolive,But it’s hard for me to

say…”

ThenLucassangalinebyhimself,“It’stimetoletyougo…”followed by Logan

singing,“I’llneverletyougo…”Together,theysang,“Again.No,notagain.”Based on the lyrics, I

wondered ifLucashad lostagirlfriend and Logan wastryingtoholdontotheonehehad?Itwasallsomysterious.

Theonly thing Iknewfor

sure was that I was cryingand laughing when the songended. I couldn’t get overhow much the band hadmovedmewiththeirmusic.

Everyone in the barcheeredandclapped.

A second later, the bandripped into a new song,totally upbeat, and everyonewas dancing to the steady,rocking groove. The girl onguitardidanotherguitar solotoward the end of the song,

playing a million miles anhour. People cheered thewholetimesheplayed.

This time, instead oflookinglikeshewasgoingtoexplodewithsadness,shehada look of primal rage on herface. At the end of her solo,shehitthisonelongnotethatsounded like a scream. Sheheld her free hand up in theair while the note vibratedendlessly.

I couldn’t help myself. I

cheered as loud as I could,“Yeah!!”

Itwasincrediblyexciting.When the song came to a

close,thebandmadeatonofnoise,strummingtheirguitarsand hammering the drums atthe same time. The stagelights flashed through everycolor of the rainbow. Then,on cue, the girl and Lucasboth jumped in the air. Theystrummed their instruments afinal time when they landed

backonthestage.Thedrumsstopped at the exact samemoment,thebandwentsilent,and the stage lights wentdark.

Everyoneinthebarroaredtheirapproval.

When white stage lightscame back on, illuminatingthe band, Lucas Summershouted over the mic andpointed at the guitar player,“Victory Payne on leadguitar, everybody!” He

clapped his hands over hishead, applauding her whilehis bass guitar dangled fromhis shoulder strap. Peoplewhistled and screamed.“We’re Lucas and LoganSummer!We’ll be back in ahalf hour for some moremusic!Allright!!!”

The crowd cheered againas the band walked off thestage.

I turned to Madison andsaid, “That girl was

incredible! I’ve never seenanyone play guitar like thatbefore!”

“Me neither,” Madisonsaid.

“And she’s a girl!” Icheered.

“I think I’ve got a girlcrush,” Romeo saidgenuinely.

Kamiko said, “I thought Iwasyourgirlcrush.”

“What did they say hername was again?” Romeo

asked.“VictoryPayne,”Madison

said.“That’s her name?” I

scoffed.“Itsoundsfake.”“I think her real name is

Victoria,” Madison saidthoughtfully. “VictoriaPayne.”

“Doyouknowher?”“I’ve met her through

LucasandLoganoncebefore.She’s really nice.You’d likeher.”

===CHRISTOS

Thebarwassobusy,Iwasstill waiting for our drinkswhenthebandtookabreak.

“I’ll be right back,” Jakesaid.“I’mgonnatakeapiss.”

Inodded.A minute later, someone

tapped me on the back. Iturned around and TiffanyKingston-Whitehouse stoodrightbehindme.

“Hey, stranger,” shesmiled. She wore standardTiffany garb, which meant atighttopandtighterskirt.Sheloved to show off her bodywhenevershehadthechance.Icouldn’tblameher.

As usual, she seemedhappytoseeme.“Hey,Tiff.”Had it been a month ago, Iwould’ve given her a quickbrush off, but after the wayshe’d told Samantha’stribunal the truth about her

‘stolen credit card’ I wasinclined to be nice. “Howtheyhangin?”Igrinned.

“Perky as ever,” Tiffanywinked, subtly thrusting herchest at me. She wasn’texaggerating.Shedidhaveanamazing rack, which I knewwas the real deal. But shedidn’tneedanyoneremindingherhowgoodshelooked.Herego was plenty big enoughalready.

Changing the subject, I

said, “I saw your mom anddadatmysoloshowtonight.Howcomeyoudidn’t come?Youusuallydo.”

“Oh,” she glancedawkwardly away, “I, uh, sortof thought maybe I shouldleave you alone. So youcould, you know, enjoy theshow. With, uh, Samantha,”sherolledhereyeslikeittookeverything she had to talknicelyaboutSamantha.

That was progress.

SoundedlikeTiffwasturningoveranewleaf.

“What happened to youcalling her Scumantha?” Igrinned. “She told me aboutthat,youknow.”

Tiffany shrugged. Foronce, she didn’t have herhands all over me. She juststood a foot away, holding agirl drink in her hand,whichwashalfgone.

I decided to be polite andlet her off the hook for past

transgressions. “Can I buyyouanotherdrink,Tiff?”

“I’m good for now,” shesmiled. “How were salestonight?Didyoucleanup?”

I nodded cockily, “Hellsyeah.Wesoldeverything.”

“Iheardyourdadandyourgrandfather had paintings onsaletonight?”

“Yeah, their stuff soldtoo.”

“Congratulations,” shesaidsincerely,“youshouldbe

proudofyourself,Christos. Ibet you made a ton ofmoney.”

“Ihope.”Thenext thingIknew,IwasopeninguptoherlikeIusedto.“Ijusthopeit’llcover the civil suit hangingovermyhead.”

“Civil suit?” She sippedherdrink.“Whatcivilsuit?”

“Oh, some douche bagnamed Hunter Blakeley. Doyouknowhim?”

Sheshrugged.

“Total prick,” I shookmyhead. “This guy HunterBlakeley was harassingSamanthaafewmonthsbackevery time he ran into her.Onedayhedoesitinfrontofme.Triedtostartafightwithme,butItrippedhimintothedirt. So everything’s fine,right?”

She nodded, cuing me tocontinue, and sipped herdrink.

I gave her the run down

about running into Hunter infrontofHooters,andhimandhis three buddies followingme and Jake to our car. Iglossed over the part aboutmeandJakestealingHunter’sbar babes and buying themdrinks because I didn’t wantTiff thinking she had a shotwith me, because she didn’t.And I’d been shitfaced thatnight anyway. I didn’t planon doing much if anydrinkingbeyondoneortwoat

a time for the foreseeablefuture.Ihadtoomuchtolose.

I never wanted to loseSamantha.

“What happened at yourcar?” Tiff asked, her eyeswide with interest as shesucked down more of herdrink.

Ihadamomenttowonderif she was trying to getbuzzedsoshewouldhaveanexcuse to put the moves onmewithout inhibition. Itwas

herusualstrategy.I’dhavetokeepaneyeonher.

“I popped the guy in thenose,” I said. “Once. But IthinkIbrokeit.Anyway,thisguyHunterisamodel,anditturns out he lost a bunch ofwork. Now his attorney isasking for close to a millionbucks.”

“A million!” Tiffswallowed wrong andcoughed several times.“Sorry.”Sheblottedherchin

withhercocktailnapkin.I couldn’t help but

chuckle.“What?”shesmiled“Nothing,”Igrinned.When she finished

blotting, she said, “What areyou going to do about thisHunterguy?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Meand Russell think Hunter’sattorneyfoundouthowmuchmy family is worth andthey’re trying to bend us

over.“I’m sorry to hear that,”

Tiffany winced. Over theyears, I knew Tiffany’sfamily had seen their fairshare of people trying to suethe shit out of themover thelittlest thing, just becausethey had money. She couldrelate.

“Thanks, Tiff. Yeah, it’spretty fucked up. We don’thave any videotape evidenceor anything to prove that

Hunter started it. It’s justmeand Jake’s word againstHunter and his three pals.This Hunter guy can comeacross totally clean cutwhenhe wants too. A jury wouldprobably believe him. Bestcasescenario, I’mhopingwecanget thedamagesreduced.But even then, it could be afewhundredgrand.”

“That’s awful, Christos,”Tiffsaid,restingherhandonmyarm.

Iglancedatherhand.Sheletitfallaway.“I wish there was

something I could do tohelp…” she gazed into myeyes,but thensuddenlygotafarawaylook,lostinthought.

She was gone so long, Ifinally said, “Tiff? You stillthere?”

