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“Sam, come on. Don’t fucking do this. Please?” I asked.
“Lauren. If Lauren finds out—”
Her hand fell to the doorknob, and she looked back at me with tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But none of this should have happened.”
Then she ran out the door, leaving me behind again.
I laid in bed all fucking afternoon kicking myself in the ass. Fuck! Of course, that would be the issue. Lauren was her best damn friend, and she’d tear Sam in two if she caught wind of what was going on. But that was bullshit. I cared about Sam. A lot. What the fuck was so wrong with that?
Either way, I wasn’t about to stay in some grimy Los Angeles hotel for the night. By myself. Smelling like Sam.
I put my clothes on and grabbed the divorce papers. I climbed into my car and drove to Sam’s parents’ house. I was relieved to see Sam’s car in the driveway.
I kept the car running and ran up to the porch. I set the folder of papers down on the ground and rang the doorbell, then took off toward my car. I quickly backed out of the driveway and sped down the road, making sure Sam hadn’t seen me as I looked back in the rearview mirror.
I saw her step out onto to the porch right before I turned the corner.
CHAPTER 12
SAM
I’d been staring at the envelope that held the damn divorce papers for a couple of days. And now that they were there in front of me, I wasn’t sure if I still wanted to do it. I had no idea who I’d married in Vegas, and that irked me. I was in control of everything in my life. It was paramount that I had it. I craved it, after the way I was raised. I had a plan for my life. A plan I’d enacted after my parents had practically disowned me.
And none of this was in the plan.
Growing up with my parents was hard. They were strong-willed and expected their daughter to walk a certain path. But when I gave up their expectations of me and went to school for fashion design and journalism, they cut me off. No money. No support. Nothing. I took out my own student loans, signed away my life and committed to years of monthly payments to do what I wanted. To reach the dream I’d had ever since I was a teenager.
To build and design my own fashion brand.
I had it all figured out. I graduated early, at twenty-one years old. I took summer classes and winter classes, never once stopping to take a break. I took a job with the fashion magazine I wrote for to start paying down my student loans, take care of myself, and save up for the money it would take to start my own line of clothing someday. I wouldn’t start dating until twenty-five, and by thirty I would be ready to put pencil to paper for the designs I sketched at three in the morning when I couldn't sleep.
That was the plan.
And Vegas had obliterated that plan.
I reached for the manila envelope and sat on the edge of the guest bed. That was what my room became when I went off to college and never looked back. A guest bedroom. Something strangers slept in. I drew in a deep breath and slid the papers out, but the second I saw “divorce decree” at the top, I stopped.
These papers would effectively end my marriage to one of the men I’d been in love with for years.
I set the papers down and closed my eyes. I allowed my mind to fall back to a time when things were easier. I remembered the first time I saw Liam. He was ripping weeds out of his mother’s flowerbeds, sweat dripping down his forehead. His hair had been soaked and droplets fell from his unshaven chin. Even in his early twenties, his muscles were thick. I could still remember the way they jumped with every pull he took.
Just like they had when he’d been fucking me in Vegas. And Luke. Quiet, beautiful Luke, with his sparkling green eyes and his quiet demeanor. I loved spending time with him. Whenever my parents did let me go next door to Lauren’s to hang out, he would always be there, reading a book or helping his brothers with their math homework. And when he’d look up at me and smile, my knees would quake. My bones would evaporate, and the entire world would stop.
Like it did when I straddled his lap in Vegas.
And Logan. The jokester. The one with the neatly-trimmed goatee. He always made me laugh. Lauren and I would sneak out and walk the neighborhood at night, and he would come along with us. Make us laugh and fight off the neighborhood dogs that got out of their fences during the night. He was always fighting with Liam about something, but watching Logan get angry was entrancing. His muscles would pulse, and the veins in his forearms would stand out.
Like they did when I was sucking his cock in Vegas.
Then, there was Levi. Crass, foul-mouthed, and every inch the bad boy people assumed he was. Clean-shaven, a serial dater, and the most passionate person I’d ever known. He knew what he wanted, and he never stopped until he got it. And his heat was magnetizing.
Like it had been in Vegas.
I shivered at the thought of every one of them, and my heart began to pound against my chest. If I slid those papers out, I wouldn’t simply know who I was married to. I’d know who I was divorcing. And that thought was painful. Getting married like this was not the plan, but neither was divorce. Lauren and I watched so many friends of ours in high school go through the rocky situations of homes splitting up and parents using their children against the other. I promised myself that when I got married, if ever, it would be right the first time.
And now, I was about to break that promise that I had made to myself so long ago. I was no longer sure what the right thing to do was.
