Firstly, I want thank all of you guys who are supporting me with 'remember me, remember you' and those of you who have left me very kind reviews on the rest of my fics. It means an absolute ton. I am seriously filled with joy with every email alert i get.
So, my sister's home all week from school because of spring break, and I couldn't manage to get back into my melancholic mindset for'remember me, remember you' what with all of the happiness going on around the house. So I wrote this little thing.
Consider it a delicious treat-- it was for me :)
- - -
It's late on Friday night, or maybe it's Saturday morning, when Sam sends the text message, r u awake?
A few minutes pass before she gets a reply.
She laughs, imagining the look on his face, how he must be bleary-eyed and tired, and sends him another message.
dont lie to me, fredweird. If u were sleeping, u wouldnt have answered my text.
Freddie sends, seriously, no. I'm sleeping.
She smirks; it had only taken three rings of the dial tone before he picked up.
"Sleeping," Freddie grunts into the phone, voice low and drowsy.
"Sorry," Sam says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "But this is sort of an emergency."
"My sleep is sort of an emergency."
"Freddie! You know I wouldn't have called you if it was something I could handle on my own!"
"It's…" he pauses. "It's two in the morning, Sam."
She pouts, hopes he can hear it in her voice. "I know, it's late. I'm sorry. But you know I wouldn't have called you if it was blah, blah, etcetera."
She hears him sigh after a moment, and she knows he's given in. "What's the emergency, Sam?"
Sam stretches back on her bed, twirling a strand around her finger as she thinks for a minute. "Okay, um, you know that paper that's due in class next week?"
She stifles a giggle when she hears the panic in his voice. "You know, that paper on the, um, philosopher… for that class we have?"
"What paper, what class, Sam?"
She laughs out loud. "That paper!"
She hears him shift over the line, and sigh heavily. "You're a horrible liar, Sam. What did you really call me for?"
"To wake you, duh. I'm bored, it's the weekend, and nobody under the age of eighteen should be asleep before dawn."
"Oh. In that case… Goodnight, Sam."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Sam sits up a little in her bed and wills Freddie to stay on the line. "I actually have something to tell you."
There is silence from his side of the connection.
"You know how I went to the Cuttlefish concert at the Seattle Beat station today with Justin?" She doesn't wait for him to answer. "Yeah, it was pretty much so awesome that I'm still buzzed, even hours later. But that's not the only thing keeping me up, you know? Justin did this… thing that I can't stop thinking about."
Freddie yawns. "What did he do, and did you give him the courtesy of calling an ambulance after you broke his arm?"
"No, nothing like that," Sam laughs. She lowers her voice, trying to sound somewhat alluring. "No, it was the way he looked at me. I mean, he just stared all night. Maybe it was because of the top I wore. I mean, the cut was pretty low. Or it could have been the shorts; they kept riding high on my thighs whenever I sat down."
She can hear the envy in his voice when he interrupts, "Don't you think that's a little too much skin you were showing, even for a girl like you?"
"What do you mean, 'girl like me'?"
"It's just the way that you're out there. The fact that you, you know, go for what you want. Kind of domineering."
"Are you calling me scary?"
"No, just dominant."
"I didn't hear you complaining the other day."
Freddie remains quiet.
"Anyway," Sam continues. "Justin made me feel a certain way. I mean, I didn't think that I was that attracted to him, but, even hours later, I still feel that same way."
"You're not in love with the guy," Freddie deadpanned. "So don't try it."
Sam laughed again. "Fine, you caught me. I'm just really, really, really freaking horny."
"Yeah?" There's a short silence, and Sam imagines Freddie sitting up and running a hand across his jaw in the way that he does when he's trying to find something to say. "So, why don't you…"
"Take care of it?" Sam finishes for him. "Yeah, masturbating is no fun without you knowing."
"That's because you're kind of a freak, Sam."
"You know it," she says, then bites her lip against the blush threatening to rise up. "What are you wearing?"
He snorts out a laugh. "Oh, no, I am not feeding into this."
"Come on, Freddie. Do this poor girl a favor and tell her what you're wearing."
"That happens to be the cheesiest come-on I've ever heard."