“Yeah,” she smiled.“Sorry. Just thinking aboutsomething.”

“Anyway, I was going to

say thanks, Tiff. I appreciateyou listening. But don’tworry about it. I’ll dealwithit.”

She shook her head andsmirked,“Youalwaysdo.”

Shesetheremptydrinkonthebarandsaid,“Ineedtogofreshen up in the ladiesroom.”

I nodded and she walkedoffintothecrowd.

A minute later, Jakewandered back to the bar.

“Yougetourdrinksyet?”“Stillwaiting,”Isaid.While we waited, I

couldn’t help but wonderwhat was on Tiff’s mind allof a sudden. I could alwaystell when her wheels startedturning over some newscheme in her head. Shehadn’tchangedabit.

I’d have to keepmy eyesonher.

===SAMANTHA

“Let’s go talk to theband,” Madison said asLucas, Logan and Victorywalkedfromthestagetowardthe bar with the big sharkhanging over it, “I’llintroduceyoutoVictory.”

“Okay,” I said as shepulledmealong.

Romeo and Kamikofollowed.

As we made our waytoward them, Madison

hollered,“Hey,Lucas!”“What up, Madison!”

Lucas grinned. “How’d youguyslikethetunes?”

“Totally rockin’,”Madisonsaid.

Thebunchofuswerenowallstandingfacingeachother.

“You guys were totallyawesome!”Isaid.

“Hey,” Lucas smiled atme,“Irememberyou.You’reSamantha,right?”

“Yeah,”Igrinned.

Lucas said, “Logan, youremember Samantha. Wemoved her shit out of herapartment into Christos’pad.”

“Yeah,”Logansmiled.Hedidn’tsayanythingelse.StillasshyasthefirsttimeI’dmethim. But he was so cute itdidn’tworkagainst.

Madison said, “These areSam’s friends Romeo andKamiko.” They both saidhellototheboys.

“Andthis,”Lucassaid,“isourfriendVictory.”

“Hi,”shesaid.I shook her hand, “Your

guitar playing is amazing,” Ismiled.

“Thanks,” she smiledback, exuding a cool catrockstarvibe.

I wasn’t sure what to sayto her. I couldn’t tell if shewas too cool for school orwhat. So I turned to Lucasand said, “Hey, Lucas, you

guys played some reallyawesome songs tonight. Butone of them really stuck out,and Iwaswonderingwhat itwasabout.”

“Whichone?”heasked.“Theslowsadone,”Isaid.“You mean Now Your

Eyes Are Closed?” he said,“Theballad?”

“I guess?” I saiduncertainly.“Itwasthereallysadone.”

Logan nodded at his

brother.“Yeah,”Lucassaidtome,

almost wincing, “that wasNowYourEyesAreClosed.”

“Well, it was reallyamazing,” I smiled sincerely.“But I couldn’t figure outwhatitwasabout.”

Logan, the shy one,glanced at Lucas, whosuddenlylookedmiserable.

Had I asked the wrongquestion? I glanced down tomake sure my foot hadn’t

stuck itself in my mouthwithoutmyapproval.Yup, ithad,toesandall.Atleastnowit was jammed so far insidemymouthIwouldn’tbeableto say anything else tomakepeopleuncomfortable.

“Uh,” Logan said, “thatsongiskindofpersonaltomeand my brother. We don’treallytalkaboutit.”

“I’m totally sorry,” I saidnervously. “I shouldn’t haveasked.”Maybe one day, like

in a few decades, my socialawkwardness woulddisappearcompletely.Butfornow,itstilllingered.Ohwell.

“No worries,” Logansmiled, trying to soundcasual,butIcouldtellhewasuneasywiththetopic.

Lucas, the talkative one,was now all choked up. Hiseyes had darkened and abrooding lookweigheddownonhisface.

HadIbeenrightaboutmy

guess that their song wasabout Lucas’ girlfrienddying?

Logan’s features softenedwithsympathyashewatchedhisbrotherLucassinkingintoa deep emotional pit right infrontofus.“Youokay,bro?”he asked. He rested a gentlehandonLucas’shoulder.

Lucas inhaled forcefullythroughhisnostrilsandshookit off. “I’m good.” A secondlater, the twinkle I’d seen in

his blue eyes the day we’dmet returned. He turned toVictory and said, “Youwereonfire tonight,girl.Weneedtohaveyousitinforusmoreoften.”

“Thanks,” Victory smiledquietly.

“Wait,” Madison said, “Ithought Victory was yourregularguitarplayer?”

“Nah,” Lucas said, “ourregular guitar guy is busydoingpayingsessionworkup

inL.A., soweaskedVictoryto sit in for our last couplegigs.”

I blurted, “You shouldtotallykeepherinyourband!Sherocks!”

“Victoryhasa regulargigwith another band,” Lucassaid.

Therewentmyfootagain.“She’s just doing us a

favor,”Logansaid.Victory nodded. She was

soquiet.Unlikeme,theblurt

bomb.Someone tapped my

shoulder.Icouldonlyassumeit was Christos with ourdrinks. I totally needed asocial save before I saidsomethingelseawkward.

“Hey,Sam,”thevoicesaidbehindme.IturnedaroundtofaceHunterBlakeley.

Lameballs.Imeant,slimeballs.Whywashehere?Hadhe

still notgotten themessage I

wanted nothing to do withhim? Oh well, this was apublicbar.Wasthereaquickway to explain to everyonethat Hunter was suing myboyfriend for hundreds ofthousands of dollars becausehe was a total ass, and weshould all shun him until hewent away?Maybe not. So Iturned my back to Hunter,hopinghewouldtakethehintandgoaway.

Ishould’veknownbetter.

Hunter squeezed into thecircle next tome. He smiledat the Summer brothers andsaid,“I’mHunterBlakeley.”

Theyboth shookHunter’shand.Theydidn’t knowwhohewas.

I glanced at Romeo,whoseeyeshadbuggedoutofhisface.

“Who’s this?” Hunterdrawled smarmily, eyingVictory like a piece ofmeat.She was gorgeous, and

Hunter was as predictable ashewasobvious.

Victory arched aneyebrowatHunter.Icouldn’ttell if she was interested inhimornot.

He extended his hand,“I’mHunterBlakeley.”

Victory didn’t shake hishand.She juststaredat it forawhile, then gave Hunter anamusedgrin.Shewaskindofhardtoread.

Huntersmiledather.“Are

youafriendofSam’s?”Victory glanced at me.

“Doyouknowthisguy?”sheaskedme.

“Sortof,”Isaiduneasily.Iwanted to shout, “He’shorrible! Run away!” But Iwas trying to be polite, so Ididn’t.

Victorynarrowedhereyesat me, drilling me with hergaze.

That was weird. Sheseemedmad all of a sudden.

Was shemad atme? I don’tknowwhyshewouldbe,butIcouldfeelitcomingoffofherinwaves. Imust have pissedheroff somehow.MaybeshethoughtmyquestiontoLucasabouthissonghadbeenultrarude, and she was offendedfor him? Maybe she wasirritated I’d suggested shejoinLucasandLogan’sband?Was it a sore point betweenthem? I had no idea.Geez, Iwas the First Lady of

Awkwardness & Insecuritytonight.

Victory turned to Hunterandsmiledathim.

Maybe she was attractedto Hunter? I hoped not. Forhersake.

VictorytookasteptowardHunter,untilshewasrightinfront of him. Any second,Victory was going to takeHunter’s elbow, then turn tomeandsaysneeringly,“Let’sditchthesenerds,”beforeshe

and Hunter walked away.ThenLucasandLoganwouldlaughatmeandthrowthingsandcallmenames.

Instead,Victory glared upat Hunter and said, “Dude,you’re making everyoneuncomfortable. Samanthadoesn’t like you, and I cantellyou’reaprick.”Hereyesgleamedwhenshesaidit.Shelooked, I don’t know,dangerous. Standing in frontof him, she seemed way too

small, but you know whatthey said about HoneyBadgers.Shewasn’tafraidofHunteratall.

Romeo clapped a handover his mouth, stifling alaugh.

