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Samantha
When I arrive home from Asher’s ranch, my frustration still exudes from my pores. I find myself angry at Texas and missing New York. Texas men sure know how to fuck, but New York men feel comfortable with themselves. Plus, I miss New York pizza.
I throw open my bedroom door and slam my suitcase onto my bed. I accidentally leave my bedroom door open but don’t regret it until I notice my father (by blood only) standing in the doorway watching me and chewing with a tobacco-saturated dribble of saliva on his chin.
“Heading somewhere?” he asks casually.
“I want to visit Gabriella in New York,” I inform him in a matter-of-fact tone, hoping to intimidate him from fighting with me. I haphazardly toss shoes into the suitcase. I mindlessly pack my cowboy boots before pausing and removing them from the bag.
“That sounds like fun. You don’t plan to ask me for money to fund your spontaneous trip, do you?” Dad asks.
My father believes that he controls me with money and likes to perpetuate that narrative, but he truly doesn’t. I pay him rent and all my bills (and vacations). He just fails to acknowledge that.
He reminds me of another reason I want to leave Texas for the weekend- him.
“It sounds like an offer to me,” I sweetly and sarcastically say, looking up at him with a smile.
“Look, Sammy, I need to know your plans. I hope you don’t want to go anywhere. I have some deals I want your input on,” he declares, spitting into his dip cup. I cringe a little bit at the repulsive habit.
“You can handle your deals all on your own,” I advise him.
An impatient man, he starts getting noticeably agitated.
“Samantha Laurier, I expect you to stay here when I need you,” he demands.
After the interaction I just had with Asher, I do not fear my father at this moment. I approach him aggressively and knock the dip cup out of his hand.
“I don’t really care what you think, pa. Also, chewing tobacco is disgusting,” I scream at him.
Then, I gather the majority of makeup bottles on my vanity into makeup back with one large swoop of my forearms, causing makeup to fall onto the floor, and fling it into the suitcase, too.
My dad watches me quietly until he demonstrates a bit of emotion on his face.
“I know you miss New York. I also know I didn’t welcome you as well as I could have. Please stay, though. I need your help,” he pleads.
“With all due respect, sir, I am going to New York. I can help you when I get back,” I alert him.
Seemingly aware of the gravity of the situation, he uncharacteristically nods in acknowledgment and slowly walks away, leaving the spilled dip cup behind.
I quickly clean up the mess and shut the door. I then fall on my bed and count different items I can see, smell, and touch in my bedroom to prevent a panic attack. When my heartbeat slows back down to a normal range, I take a deep breath and close my suitcase.
As I leave for the airport, I kick my cowboy boots out of my way.
I buy myself a last-minute first-class seat to avoid any more aggravation, but I quickly regret my decision when an older man who looks like my father sits next to me. I can tell he wants to talk before he even says a word.
“Country girl going to the city to become a model?” he guesses, after grossly looking me up and down.
“Gee, I hope so. I have the name of a casting agent who works for a role for something called an escort. I hope I get it!” I mention in a ditzy voice.
“I see. You know, jobs come and go. I can get you consistent work as my assistant and help me when I make business deals. I think my constituents will like you,” he proposes with a Cheshire cat grin.
“Boy, I hope I can get personal attention from you. I need to learn the ropes,” I tease, moving in slightly closer to him.
He puts his hand on my thigh and continues to penetrate me with his hungry gaze.
“As long as you unbutton the first couple buttons of your shirt to show off those beauties on your chest, I will give you all the personal attention you want,” he solicits me.
I smell tobacco chew on his designer suit.