"I bet the reason why you're not telling me is because you have those lame Nug Nug shorts on."
Freddie splutters. "How do you know about those?"
"I have my ways."
Seconds lapse and Sam can practically hear the blush on Freddie's face. "As a matter of fact," he finally answers. "I'm not wearing shorts with Nug Nug on them."
"The shirt, then?"
"Actually, I'm not wearing a shirt."
"Oooh, kinky," she says truthfully. She wasn't the only one who had noticed Freddie filling out quite nicely over the year. And she had plenty of experience of feeling up his chest and flat stomach underneath his dorky button-up shirts.
Sam slips her hand past the hem of her shirt, running her fingers in the valley between her breasts. "And are you wearing shorts?"
"No," he answers. "But I have on underwear."
"So, you just decided to go to bed half-naked?"
"My bed, my room, my privacy," he throws at her.
Sam nods. She runs her palm against the skin of her stomach and sighs, and then puts the phone down to pull her pajama top over her head.
"What are you doing?" she hears Freddie ask.
"Just taking my shirt off so that we can be even." She lays back and continues touching her stomach. She tucks fingers under her bra and lifts it up, palming her breast.
"What… color is your, um, underwear?"
She snorts. "Does it matter?"
Sam breathes in deep, lets it out as she tugs on her nipple. "They're mismatched; my panties are red and my bra is blue and purple."
"No surprise there," his voice has gone low again, sparking something between Sam's thighs. "Everything about you is mismatched."
Sam smiles, moans into the phone.
He clears his throat. "What are you doing?"
"Squeezing my nipples, and oh, Freddie, it feels so good," she supplies, embellishing a little.
"Yeah? That's good," he stutters.
Sam shuts her eyes and gasps as she continues palming her breasts. She imagines a long, lithe body hovering over hers, mouth tracing down from her neck to her chest, teeth tugging at her nipples. In her mind's eye, there are strong hands caressing her sides, and she clenches her thighs together at the faint throb she feels between them.
She opens her eyes. "What are you up to?"
"Trying to figure out what you're up to." Freddie lets out a timid chuckle.
"I thought you weren't playing this game," she says. "So why should you care what I'm doing?"
"Because I'm interested." He clears his throat. "And I'm a little… aroused."
Sam laughs at his choice word, says, "So you're getting hard?"
"If that's what it means to be aroused, then yeah, Sam, I am getting hard."
"Good," she says around a smile. "Now, how about you touch yourself for me?"
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she hears Freddie laugh to himself, and then silence interrupted only by the sound of elastic snapping.
Sam's mind wanders and she dips her fingers into her mouth to wet them before placing them back onto her breasts. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking of?"
Freddie hums his answer.
"I'm thinking of you, me, a bed…"
"And what are you, me, and a bed doing?"
Sam closes her eyes again and tells him. Her fantasy begins with Freddie entering her room to the sight of her touching herself. He peels his shirt over his head, exposing his taut upper body, and climbs on the bed over her. He doesn't waste any time in putting his mouth on her. His tongue dances across the skin of her neck before he bites into it, and he holds Sam's hips down as she begins arching up towards him. His warm mouth envelopes her pebbled nipple and he raises her legs up his thighs, so that she is spread open for him with her ankles hooked together around his waist, and presses his hardness down onto the spot that's throbbing wildly.
Sam pauses in her story, silence as she skims her hand across her legs and in between her thighs. She dips her fingers past the elastic of her panties and finds herself dripping wet. She tells Freddie this.
He groans, so loud that Sam can imagine that he's lying right beside her. "Sounds incredible."
She nods, pushes a finger into herself-- lets Freddie know this—and goes back to her fantasy where Freddie is allowing her to push his pants down. She's tight around her fingers, and she shudders at the thought of Freddie sinking into her.
A few minutes later, Sam is panting, listening to Freddie breathing hard. He tells her stories of what he would do to her, and Sam cries out as her orgasm rips through her. She barely pays attention to the way his voice falters, how his breath picks up speed, just pets herself until she's calmed down.
"Sam," he says after a short while.
She glances over at the clock where it's flashing 3:13, and makes a show of yawning when Freddie calls her name again.
"Go to sleep, dorkboy. I'll see you Monday morning."