A smile widened acrossmy face. I couldn’t helpmyself.

Victory said to Hunter,“Why don’t you goelsewhere?”

The grin remained on

Hunter’s face. He was neverone to listen to basicinstructions. He stood hisground. He was enjoyinghimself way too much toleave when the fun was juststarting.

“Hunter Blakeley,”Christos singsonged frombehind me. “So good to seeyou, pal” he saidsarcastically.

MyveryownMotorknightalways knew right when to

showup.Grin.

===CHRISTOS

Hunter turned around andscowled up at me, “ChristosManos,intheflesh.”

Istaredhimdown.Hunterwasabigguy.But

Iwasbigger.Andheknewhedidn’t stand a chance againstmeinafight.Wehadalreadyproved that on two

embarrassingoccasions.“How’slifetreatingyou?”

Hunter chuckled like he wasmybestbud.

“Awesome,”Ismiled.Hunter draped his arm

over Samantha’s shoulders,liketheyweretogether.

Samantha winced andducked away, saying, “Getoffme,Hunter!”

He laughed it off like itwasnobigdeal.

“You want me to teach

Hunter somemanners?” Jakeasked, cracking his knucklesenthusiastically.

“No, I got this,” I said.The last thing I wanted wasfor Jake to knock Hunter’steeth out and have his owncivil suit to deal with. Jakeand his family didn’t havemoneytosparelikeminedid.A big lawsuit would burythem.

HuntersaidtoJake,“Easy,tough guy. Looks like your

boyfriend is going to protectyou. Maybe you can blowhim later as a reward forstandingupforyou.”

“You’re an ass,”Madisonsaid to Hunter. “Don’t youhave some dick modeling togodo?”

“You remembered,”Hunter smiled, like he wasgood friends with Madisonbecauseofit.

“I remembered you’re adickhead,”shescowled.“I’m

sure there’s tons of dickmodeling out there for adickfacelikeyou.”

“Go, Mads!” Samanthablurted before slapping herhandoverhermouth.

Hunter chuckled. “Wow,I’ve never seen so manyballsy women in one place.”He glared atme and Jake ashesaidit,implyingbothofuswerewomen.

“Relax,Hunter,”Isaid.Hesteppedup tomeuntil

his chest was an inch frommineand said, “I don’t thinkso.”

I really wanted to crushhimlikeanant.

“Come on, tough guy,”Hunter hissed. “Show mewhatyougot.”

This was ridiculous.Hunterwas doing everythinghe could to piss me off. Hewas acting like he hadinvulnerability armor onbecause of the civil suit.

Sadly,hesortofdid.Webothknew he would sue me asecondtimeifIhithimagain.Hehadtheupperhandandhewasplayingittothehilt.

Whatever.“When did you become

such a pussy, Christos?”Hunterasked.

I shook my headdismissively.

“You’renotsotoughnow,areyou?”hesneered.

“Hit me, Hunter,” I said

calmly.Hiseyesnarrowed.“Go for it,” I said, “I

won’t hit back. I know youwantto.”

Hunter nodded shrewdly,“Iknowwhatyou’retryingtodo. You want me to hit youso you can file a countersuit.”

“AmI?”“I’mnotstupid,Christos.”“That’s debatable,” I

chuckled.

Samanthaandthegangallsnickered.

Hunter’sfacesoured.“Are you going to leave

now?” I asked. “Or maybeyouwanttocallsomeofyourbuddies so you can even theodds. Make it eight on twoagainst me and Jake. Bringsome guns and knives andshit,soit’llbeafairfight.”

Hunterhuffedderisively.“You’re apussy,Hunter,”

Isaid.“I’llproveit.Hitmeas

hardasyouwant.IpromiseIwon’tsue.”

He looked like he wasconsidering it, he was soangry.

“I’ll let you throw threeshots before I retaliate. Thenit’ll be self defense. But I’llonly swing once. You knowthat’s all it’ll take. And thistime, there’s plenty ofwitnesses.”

“I’m filming all of this,”Romeo said, pointing his

smart phone at me andHunter.

I kept hearing Russell’swords echoing in my head,“No.More.Fights.”Itwasn’ttechnically a fight if I justusedwordstowin,wasit?

“Fuck you, asshole,”Hunter hissed inmy face. “Ican’t wait to see how toughyouareincourt.”

“Me neither,” I said toHunter as he shouldered pastme.

===TIFFANY

I watched the entireshowdown between Christosand Hunter from a distanceafter Icameoutof the ladiesroom. That Hunter was acomplete jerk. He reallyneededsomeonetoputhiminhisplace.

When Hunter barged pastChristos,IconsideredjoiningChristos and his friends. I

always liked spending timewith Christos, but he waswith his girlfriendSamantha.Oh well. I decided to leavetheminpeace.

I’d see Christos someothertime.

I went back to the bar toorder another drink. Iwas inthe mood to drink alonetonight. After my doublemartiniarrived,Isippedonitin solitude while the bandplayedanotherset.Sometime

later,IwatchedChristoswalkout of the bar with hisgirlfriend and the rest of hisfriends.

Sigh.I really needed to accept

that Christos was no longeron the market. Anothermartiniwould certainly help.I signaled the bartender foranother and he nodded inreply.

“Heeeyyyy, Tiffany,”Hunter Blakeley drawled.

Thebandwastakingabreak,sohedidn’thavetoshout.Hesqueezeduptothebarnexttome, pushing some randomchickoutofhisway.

“Hey!” Random Chickblurted at Hunter, “Watchwhereyou’regoing!”

Hunter tossed a casualsmirk in Random Chick’sdirection while giving me alook that said, “Can youbelieve her?”He didn’t care.Hunter was totally full of

himself.Why hadn’t I noticed

before that Hunter could besuch a lout? Maybe becausehis good looks were verydeceiving. Maybe becausewhen I’d met Hunter,Christos had been dating hisgirlfriend for a couple ofmonths and I was lonely. Iwas susceptible to Hunter’squick smile and his goldenamber eyes. And his amplemuscles. And his washboard

abs.Hunter smiled, “How

come you stopped returningmycalls,Tiffany?”

I shrugged while absentlyplaying with the red plasticswordthatskeweredtheoliveinmyemptymartiniglass.

“I had a lot of fun thatnight,” he said hopefully. Icould tell he was fishing foranothershotwithme.

Iwastornbetweendistastefor his bad behavior with

Christos and my owndesperation. I didn’t knowwhichwouldwinouttonight.IthinkthenumberofmartinisI drank would affect mydecision.Ireallydidn’tcare.

When the martini I’dordered arrived, Hunterpulledouthiswalletandsaidtothebartender,“I’llgetthat.And could you bring me aCorona?”

Thebartendernoddedandpulled a bottle out of thebar

fridge, popped the cap, andhandedittoHunter.

Hunter laid bills on thebar,includingatip.

I sipped my martini.Hopefully theginwouldblotoutmy emotions. Iwas tiredof feeling sad all the time. Ithaddefinitelygottenworseinthelastmonth.ThelastthingI wanted to do tonight wasthinkaboutthings.

(Christos)Huntersippedhisbeerand

grinnedatme.He really was a good

looking guy with a friendlysmile.

Heliftedhisbeerandsaid,“Cheers.”

Iclinkedmymartiniglassagainst his beer, then gulpeddownaswallow.

Icouldn’tdecide if Iwasmaking a mistake drinkingwith Hunter or not. I mean,we’dhadsexoncebefore.Hewasn’tatotalloss.

For the next thirtyminutes,Hunter talked abouthimself. And talked, andtalked, and talked. Andtalked. I almost asked thebartender for some earplugs,which they had on handbecauseofthelivemusic.Butthebandwasstillonbreak.Ididn’t want to be entirelyrude. So I nodded a lot,focused on his smolderingamber eyes, shaggy blondhair, and pretended to care

aboutHunter’sboringlife.I wondered if he would

talkthismuchduringsex.Hewas so much better lookingwithhismouthshut.

“Anyway,” he said,finishing some story I’dalreadyforgotten,“that’swhyI spent last summer inCannes.” He pronouncedCannesas“cans.”

I suspected Hunter hadnever been to Cannes, letalone France, or anywhere

else in the Mediterranean,fromthewayhetalkedaboutit. He sounded like a guidebook, not someone whotravelled.

“You want anotherdrink?”Hunterasked.

I held my hand over myglass, “I’m good.” Then,without warning, the wheelsin my head started turning.They always did, no matterhow much I drank. “Hey,Hunter,how isworkgoing?”

The first time he’d takenmeout, he’d told me about hismodeling for two hoursstraight.

“Oh, I haven’t done toomanygigslately.”

“Oh?Why?”“I got in a fight with this

guy.”“Really,” I said, all ears.

“Whatguy?”“Some guy named

Christos Manos. Do youknowhim?”

“No,” I lied. “Whathappened?”

“ThisguyChristos startedsome shit with me awhileback. So I fought him. Iendedupwithabrokennose.But you should’ve seen hisfacewhenIwasfinishedwithhim.”

I had. Christos’ face wasflawless as always, and Ibelievedhisversionofeventsover Hunter’s. “Really?” Igasped. “Did you put him in

thehospitalorsomething?”Hunter chuckled

confidently,“Close.”Such a scam artist. But

then, Christos had alreadytold me as much. I said,“Aren’t you worried aboutgetting sued for beating upthisChristosguy?”

Hunter frowned, “Whydoyouask?”

“Oh, people sue all thetime, don’t they?” I hoped Isounded every bit the dumb

blonde.Igiggledforeffect.“Funny thing is,” Hunter

grinned,“I’msuinghim.”“Why? If you put him in

thehospital?”Hunter shook his head,

“No, Ialmost put him in thehospital.Itwasn’tthatbad.”Icould tell he wasbackpedaling and trying toshore up his lie before it fellapart.

“So, why are you suinghim?”Iaskedinnocently.

“Because he started it,”Hunter sneered snidely. Icould tell the truth wasseepingoutaroundtheedges.Hunterwas in over his head.Hecontinued,“Theguyhasaton of money. He should’veknownbetterthantostartshitwithmehecan’tfinish.He’slucky I didn’t really put himin the hospital.” Hunternoddedasuperiornod.

“What a jerk,” I saidironically. Hunter didn’t

suspect I meant he was thejerk. Iwas still soberenoughto realize that I should’velistenedtomyinstinctsaboutHunter. He was a total tool.After what Christos had toldme tonight, I should’ve toldHunter to walk away themoment he’d walked up tome at the bar. I excusedmyselfonthegroundsthatI’dbeenlonelyandithadbeenamoment ofweakness. “I feellikegoingforawalk,” Isaid

randomly.“Okay,” he said. “You

wantcompany?”“Sure.” I grabbed my

pursefromthehookunderthebarandstoodup.

Hunter followed meoutsideintothenightair.

We walked down CedrosAvenue, past all the closedshopsandparkedcars,untilIfoundanalley.Iturneddownit. It was dark, dingy, andcloying.Goodenough.

I pulled Hunter into thedarkness with both hands,grabbing him by the shirt.Once we were far enoughfrom the streetlights on thesidewalk to be completely inshadows,IpulledHunterintome.

Hepushedup againstme,grinding me against a roughstuccoedwall.

Perfect.Wekissed. Iwasn’t really

into it, but I had a reason to

be here. We made out forawhile.Itdidn’ttakelongforme togetbored.Time togetdowntobusiness.

IunbuckledHunter’sbelt.“Whoa, Tiff,” Hunter

purred, “youdon’twasteanytime.”

I glared at him and fistedhisTshirtinmyhand.“Don’tcall me Tiff. You don’t callmeTiff.Gotit?”

“Whatever you say,darling,”hegrinned.

I could deal with darling.Whatever. I unbuckled hisbelt. “You’re still clean?” Iasked.

“Yeah,” Hunter said, “Itoldyouthatthelasttimewehad sex. I get tested all thetime.”

“But thatwasfivemonthsago.”

Hunter stopped. “Tiffany,look. I get tested regularlyandIdon’tsleepwithanyoldskank that comes along. I’ve

only had sex with two girlssince you, and I know themboth. They’re clean. Trustme.”

“Fine. Let’s get this overwith.”

“Overwith?Do you evenwanttobehere,Tiffany?”

“Yes, I most definitelydo.”

Hunter’s amber eyesflashed.“Yousure?”

“Yeah.”He grinned and leaned

forward.Morewetfishkissesfollowed. Not that itmattered.Weweredoingthis.

So what if we ended uphaving sex in a dank, darkalley? So what if I was drywhenhestuck it in?Sowhatif I told him to fuck me ashardashecouldbeforeIwaseven into it? So what if myback was raw from himgrinding me against thestucco wall behind me? Sowhatifhecameinsideme?

After everything Christoshad told me, Hunter was atotal scam artist. A hot andsexy scam artist. But therewasnowayIwaslettinghimget away with swindlingChristos out of hundreds ofthousandsofdollars.

Hunter wasn’t the onlyone who knew how to playgames.

Whenwewere finished, Isaid,“Ihavetogo.”

“What? Where are you

going? Let me buy youanother drink inside. Or wecould go back to my place.”He glanced around the darkalley, “Someplace nicer thanthis.”

I pushed my dress downovermythong,whichHunterhad torn apart and wasnothingbutawaistbeltnow.Good. I looked over myshoulder at my butt and sawmy dress was nice and dirtyfrom rubbing up against the

stuccoed wall. “I have to goto the emergency room,” Isaid, still looking over myshoulderatmydress.

“The emergency room?”heasked,confused.“Foryourdress?”

“Bye, Hunter.” I startedworking up some tears. Iwanted my mascara runningbefore Igot to thehospital. Istarted toward the lightedsidewalk at the end of thealley.

“Hey,” he grabbedme bythe arm and turned mearound.

“Ow! Hunter!” I shouted,“Thathurts!Letgoofme!”

He released my arm, hiseyes wide with uncertainty.“What’s wrong with you,Tiffany?”

“I’ve been raped. That’swhat’swrongwithme.”

“What?” he gasped. “Ididn’trapeyou!”

“You didn’t? Because I

could swear that’s yoursemen inside me right now.And when I go get swabbedout at the ER, they’re goingtofindit.”Iturnedaroundsohe could see my dirty dress.“Andwouldyoulookatthat?My dress is soiled andscuffed from where youthrew me against the wall.And my thong is torn topieces. Sounds like rape tome. And, boy,” I winced,“wasIdrywhenyouputitin.

I’msurethey’llfindplentyofabrasions.”

“What?” Fear pulled hisface in twenty directions atonce. “You’re insane,Tiffany.”

“AmI?”“Youtotallywantedit,”he

scoffed.“That’s what the rapists

alwayssay.”“Fuckyou,Tiffany.”“It wasn’t fucking. It was

rape.”

He grabbed my armagain.

“Oh!” I jeered, “Are yougoing to beat me up now?Give me a black eye? Goahead,Hunter.”

He let go of my arm andscowledatme.“Whyareyoudoingthis?”

“Because, Hunter, you’rean asshole. And becauseyou’re trying to sue ChristosManos when all he hurt wasyourpride.”

His brows curled. “YouknowChristos?”

“Of course I knowChristos, dumbass. And Iknow he doesn’t start fights.Hetoldmewhathappened.”

Hunter scowled, “Youbitch.” Now he was figuringit out. Not that it made anydifference.

“You justwanthismoneybecause you’re a leech,Hunter.”

“That’sbullshit!”

“Is it?” I askedthoughtfully. “Then why areyoustillsuinghim?”

Hunter smirked andlooked away. He lookedguiltyashell.

I smiled,“I’llmakeyouadeal,Hunter.Inexchangeforme not pressing charges andsending you to prison forthree years, you drop yoursuitagainstChristos.Deal?”

“Fuckyou,”hespat.“You already did,Hunter.

I have the evidence to proveit.AllIneedtodonowisrunmy face into the side of adoorandgivemyselfablackeye.”