It's not quite a 'thank you', but it's as close to one as Freddie's going to get from her.
::: ::: ::: :::
She glares at her from across the classroom as if Sam cares that she's Freddie's girlfriend. As if that bit of knowledge would stop her from leaning across Freddie's side of the tall desk and giving him a good view of her cleavage.
She grins when his eyes take their time traveling north of her chin, and he narrows his eyes at her. "Nice show."
"Only for you," she flirts and adjusts her breasts so that they're closer to spilling out of her shirt.
"Seriously, when did you turn into such a sexpot?" Freddie shakes his head and goes back to jotting down chemical compounds on his worksheet.
"Since that time I caught you staring at my ass and I realized that I had quite the advantage over you."
"Of course you would use the power of your derriere for evil purposes."
"Of course," she repeats, and then leans over his shoulder to look at his work. A glance to the left confirms her suspicion that the girl—Dina, or whatever—is still staring at her.
Sam would be lying if she didn't admit that she was feeling quite flattered.
"You're such a smart guy," she coos.
"Don't think that I don't know that you're up to something, Sam. You never pay me compliments." Freddie shoots a look at his girlfriend. She returns his smile. "Anyway, what happened to Justin?"
"I don't know, what happened to Justin?" She cocks her head.
He turns to look at her. "I mean, you guys are dating, right?"
"It was one concert," Sam laughs. "And it was not like he was interesting enough for me to want to be with."
"But… Friday night…" He blushes.
"It was the thought of you that got me hot, not him."
"Jesus," he mutters, looking away from her.
Sam leans into him and puts her lips on his neck. He jumps, completely shocked, and Sam laughs.
"Jesus Christ, Sam! Nadia's right over there!"
"Relax," she drawls and places her palms on his chest, pushing him back onto the tall stool. "I'm pretty sure Nadia's wetting herself over seeing other girls flirt with you."
He captures her wrists. "False. You're the only one who gets off on seeing girls throw themselves at me. Nadia gets mad."
"Nadia can loosen the knot in her panties."
"I know what you can do, Sam. You can respect personal boundaries and, oh, also the fact that she is my girlfriend."
Sam pouts and shakes herself out of his grip. "But I'm so bored! The teaching of Advanced Chemistry should be illegal!"
"Uh, no," Freddie chuckles. "Allowing Sam Puckett in a room full of explosive chemicals should be illegal."
The bell rings a short time later and Sam runs to catch up to Carly.
"How was English literature with Gibson?"
Carly rolls her eyes and groans. "Pop quizzy."
Sam laughed at her friend's misfortune and was about to crack a joke about her history teacher when Stacey, a girl Sam only knew through Freddie, stopped by their lockers.
"Hey, Carly," the redhead greeted. "Here's that CD you wanted to borrow."
"Oh, thanks," Carly exclaims, clutching the album to her chest. "Band of Skulls is the best."
Stacey nods. "Cool. Oh, but my brother would like it back by Friday, 'kay?" She winks at Carly, and Sam pulls a face.
"Don't worry carrot top, we'll have ripped the tracks off by then."
Stacey affords Sam a disdainful look before walking away and Carly shakes her head. "You have got to let that grudge go."
"I would," Sam grumbles, throwing the CD into the back of Carly's locker. "If the witch would quit pretending like I'm not here." She couldn't stand being ignored.
"She's just upset over what you did to her and Freddie's relationship."
"That was, like, two months ago! Besides, she should have known better than to try and compete with me." They make their way to the cafeteria.
"Are you going to make Nadia run off, crying, too?"
Sam smirks. "I'll try my hardest."
"You're the worst."
Once they have their lunch, they sit at their table.
"Anyway," Carly says. "I didn't think you'd ever be a contender for Freddie's affections. It's kind of a weird change."
"I'm not contending for his affections," she says, pushing the guilty feeling that tells her that she's lying far, far away. "I'm just saving those poor souls from a lifetime of torment when Freddie decides to propose. I can see him buying the engagement ring on the third date."
"Do you want to know what I think?"
"Not really," Sam answers and takes a bite out of her sandwich.
"I think," Carly continues as if she didn't hear Sam's objection, "That you have a big crush on Freddie."