“You wouldn’t do that,”hescoffed.

“I wouldn’t? Like Iwouldn’t let you fuck mewhile I was still dry so Icouldframeyou?”

He opened his mouth tosay something, then the lightwent out of his eyes and his

shoulders sagged. “You’reserious,aren’tyou?”

“One hundred percent.Takeyourpick,youcantrytorip off Christos and hisfamily,andendup inprison,oryoucanforgetaboutitandIwilltoo.”

“How do I know youwon’tpresscharges?”

“You don’t. You’re goingtohavetotrustme.”

“Trust you?” He laughed.“Aftertonight,I’llnevertrust

you.”“Hey, I took you at your

word that you haven’t sleptwithanyskankssincethelasttimewehadsex.”

“I haven’t,” he frowned.“Honest.”

“See?” I smiled. “Lookhowgoodtrustworks.”

“Fuck, Tiffany, you’reterrible.”

“That’s how I felt aboutyouwhen I foundoutyou’rebasically blackmailing

Christos.”“Nowyou’reblackmailing

me?”“Yup.”“Fine.Whatareyougoing

to do?” He sounded scared.Good.

“Well,” Isaid,“I’mgoingtotheER,likeIsaid.They’lluse a rape kit to collectevidence. Then I tell them Idon’tknowwhoitwas.Itwasdark,Ididn’tgetagoodlookat your face, it all happened

so fast and you ran offafterward. If you don’t dropyour suit against Christos, Isuddenly rememberwho youare.It’sthatsimple.”

“You’ve thought this allthrough,haven’tyou?”

“And you didn’t? DidChristos tell you his familywas rich, or did your lawyerfigure it out foryou? Iknowhow lawyers think, Hunter.Lawyerslikeyourshavebeentryingtoripoffmyfamilyfor

decades. Like I said,Hunter.You’realeech,andyouwantwhatisn’tyours.Thisisyourlastchance.Dealornodeal?”

Hunter clenched his jawand glared at me like hewantedtokillme.

Sowhat.

Chapter29

CHRISTOS

I lounged on the doublechaise under the San Diegosun the next morning.Samanthaloungedbesideme.Wewerecatchingraysonthedeckbyourpool.

We’dbeenoutsolate,we

crashed when we got home.Neitherofushadanyenergyfor sex before bed. I thinkwe’d both used up all ouradrenalin during theexcitement of my solo showand afterward at the BellyUp.We’djustfallenasleepineachother’sarms.AslongasSamantha was bymy side, Inevercaredwhatwedid.

After breakfast thismorning,allwewantedtodowas rest. It had been a long

year.“Doyouwantanything to

drink?” Samantha asked.“Your lemonade is empty.”She was laying on her back,herbikini topunknotted.Shehad no idea how incrediblyhot she looked, all tan andbrown.

“I’m good,” I muttered.Luckily, we were both tanenough to lay out for a longtimewithoutgettingfried.

“Good, because I’m too

tired to stand up,” shegiggled, restingher cheekonmy shoulder and her arm onmyback.

“I’m going to have aSamantha tan line,” I joked.“It’ll be a silhouette inwhiteof where you curl up on topofme.”

“It’ll look stylish. We’llinvent couples tanning. It’llbe all the rage by the end ofthe summer.Make your ownfancy pattern on your lover.

Unlike a tattoo, it’s easilyremoved.”

“That’s genius. Whyhadn’t we thought of thatbefore,”Ichuckled.

Mycellphonerangontheglasstablenexttome.

“Youdon’thavetoanswerthatnow,doyou?”Samanthaasked.

I picked up the phone.“It’sRussell.”

“More bad news?”Samanthasighed.

“I hope not. I shouldanswer.” I put it on speakerphone.Samanthamayaswellknow.“What’sup,man?”

“Christos! You’re nevergoingtobelievethis,”Russellsaidenthusiastically.

“If it’s bad news, Iprobably will.” I smirked atSamantha.

Sherolledhereyes.“I got a call from Hunter

Blakeley’s attorney thismorning.”

“Fabulous,”Isighed.“Hewantstosettle.”“Yeah?Forhowmuch?A

half million?” I saidsarcastically.

“Twenty-fourthousand.”I sat up in my chaise.

“What?”“You heard me. Twenty-

four thousand. Eleventhousand for Hunter’smedical bills and lostwages,and thirteen thousand for hisattorney’sfees.”

After last night, I couldeasily cover that. Not that Iwanted to throw away thatmuchcashonanassholelikeHunter, but considering I’dhit him instead of walkingaway, twenty-four grandseemed a small price to payto get him off my back forgood. “What the fuckhappened,anyway?I thoughtHunter and his lawyer wereholdingfirm.”

“I have no idea,” Russell

said dramatically. “I’m assurprisedasyouare,Christos.There must be an angel outthere watching over yourass.”

An angel. I shook myhead. Why not? Strangerthings.

“Now,” Russelladmonished, “Before you gogettingtheideathatitalwaysworks out like this, that youalwayswinyourcasesorgetoff easy, may I remind you

thatitwouldbefarsimplerinthe future to avoid fightingaltogether?”

I chuckled, “Hey, wouldyoubelieveIactuallywalkedawayfromafightlastnight?”

“You did?” Russell said,allexcited.“Goodforyou.”

“And you’ll never guesswithwho,”Ichuckled.

“HunterBlakeley?”“How’d you know?” I

chuckled.“Lucky guess. But that

sureisstrange.”“I can’t explain it either.

ButI’mtellingyou,hegotupinmy face and I didn’t lift afinger.”

“Good for you, son. I’mproudofyou.Withany luck,thiswill be the last timeyoueverrequiremylegalservicesforbehavinglikeatoughguy.Promisemewecankeepourrelationship entirely socialfrom here on out?” Hesounded amused and hopeful

atthesametime.“It’sapromise.ButIneed

to ask you one more thingfirst.”

I could practically hearhim rolling his eyes over thephone. “Christos, do I evenwanttoknow?”

IglancedatSamantha.ToRussell, I said, “You knowwhat? I’ll tell you about itlater.”

“All right, son. I’ve gotwork to do. Let’s talk again

soon,allright?”“Will do,” I smiled and

ended the call. I turned toSamanthaandgrinned.

“Wow,” she said, “that’sgoodnews,right?”

“Totally,”Ismiled.“I mean, it’s a lot of

money, but I guess you haveenough?”

“Yup.” I laid my headbackonthechaiseandgazedupat thepurebluesky.“Forthe first time in years, I

finally feel like I can put allthe shit in my life behindme.”

“That’s awesome,”Samanthasaid.

After awhile, I stood up.“Want some lemonade? I’mgoing to go make a freshpitcher. We finished off theone my grandad left in thefridge.”

“Now you’re making ittoo?”shegrinned.

“Hey,” I smiled, “it’s a

Manostradition.”===

SAMANTHA

Christos and I spent theafternoon under a sunumbrella.All Iwanted to dowasbeoutsideandrelaxwithhim in theperfectSanDiegoweather.

Hemademedinner,whichwas fresh gyros, becauseneitherofuswantedtobotherwithanythingextravagant.

“Hey, where’s Spiridon?”Iasked.“Heshouldjoinus.”

“I don’t know,” Christossaid. “He’s been gone allday.”

I sortofwanted to talk toSpiridon about the show lastnight, but it would have towait. Christos and I ateoutside at one of the decktables, watching the oceanwaves roll in. The food wassuperyummy.

A cooling breeze picked

uparoundseveno’clock.“Hey,youwanttogofora

hike?”Christosasked.“Do we have to? I’m so

tired.”“Come on,” he smiled,

“we can watch the sunsetfrom up at the bench on thehill.”

“That’s a long hike,” Igroused.“Can’twewatchthesungodownfromhereonthedeck?”Adusty hikewas thelastthingIwantedtodoright

now.“The exercise’ll do you

good.”“I ran yesterday morning.

Idon’tneedanyexercise.”“Icancarryyou,”hesaid.“Don’tdo that,Christos. I

would feel like an invalid.Can’t itwaituntil tomorrow?Ipromisewe’llgotomorrow.Firstthing,ifyouwant.”

“No, it really has to betonight.”

“Why are you acting

weird?”Iasked.“It’s nice out. I just want

to go on a hike. Is that soweird?”

I sighed. “Why don’t yougo without me. I’ll be rightherewhenyougetback.”

“We’re going,” he said ashestoodup fromhischairatthe table, bent over, andpicked me up out of mychair.

“Christos!I’mtootired,”Ipleaded, but I was sort of

laughing.He carried me upstairs. It

had been awhile since he’dcarriedmeplaces.Inevergottiredofit.Hesetmedownonthebed.

“Why don’t we have sexinstead?” I suggested as Ifloppedbackonthebed.

“Naw,ahikeisbetter.”I sat up suddenly. “What

alien kidnapped my Christosand replaced him with thecelibateversion?”

He chuckled as he pulledon socks and running shoes.“Let’sgoforahike.”

“You’re not going to letthisgo,areyou?”

“No,”hesaidashepulledoutmyshoesandsocks.

“Fine,” I groaned. “Butyou’regoingtohavetocarryme. I don’t care if Ido looklikeaninvalid.”

“I can handle that,” hegrinnedhisdimpledgrin.

“Ibelieveyoucan.”

Ten minutes later, wewere walking toward thetrailhead near the house,holdinghands.

“The hill?” I groaned.“You’re going to make mehike all the way up to thebench,aren’tyou?”

“It’sgoodforyourshapelylegs,”hesmiled.

“Don’t try to complimentyour way out of carryingme,”Ijokedaswetrudgedupthehillside.

Half way up, Spiridoncame hiking down, followedbyNikolos.

“Whatareyouguysdoinghere?”Iblurted.

“Oh, nothing,” Spiridonsaid as he jogged past. Hewas in a great shape for anoldguy.

Nikolos was right behindhim,“Seeyoutwolater.”

I stopped and watchedthemdisappeardownthehill.“What were they doing up

here?”“Who knows,” Christos

said. “Come on, before thesungoesdown.”

I shrugged and we hikedup the rest of theway to thefamily bench. To the placewhere Christos and I hadshared so many importantfirsts, including crazycavemanandcavewomansexunder themoon not too longago. I’d been a wild womanthat night. I blushed just

thinkingaboutit.As always, I was huffing

after making it up the steephill. I took the final stepsaroundthebushesthatcircledtheManos familybench,andturnedthecorner.

Theview that awaitedmewas,asalways,stunning.

But the content of it wasdrasticallydifferent.

And not because of thesummersun.

But because of the rose

petals that made a carpet ofred leading up to a smallwhite wooden altar thatoverlooked the view of thePacificOcean.

On top of the altar werebouquets of roses sitting onboth sides of a small goldencenterpiece.Thecenterpiecewaslikealittlefiligreedriser.On top of the golden riserwasabigseashell,openedtoreveal a red velvet boxholdingaglitteringring.

Mybodyfilledwithchills.Mythroat tightened,myeyesburned, my knees shook. Icouldn’t take another step. Iheld my fingers to my lips,whichquiveredlikecrazy.

“Doyouneedmetocarryyou?”Christosasked,holdinghishandouttome.

Inodded.He picked me up and

carried me the few steps tothe family bench and set medown on it. Then he stepped

up to the altar and lifted theringboxoutoftheseashell.

He turned to me andkneeledatmyfeet.

Theringglimmeredinthedazzling sunlight, a thousandsparklingstarsdancingoffofit. It was the most beautifulringI’deverseen.

“Samantha,” he said,“agápimou,youaretrulythemost amazing woman I’veever known. The ways inwhich you make me happy

are beyond measure. Youmake my life better, youmakeme better, and withoutyou,Iwouldonlybehalftheman I’ve become. The firsttimeItookyouuphere,Itoldyou this place was sacred.Only family comes up here.Now it’s time to make itofficial.”

His eyes were brimmingwithtears.Minewererunningsilently down my face inrivers.

He cleared his throat,choked up with emotion,“Samantha Anna Smith, willyou marry me, agápi mou?”hewhispered.

“Yes,” I whispered, myvoicegurglywithemotion.

I had secretlywished thatChristos and I would betogetherforever,butI’dbeentoo frightened to ever say itoutloud.

Nowmydreamhad cometrue.IcouldsayitasloudasI

wanted,exceptIcouldbarelyspeak.

Christos slid the ringontomy finger. I couldn’t tellwhose hands were shakingmore,hisormine.

Itdidn’tmatter.Christos and I were now

andalwaysforever.Forever.LOVE.

Epilogue

SAMANTHA

“Are you nervous?”Kamikoasked.

“I’mokay,”Isaid,fanningmy face. It was a bit warminside the hotel room at TheLodge at Torrey Pines,despite the perfect seventy-

fivedegreeweatheroutside.Ithink it was partially mynerves.Ormaybethefacttheroom cost $600 a night. Iguess you paid extra for thedoormen wearing kilts. Yes,kilts,becausetheyhadagolfcourse. But it wasn’t cheesyat all. The grounds were soincredibly lush, and thehotelhad such a rustic, romanticcharm, I had instantly lovedtheplacewhenChristosandIhadvisitedhereinJune.

“How can you benervous?”Romeoasked.“It’syour wedding day. Aftertoday, you’ll be able to fuckChristos without having towear a scarlet A on yourchest.”

“Romeo!” Kamikogroused.

“What? It’s technicallyadultery if you’re notmarried.”

I rolled my eyes at him.“Whatcenturyareyou living

in?”“The seventeenth?” he

smiled.“That’swhat I thought,” I

giggled.“I’ll turn up the A/C,”

Madison said. I was so gladsheandJakewereable toflyback from surfing in Hawaiitojoinusforthewedding.I’dnever seen Madison so tan.She was practically darkbrown.

“Can you just open the

sliding glass door?” I asked.“Ithinkit’llbequickertogetabreezeinhere.”

She did, and cool airdrifted inside. I feltimmediate relief. I loved thesmell of the fresh ocean air.At least my wedding gownwasofftheshoulder,soIhadventilation. I just hoped Ididn’t sweatmymakeup off.“Who thought of this wholething where the groom can’tsee the bride before the

ceremony?Iswear,I’mgoingto melt by the time I seeChristos.”

Madison and Kamikoworematching pale lavenderbridesmaid dresses. It was ahigh-lowpleatedmaxidesignwith a thin belt around thewaist, perfect for the warmweather. I wanted mygirlfriends to lookas sexyasme. Ididn’tgo in forall thatbusiness about being the starof my wedding. They were

importanttoo.“Areweready?”Iasked.Madison and Kamiko

nodded.“Now I’m nervous,”

Romeo said. He wore amatching pale lavendertuxedo.

“I can’t believe youinsisted Sam make you abridesmaid,Romeo,”Kamikogrinned.

“He’s totally one of thegirls,”Ijoked.

Wemade our way out ofthe hotel room, and down tothe Arroyo Terrace behindthe hotel. It overlooked thecroquet lawn behind theeighteenth hole of the golfcourse. Blue skies and lushgreen lawns surrounded us.Theoceankissedtheskyinapeaceful white line on thewesternhorizon.

“How’s my makeup?” Iaskeddesperately.

Madison, Romeo, and

Kamiko looked at me andsmiled.

“You look perfect,”Madisonsaid.

“Can I do youbefore yousayIdotoChristos?”Romeoasked. “Then you won’t becheatingonhim.”

“Enough!” I said. “Let’sgo.”

Rowsofwhitechairswereset upon the lawn and filledwith people. Most of themwere friends of the Manos

family.Myfriendswererightbesideme.

A carpet of white rosepetals were arranged leadingup to the lavender weddingarch. The petals were in acurling design thatincorporated the green of thegrass. The grass showedthroughincurvingcutouts.

ThemusicplayingquietlyoutsidetransitionedintoHereComes The Bride. Somepeoplethoughtitwascheesy,

buttomeitwasamandatoryclassic.