"Ugh, do not!"
"Carly." She gives her best friend a deadpan look. "I do not have a crush on the dorkster."
"Yeah, alright, I believe you." Sam can hear the sarcasm in her voice. "I just want to let you know that I think Freddie likes you, t—"
Sam elbows Carly, cutting her off just as the focal point of their conversation takes a seat across from them.
"What's up, Freddie?" Carly reaches over and steals the string cheese he pulls out of his bag; Sam takes the small pack of Oreos and nudges her apple toward him. His mother doesn't allow any type of fruit in her home unless it's smashed, and Sam knows that he misses nice, crunchy apples.
"Meh," is his answer and he leans into the kiss Nadia plants on his cheek when she slides onto the bench next to him.
Sam tries not to gag. Honestly.
She rolls her eyes as Nadia goes back to glaring at her. Halfway through their lunch period, Sam can feel the glances Freddie tosses her way, and she rests her chin in the palm of her hand, sending him surreptitious smiles. She asks him how his weekend was and delights in the blush reaching the tips of his ears. Says, "I was thinking of coming by your house tonight, you know, to get help with the science homework."
"Sam," he says and his eyes travel to Nadia.
"What?" She winks at him and drags a finger across her lower lip. "You know I wouldn't ask if it was something I could handle on my own, Freddie."
He bites his lip, asks, "What is it on the homework that you need help with?"
"Oh, you know… Nothing specific. The whole thing."
"How are you in a higher class than me, and yet, still completely helpless?"
"It's not like I asked for it," Sam answered Carly. "I think Principal Ted put me in there on purpose."
"Yeah, to distract the entire class from doing their work," Nadia interrupts.
"Funny, I don't think anybody asked you to speak."
"You know what, Sam? You keep speaking to me that way and I will…"
Sam raises her eyebrow when Nadia doesn't finish her statement.
Nadia shakes her head, leans into Freddie's side. "Let me give you a piece of advice. Jealousy does not look good on anyone." She punctuates her statement by squeezing Freddie's bicep.
Sam pouts a little throughout the rest of lunch, trying resolutely to ignore Freddie and his girlfriend. She doesn't even laugh when Gibby comes up to them at the end of the lunch period with baggy jeans and cap turned backwards, sending Carly blushing.
She not jealous, honestly, and she would appreciate it if that term were never mentioned again.
::: ::: ::: :::
After iCarly rehearsal, Sam follows Freddie into his apartment. He doesn't know she's behind him until he's past the door, and when he catches her, he folds his arm across his chest.
"What? I told you I needed help with my homework." She walks past him to his fridge and pulls a face at what little food is inside of it.
"Really now? I could have sworn that you were just trying to tease me at lunch."
"No… I really do need help." She opens a cabinet, and then slams it shut. "Seriously, where's all the good stuff?"
"So take your homework out."
She gives Freddie a wary look. "I don't have it with me, Freddork. I'm going to borrow your paper, copy it, and return it to you in the morning."
He laughs. "That's not happening."
She ignores him. "What's this? Cheese?"
"That's tofu. You won't like it."
Sam gives it a once-over, shrugs, and opens the Tupperware container. "Tastes kinda like beans."
He leans his elbow on the counter and looks her up and down. "All of this eating is going to catch up with you soon. I can feel it. You're going to be wider than a truck."
"You wish," she snorts. "And, besides, don't act like you don't appreciate my body."
"I do," he says, and laughs when she turns her back to him and does a shimmy.
"Then be kind to it, or else you'll never see it again."
"I've never actually seen it, unless you count that one time when you wore that kiddies' bathing suit."
Sam gapes, hits him in the arm. "It was a bikini!"
"It was not a bikini—it was a little girl's bathing suit with ruffles that you wore when we did that iCarly sketch."
"Okay fine," she laughs with him. "It was a cute bathing suit with ruffles and butterfly decals, so what?" She puts the tofu in the container and, licking her fingers, she hops up on the counter and turns her head to Freddie. "Are you saying that you want to see me completely naked?"
"I never said that," he says, but there's a smile forming on his lips and Sam takes that to mean, yes, he does want to see her naked. She tugs on the bottom hem of her shirt, and in one fluid motion, swipes it over her head. "What are you doing?"
"Do you really have to ask, Freddie?"
"No, but, erm, I think this might be one of the worst ideas you've ever had."
"Or the best," she says, her gaze following him as he comes around the counter to stand in front of her. "Don't tell me that you want me to stop."
And either he's confused by her choice of wording or maybe he really wants her to continue, but he says, "Fine, I won't tell you."
"That's right; Mama does as she pleases." Sam slowly unbuttons her jeans, keeping her eyes on the way Freddie traces her movements. With a bit of maneuvering, she has her jeans pushed down to her thighs and is just about to toe her sneakers off when Freddie steps up to her. He pushes his nose into her neck and his hands on Sam's bare legs jolt her and she laughs low in her throat while her fingers card through his hair. "I bet Nadia never got you this hot."
"Actually," his voice is muffled in her skin. "She has. You're not really going to take all your clothes off, are you?"
"Have you known me to say something and go back on it?" She reaches back to undo the clasp on her bra, but Freddie's hands halt her. "You know, if you're scared, you can go stand on the other side of the room. It'll be almost like our phone conversation, except you'll be seeing instead of hearing."
He mumbles something so low that Sam can't hear, but his voice rumbles against her neck and she feels herself getting aroused. His lips trace from her collarbone to just above the swell of her breasts and Sam can't help but smile, triumphant when he sucks a mark into her skin. His fingers grip her thighs hard. "You smell like barbeque."
"Better than how Nadia smells, I bet."
"Shut up, Sam. Just… Shut up." And then he nudges the fabric of her bra away from her breast and latches on her nipple with sharp teeth and a warm mouth.
Sam gasps, shocked mute even as he pulls the sneakers off her feet and tugs her jeans down her legs. And then his hands are back on her, branding the inside of her thighs when he spreads them open.
He looks up at her. "Do you want me to stop?"
She looks back at him, at the way his tongue swipes across his lip, leaving it gleaming, and feels a wild pulse in her core. "Don't be stupid," is the only thing she can think of saying.
His eyes are on hers as he skims his fingers underneath her panties and she grips his arm when she feels his finger running lightly up and down her lips. "Freddie," she grits through her teeth, threatening.
He twists his lips to the side and dips his fingers inside of her. Her head lolls back and there is a breath caught in her throat when rubs her clit, starting slow but gradually getting faster, harder. She looks at Freddie, one hand trapped in her panties, and grabs his other hand that's lying flat against the marble counter. She squeezes his hand and bites her lip as he slides down to a crouch in front of her. His teeth leave marks on the skin high up her thigh. His takes his fingers away from her, leaving her aching and wanting, before his mouth replaces its position.
He sucks her through her panties, getting her even more moist, and Sam's hips move of their own volition. She pushes into his lips and has to bite her hand to keep from crying out when he flicks his tongue against her. She hears him groan, "Mmm, fuck," just as he jerks her panties to the side and slides his tongue through her folds.
Sam feels herself thrumming, wound on a tight string as he laps her open. She knows she's soaking his tongue, can tell by the wetness staining her thighs. He licks her clit, sucks her juices and nibbles at her swollen folds and groans against her, and Sam moans his name when he smoothly pushes two fingers into her.
Her hands are shaking and she fists his hair and moves against him. His fingers are pushed deep in her, rubbing firmly against her spot, and he is moving his arm so hard that Sam can see the veins standing out in his wrist. She's coming apart so hard and fast that she thinks she's gonna crash. There are tremors running through her body and she presses the heels of her feet into his back. She's shaking all over. She dimly hears herself repeating his name, moaning, "No, more, please, yes," and something in her tightens, loosens, tightens, and Sam thinks she explodes when her orgasm hits her.
When she comes to, she feels Freddie panting warm breath on her leg, and she tugs on his hair until he's looking up at her. He's biting his lip and in his gaze is an intense look before his eyes cloud over and he grunts a soft, "Uh."
Sam snorts, pushes his head and laughs as he falls sprawled out on the kitchen floor. "Did you just come in your pants?" She adjusts her underwear and slides off the counter.