Mydadsteppeduptome,wearing a navy suit. HelookedmorehandsomethanIusuallygavehimcreditfor.

“Samantha,” he smiled,offeringhiselbow.

“Hey,Dad.”Never in my wildest

dreams had I imagined hewould want to be here. I’dexpected him to protest andargue and tell me I was an

idiot for getting married soyoung and before I finishedmydegree.Buthehadn’t.Hejust wanted to be with hisdaughteronherweddingday.Itwas a pleasant surprise, tosaytheleast.

Iblinkedbacktears.Therewasnowaymymakeupwasgoing tomake it through theceremonyunscathed.

We marched toward thealtar,whereChristosawaited.I kept my eyes on the prize

because I was so nervous.Out the corner ofmy eyes, Inoticed all the smiling facesstaringatmefromthecrowd.

As my dad and I nearedthefinalrow,Iglancedtotheright. Sitting on the aisle inthefrontrowwasmymom.

It had been a huge shockwhen my dad had told methatMomhadmovedbackinwithhim.Theywereworkingthings out. She was veryapologetic to him, according

to my dad, and veryapologetictomeaswell.

Oddly, over the summer Ihad discovered that I wasforging individualrelationshipswitheachofmyparents.Theyhadbothstartedtreatingme like an adult, butin their own way. I kindaliked it. It was like we hadbecomeequals. I realizedmyparentswerenowtrustingmetotakecareofmyself.

Thatreallyblewmeaway.

Icouldn’tbelieveit.Butitwastrue.My mom smiled at me

fromwhere she sat. Shewascrying.Maybe shewasn’t sobad, after all. I smiled at herbriefly before locking myeyesonChristos.

Jakestoodbesidehiminareal tuxedo for once. BesideJake were Nikolos andSpiridon,also inblack tuxes.Theyallgrinnedatme.

But I couldn’t tear my

eyes offChristos.Hewas sounbelievablyhandsome.Evenwith his muscles and tattooscoveredupbyhistux,hewasgorgeous.Thehottestguyonthe planet.His sapphire eyesshone into mine like lovebeacons. His dimpled grincameoutandblazedbrighterthanthesun.

My god, he was theperfect specimen ofmanliness.

My dad kissed my cheek

before I stepped up to thealtar. Christos took my handand we faced the Justice ofthePeace.

Afterweexchangedvows,which I barely remembereddoing, we did the candlelighting ceremony. ChristosandIusedourtwocandlestolight the one in the center,beforeblowingourindividualcandlesout.

Twobecameone.Forever.

I flashed on amemory oftheoneremainingcandlethathadbeenburningthemorningafter my and Christos’ pre-Valentine’s celebration inhisbedroom.Therosepetals,thecandles, and the See’schocolates. Too bad it hadbeen the day before hiscriminal trial. I had believedthatmorningImightlosehimto prison for years. Maybeforever. I had believed thatone remaining candle had

been an ill omen meaning Iwould soon be on my own.HowwrongIhadbeen.NowIrealizedthatonecandlehadsymbolizedouroneness eventhen. Silly girl. Why had Ibeensoworried?

When the Justice of thePeacepronouncedushusbandand wife, Christos leanedovertokissme.

Yes,despiteallthekissingand sexwe’d had, itwas themost magical kiss of my

entirelife.The whole crowd

applauded and cheered. ButMadison cheered louder thananybody. Well, Romeo waspretty damn loud, butMadison gave him a run forhismoney.

While everyone cheered,Christosmuttered inmy ear,“Nowwillyoutakeyourhalfof the money for the LOVEportrait? And my portrait ofyou as the fiery angel? It’s

only about a million bucksafterBrandon’scut.”

My eyes popped wideopen.HowcouldIarguewiththat? Well, I could. A little.“DoIhaveto?”Ismiled.

“You’re my wife. It’sfifty-fifty from here on out.What’s mine is yours. Andyou’rerich.”

“In that case…” I grinnedas we kissed gently again,“howcanIsayno?”

The reception was held

inside the beautiful diningroom inside The Lodge.Kamiko had brought a date.Dillon McKenna, theAdventure Time storyboardartist. They were entirelycartooncutetogether.

Romeo, to all of oursurprises, had brought JustinTomlinson, Mr. Boy Bandeditor of The Wombat. Icouldn’ttellhowserioustheywere.IwassureI’dfindout.

Wehadhiredanawesome

wedding DJ named GrahamGold who got everyone upand dancing after dinner. Hewas totally worth the extracash we spent on him. Hewasn’t just a DJ, he was anentertainer. The perfectchoice.

During the bouquetthrowing ceremony, I thinkJustin Tomlinson was asshocked as everybody elsethat Romeo caught mybouquet.

Throughout the reception,everything continued to blurby. I did my best to talk toeveryone. I hoped I didn’tforget to say hello to anyoneimportant. I said hello toBrandon,whowas there,andRussellMerriweather.ButI’dnevermetmanyofthepeoplein attendance. I hoped theydidn’t mind I forgot theirnames seconds after beingintroduced.

Atonepoint,Christosand

I were standing by thewedding cake, talking toNikolos.

“I wanted to explain mywedding present, before youtwogoonyourhoneymoon,”Nikolossaid.

“You don’t have to dothat,Bampás,” Christos said.“Whateveritis,it’llbefine.”

“I agree,” I said. “Youbeing here is more thanenough.”

Nikolosnodded. “Youare

so young and innocent,Samoula,” he smiled. “Butsometimes, marriage can bedifficult.That’swhyIwantedtoexplainmygift.”

“Didyoubuyusmarriagecounseling sessions orsomething?”Christosjoked.

“No,IboughtyourLOVEportrait. The one of you andSamoula.”

“What?” Christos and Ibothgasped.

“I made a special

arrangementwithBrandon.Itwasn’tacommissionsale forhim.We just did that soyouwouldn’t ask any questions.All of themoney is going tothe two of you. All$500,000.”

Gulp. That was one bigweddingpresent.

Nikoloscontinued,“AndIwant you both to have thepainting.Iwantit toserveasareminderofthespecialloveyou both feel today. I want

you never to forget it.”Nikolos was clearlyovercomewithemotion.Thiswas an important gesture forhim.

“You can’t do that,Bampás.”Christosprotested.

I agreed with Christos.Thisseemedliketoomuchofa wedding gift to giveanybody.

“Yes,Ican,”Nikolossaid.“You’re my son. And now,you, Samoula, are my

daughter.” He looked at me.“I see the hesitation in youreyes, Samoula. Let meexplain. I don’t want you ormysontoeverhavetoworryabout money in yourmarriage. Money worriesdroveawedgeintomyfamilythat I’ve regretted fora long,long time.”HegaveChristosaheavy,sadlook.

Christosnoddedsolemnly.Nikolos turned back to

me, “I made the decision to

chase money when I was ayoung man so my wife andson would always haveenoughtobesafe.Butmoneyworries became myobsession. And my belovedwife Vesile left me becauseofit.NowthatIhavemoney,Idon’twantthesamethingtohappen to my son. I don’twant you to ever have areason to leave him,Samoula.”

The heartbreak Nikolos

held behind his eyes wasimmeasurable.Iwasreadytocry for him. He blinked hiswet eyes and turned to smileathisson.

“But we have plenty ofmoney, Bampás,” Christospleaded.“Imadea tonat theshow.”

“Now you have more,”Nikolos smiled at him. “Ifyou’resmartwithit,youwillalwayshaveenough.”

“Iknowallaboutpinching

pennies,” I said. “I grew uparoundsavingmoney.Iknowjustwhattodo,”Igrinned.

Nikolos smiled,“Excellent.Iknowyou’lltakecareofmyson,paidímou.”

Nikolos raised the waterglassheheldinhishand,“Tothe happy couple. The heartthatlovesisalwaysyoung.”

Christosand Ididn’thaveanyglassesatthemoment,sowesmiledatNikolos.

“Thanks, Bampás,”

Christossaid.Nikolos sipped his water

before wrapping an armaround his son and slappinghim on the backaffectionately. “I’m sorryyourmothercouldn’tbeheretonight,” he said, holdingbacksuddentears.