His lips lift at one corner. "Did you want it in your mouth?"
"Oooh, feisty. I like."
He raises a brow at her and leans back on his elbows as she places her hands on her hips. She tries to keep a straight face, can see him fighting against a grin, and she shakes her head before erupting in giggles.
She calms down after a minute or two and Freddie is passing her the clothes she had shed. She snatches them out of his hands and gets dressed, and grins wide when she sees the wince on Freddie's face as he pinches the crotch of his jeans and pulls it away from his skin.
"Seriously, though, where's your paper? My homework isn't going to get itself done."
::: ::: ::: :::
It's Friday and all of the buzz seems to be on the party that a fellow senior named Seth is throwing while his parents are out of town. LCD screens on cell phones and blackberries are lighting up in the middle of class, and there is an excitement that flows through the halls, past jittery, chatty students with broad grins and wide eyes.
Sam looks down at the recent text she got.
fwd fwd fwd: party seth's!! byob!
It's about the twentieth time she's gotten this message, and Sam is angry. First at herself for being too angry to join in the festive mood that seems to even have Carly's head in the clouds, and secondly because of the airheaded brunette seated across the room.
Sam had tried all she could for the last few weeks to get rid of her, had been relentless in the way that she had shown the girl her scorn, but try as she might, she just couldn't get Nadia to back off. Even after the chemical spill that had Nadia screaming and Sam laughing as it ate through her pretty yellow blouse, and the time where Sam tripped her up in the cafeteria and she went spiraling into the industrial trashcan. And then there was that time when Sam had replaced the gloss in her tube with ink and Nadia had to walk around the rest of the day with lips painted blue and students laughing at her everywhere she went. There had been tears in her eyes threatening to fall, but she had not failed to turn a burning glare on Sam whenever she came into the vicinity.
When the bell rings to let out, Nadia is by Freddie's side in a split second, latching onto his arm and barely giving him time to pack up his things before dragging him out of the classroom.
Honestly, Sam was beyond sick of her. Even Stacey hadn't been this stubborn; she had run off crying when she found Sam and Freddie under one of the stairwells, Sam's hand under his shirt as she nibbled on his ear, and he hadn't looked like he was going to pull back anytime soon. And so she did the only thing she could think of that moment—which she hoped would a amuse her and make her feel better about the whole situation-- and pulled out her phone and began sending Freddie suggestive texts. Hopefully that will win him back to her.
"We have to find a way to get this beer," Carly worries during the last fifteen minutes of their last class of the day.
Sam yawns as she scrawls a small image on the corner of one of the pages in the history textbook. "Totally. I am so ready to get smacked later on."
"Are you sure there isn't someone in your family that can get us some beer?"
Sam rolls her eyes. "Carly, my cousins may all be outlaws, but there's no way in hell that they'd buy alcohol for me."
"Did someone say alcohol?"
Sam looks up as Gibby saunters over. He's wearing jeans that are pushed off of his hips, a tee that reads 'Gangsta Rap Made Me Do It', and around his neck is a fat chain with a large, studded crucifix fixed on the end. She snorts, sits up in her chair and bites on her pencil. "Yes, you did hear Carly and I discussing plans to get alcohol, DJ Master Gibby."
"I got you." He winks at Carly, who is hiding behind the curtain of her dark hair. "What kind of drink do you have in mind?"
Carly doesn't say anything, so Sam answers for her. "Something. Anything. Preferably not anything that tastes like monkey balls."
"Alright. I know this spot on the corner of Union and Second Ave. Meet me by my car after this class lets out and we'll go."
"Are you planning to rob the joint?" He shakes his head and she asks, "So just how do you plan on getting this alcohol?"
He grins, snakes his hand into the pocket of his low-hanging jeans and produces a fake I.D. "Got this the other day and I've been dying to try it out."
Sam scrutinizes the little card. "I've got an uncle who can spot this fake shit a mile off, it's so cheesy."
"Sam!" Carly snatches the card from her friend and peers at the image, then smiles up at Gibby. "She's lying. It looks completely real, and that picture of you is very handsome."
"Thank you, Carly. You're the best," he flirts, and pockets his I.D. before his eye catches the messy sketch in Sam's text. "Sam, did you just draw a… dick?"
Sam slams the book shut so fast that her fingers get caught between the pages. "I've just been horny, alright?"
Gibby just shakes his head and walks off, laughing.
"That picture of you is so handsome," Sam mocks in a high-pitched tone and glowers at Carly. "Would you like for me to just leave the two of you alone on your date to the liquor store?"
"No," Carly says and tosses a balled up piece of paper at Sam and rolls her eyes, landing them on Gibby. "You're coming with."
"Fine. But I'm out of there when he gets busted." She leans on her arms, bored, and sends Freddie another text.
::: ::: ::: :::
Sam rolls her eyes when she turns around and sees Gibby halfway down the aisle with a basket full of various drinks. She walks up to him and grabs at least half of the drinks out of the basket, shaking her head when he glares at her.
"Do you realize that you look suspicious with that much liquor? You are like the walking poster boy for underage drinking, I swear." She passes the bottles to Carly, who puts them back on the shelves, and turns to eye the brands of beer sitting on the shelves in the cooler. In the reflection of the glass door, she can see Gibby grabbing one of the bottles she just had Carly put away.
"I need a little something extra for the afterparty."
"You're throwing an afterparty?"
"It's private, just for Carly and I," he answers, and Carly giggles.
Sam grabs a six-pack of Coors and eyes his selection of alcohol. "I hope you know that I'm not paying for that. I only have enough money for this beer and the bottle of red vodka."
Gibby frowns and places a few of the drinks on the shelf before freezing and looking over Carly and Sam's heads. Carly turns to see what he's looking at and shouts, "Oh my God," before ducking into the next aisle. Sam follows and peers over the short shelves at the pair of men that made their way down the aisle.
"Who are they?" she asks.
"Old friends of Spencer's from the art class he took last summer." She wraps her arms around her stomach, looks sick. "Oh no, they're going to catch Gibby!"
Sam clutches Carly's arm. "Relax. Unless they came by the loft at any time we were all there, they shouldn't know him."
"What's up, Gibby, my man," one of the guys greets and Sam winces. Carly looks faint.
"Just gettin' some drink for this party I'm about to crash," Gibby says, sharing a fist pound with the both of them.
One of them, the shorter one, spots Sam from over the shelf, and narrows his eyes at Gibby. "Aren't you a little too young to be buying alcohol?"
"Um…" Gibby says, and his eyes cut to Carly's hiding spot. Sam tries to think quickly, to come up with some excuse about getting the alcohol for a sick relative, but her stomach sinks and she knows that their cover is blown. She is just about ready to run for the door when the taller of the two guys slaps his friend's chest and laughs.
"That's just how it be sometimes, Chuck."
"Well, yeah, but—"
"Just let the little dude have some fun. Remember when we were eighteen and would try to smuggle drinks out of the store?"
Chuck gives his friend a hard look.
The taller one shrugs, looking wry. "At least the kid's paying. Speaking of—hey, Gibby, if you have the cash, I'll get these for you."
A grin comes over Gibby's face and he shakes his head, digging in his pocket for the fake I.D. "Nah, but thanks. I got this on my own."
Chuck takes a long look at the card and busts up laughing. "You can't be serious with this! It looks faker than Mariah Carey's tits!"
Sam snorts at the blush rising on Gibby's cheeks and whispers into Carly's ear, "I told you."
Carly nudges Sam in her side. "Oh, fine. You were right for once."
"Come on little, man," the taller guy says, throwing one arm around Gibby's neck and leading him down the aisle. "Let Chuck pay for all this and get out of here."
"Fine," Chuck grumbles, grabbing the basket and cash from the underage boy. "But this had better be the last time I see your ass around here."
Gibby nods so fast that his face becomes a blur.
Carly and Sam sneak out of the liquor store when they feel the coast is clear and make their way through the overbearing heat of the sun to where Gibby is leaning against the hood of car, a smug grin on his face.
"Oh, you think you're the man now?" Sam flicks her finger on his nose and laughs when he shoves her arm away.
"I've been the man since I was fresh out the womb."
"Way to sound gross."
"Where's the bag of stuff?" Carly asks.
"I put it in the back, underneath the seats."