Christos winced andsighed heavily, as he huggedhis father and said in a thickvoice,“Yeah.”

Christos hadn’t spoken to

hismotherforayearormore,asfarasIknew.Idon’tthinkhe’d seen her in far longer.Sadly,Idon’tthinkhe’deverforgiven his mother forleaving when he was tenyearsold.Shehadbrokenthehearts of both father and sonthatday.

WhenNikolosreleasedhisson from their hug, I couldsee thatChristoshad tears inhiseyes.Irubbedhimonthebackofhistuxedoashehung

hishead.“Sorry,”hemuttered.“It’s okay,” I reassured,

wrapping both my armsaroundhim.

After a moment, I lookedup and saw Nikolos’ eyessuddenlywideninsurprise.

Iturnedtolookbehindmeat whatever had caught hisattention.

My chest tightened into aknot.

Themostbeautifulwoman

I’deverseeninmyentirelifewalked up behind me acrossthe dining room. She hadflowingdarkhairandbrilliantblue eyes. Everyone wasstaring at her. Shecommandedattentionwithouteven trying.She could easilybeasupermodel,eventhoughshewas older.Her long bluescoop neck dress drapedelegantlytohertoes.Ihadnoideawhoshewas,butIcouldmakeaprettygoodguess.My

heartjumpedintomythroat.“I’m sorry I’m late,” she

saidinanelegantvoice.“Myflight was delayed, but Iwouldn’tmissthisdayfortheworld.”

Christos turned to her.Shock blotted out all theexpression on his face as hewentwhite.His face sagged.Helookedlikehewasseeinga ghost. He was absolutelystunned when he said,“Mamá?”

The woman opened herarms to her son, “Paidímou…”

Myjawdropped.“Vesile?”Nikolos gasped.

“Kardiamou?”Vesile looked between

Christos and Nikolos withsilent tearsdrippingfromhereyes. She said, “I’ve missedyouboth.”

THEEND.

Fornow…===

A NOTE FROMDEVON:

Every ending is always abeginning. I was genuinelysad to say goodbye toSamantha, Christos, Romeo,andthegangasIpenned(err,typed…it’s not like I used afountainpen)thefinalscenesofthisbook.IliterallysloweddowninmywritingbecauseI

didn’twantthingstoend.Ihavesomanystoriesleft

to tellabout thegang,asyoumayhavenoticed.WhatdoesSpiridon do when he’s out?What happened between himandProfessorWaltChildressso many years ago to makeSpiridon stoppainting?Whatabout Madison and her surfshopwithJake?WillKamikoend up a doctor or an artist?What about Romeo? Youknow he’s destined for

something flamboyantlyspectacular.

And of course, there’sNikolosandVesile.Theirs isalovethatmakesmeliterallyweep when I think about it.How else can you explainhow Christos turned out soawesome? He had the bestrole models imaginable untilthe stresses of life toreNikolos and Vesile apart.Who wants to hear theirstory?IknowIdo.

And last but not least,Tiffany.

She wasn’t such a bitchafterall.

No wonder Christosalwaystreatedhersowell.

What’sgoingtohappentoTiffany? Her life is a totalmess.I’dlovetoknow!

Wow, there’s so manystories left to tell about mySanDiegohomies.

Butfornow,theyallneeda rest. They’ve been on set,

performing their hearts outfor you, dear reader, for thelastninemonths!;-)

Now it’s Victory Payne’sturn. She wants to be arockstar. Like, really, reallybadly.

And who doesn’t love agoodrockstarstory?

WanttogetanemailwhenDevon’snextbookis

released?

Signuphere:http://eepurl.com/B7crf

VictoryaRocker

Romanceseries

starringVictoryPayneandthosehottiesLucas&Logan

Summer

comingSpring2014

PersonalthanksfromDevon

Hartford:

Thankyou,dearreader,fortakingthetimetolivewithSamantha,Christosandthegangforawhile!IfyouenjoyedReckless,pleaseleavesomepositivefeedbackonAmazon,Goodreads,oranybookblogsyoufrequent.Besuretotellyourfriendsaboutit!

Ifyouwanttodropmealine,

youcanfindmeatanyofthelinksbelow.Ilovetohearwhatyouhavetosay,andIlovetotalkbooks!

-Devon

LikemeonFacebook

FriendmeonFacebook

FollowmeonTwitter@DevonHartford

FollowmeonWordPressatdevonhartford.com

===

ABOUTTHEAUTHORDevonHartfordspentmostof

hislifeinSouthernCalifornia,

frequentingmanyofthelocationsinReckless.Devonalsopaints.Hisbackgroundintheartswastheinspirationforthisbook.

OTHERBOOKSBYDEVONHARTFORD:

Fearless(TheStoryofSamanthaSmith#1)

Reckless(TheStoryofSamanthaSmith#2)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTSFirstandforemostIneedto

thankfellowNewAdultauthorElleCasey.Shehasgoneaboveandbeyondinhereffortstohelpmegetthisseriesoffthegroundandgetitintothehandsofyou,thereader.Youshoulddefinitelycheckoutherwork!

Secondly,thankstoallmypassionateandfantasticbetareaders:NeicyCassidy,TheREALJulieEngland,KerrishaBudhu,MeganCChristmas,SarahWelsh

(a.k.a.PrincessFrilly-BottomsoftheLandofWillow),BethanieMelander,MariaCombee,EileenFitzharris,MandyKarsa,AnneBerkeley,JeneneTownsley,BrandyEverard,NatashaSlater,StephanieSvajgl,DoraKitinas,Kimber,MurielGarcia,Sandye,CrystalHoffman,DarleneWeber,Whitney"sugarpeas"Hutchinson,SteffiniWalkerTexasRanger,WendyBoyer,JennyBayes,MicheleMcKenzie,Sarah,Kerri-AnneCarruthers,RosanneTriegaardt,JoCox,LynnWalters,JennHedge(BetaSpeedQueen),

NickiHewitt-Hart,TeresaHamman,AshleyLoreneHall,NancyByers,TaniaClark,Sandye,KellyHirsh,andLynnetteKucharskiforinvaluablefeedbackandencouragement!

BecsGlassandSinfullySexyBooksfordedicatedbookpimpinglove!

ChrissyZentSharpforawesomebookpimperyviaTheBookWhore-der'sDelights.Besuretocheckthemoutifyou’reaRomancereader.

Andthankstoeverybodyelsewhohashelpedmakethisbookareality!

WHILEYOU’REWAITINGFORTHERELEASEOFMYNEXTNOVEL:

Don’tforgettoreadthesebooksbymyfriendsandfellowromanceauthorsJaneHarvey-Berrick(Lifers)andDeliaSteele(Broken).

LifersbyJaneHarvey-Berrick:

Aftereightyearsinprison,twenty-fouryearoldJordanKaneisthemaneveryonelovestohate.Heisthelocalpariahinhishometown,shunnedbyeveryone,includinghisownparents.Buttheirhatredofhimdoesn’tcomeclosetotheloathinghefeelseverytimehelooksinthemirror.TorreyDelaneyisnewintown,andcertainlydoesn’tbehaveinawaythelocalsbelieveapreacher’sdaughtershould.AsfriendshipformsbetweenJordanandTorrey,cantwodamagedpeoplefindtheirplaceintheworld?Islovealife

sentence?

BrokenbyDeliaSteele:LexihasdevelopedaverynastyshellaroundherBROKENheartandpickedupaBDSMlifestyleforallthewrongreasons.Shehideshertrueselftothepointoflosingitcompletely.Sheiswild,angry,conceited,foul,andrefusestoletanyoneintoherworld.UntilCameron…asweetcountryboywithaheartofgold.CanhehelpLexifindthelightinherdarkestdays,orwillherdarknessbethedeathofhim?Buthowcanhehelp

herifshedoesn’tevenrealizejusthowBROKENshetrulyis?

17+(LanguageandSexualContentmaynotbesuitableforsomereaders)