"Cool spot," Carly says, and her smile broadens, eyes clouding over in adoration. "You were so brave back there."
"Yeah, I guess I kinda was."
Sam wrinkles her nose, looking away from them and to a pharmacy. "Hey, I'm gonna go hit up this store really quick. Do you guys want anything?"
Carly shakes her head and leans against the car, seated a little too close to Gibby.
"Okay, wait for me; I'll be right back." Sam jogs away from them and across the street. The conditioned air that she feels walking through the door slaps across her face and she breathes in deep as she walks toward the aisle of contraceptives.
She stares at the colorful array of boxes for a short while, not completely sure of Freddie's size, but then grabs a light blue box that reads, 'Trojan Thintensity'. On her way to the counter, she grabs a pack of licorice sticks and a bag of sour cream chips. The lady at the register raises her eyebrow at the box of condoms. Sam smiles sweetly, innocently, and tosses a beefstick on the small pile.
When Sam leaves the store, she finds Carly and Gibby cuddling on the roof of the car. She reaches into the driver's side window and honks the horn. They jump apart and Sam yells, "Come on, let's get the show on the road!"
::: ::: ::: :::
"Nope… Nope… Whatever."
Carly huffs and Sam laughs. "You are being completely useless," she complains, throwing yet another shirt to the side.
Sam shrugs, sighing as she chews on the licorice stick. "It's not my fault that you're picking out the most boring shirts ever. Seriously, what kind of brother buys a girl a green blouse with the picture of an orange hat on it? What is that supposed to mean?"
"Whatever," Carly mutters, kicking back on the bed next to Sam. She tinkers with her phone and tosses it on the bed, and then takes a licorice from the pack lying between them. "It's hard trying to color code outfits for a party."
"You two are completely ridiculous. I mean, seriously, who color codes outfits for a house party?"
"But Gibby said—"
"Gibby is the biggest nub this world's ever seen."
Carly smirks at Sam, takes another licorice. "What happened to Freddie holding that title?"
"It went away when Gibby decided to start wearing jeans with legs big enough to fit two of him in them."
Carly snorts out a giggle. "Nuh-uh, it's cause you love Freddie."
"I know what you're doing here…"
"What?" Carly asks.
"You're trying to project your feelings for Gibby on me. It's because you're so far gone for DJ Master Gibson that you tease me about having feelings that aren't there for Freddie." Sam lies back on the bed, arm behind her head.
Carly waits a beat, and then says, "You know you love Freddie."
Sam narrows her eyes.
Carly swallows the last bit of her licorice and goes for another one. "Anyway, about what you're wearing to this party…"
"What's wrong with what I have on now?"
"What's wrong?" Carly looks down the length of her body. "Its jeans and a t-shirt. And beat up converses. You want to look good for Freddie, don't you?"
"Once again, not in it for Freddie." How many times was she going to have to say it?
"I bet he'd go crazy if he saw you in a skirt." Carly reaches for the pack of candy.
"I swear, Carly, if you take one more licorice stick…"
Carly giggles and takes one anyway, and squeals as Sam pummels her over the head with a pillow. She picks one up and delivers a particularly hard blow across Sam's cheek when her bedroom door opens. She hops off the bed and goes toward the visitor.
"Thank God you got my text!" She tugs on Freddie's arm, pulling him farther in her room.
Sam stands up from the bed and cocks her hip, smirking. "Thank God you got my text."
Freddie blushes and Carly gives her a questioning look before turning back to him. "Anyway, you seem to be semi-decent at dressing yourself. Can you help me choose an outfit?"
Freddie opens and closes his mouth. "Semi-decent…?"
Sam chuckles and opens the bag of chips, taking delight in the show that unfolds before her.
By the time Freddie leaves, Carly is fully dressed in dark skinny jeans and a loose tee that hangs off one of her shoulders. On her wrist is a gold charm bracelet, and that's all Sam sees as Carly jerks her hair.
"Ow!" she cries out, reaching up to touch her scalp.
Carly bats her hand away and takes a bobby pin out of her mouth, sticks it in Sam's hair as she mutters around the rest of the pins in her mouth, "It hurts to be beautiful, now stay still."
Sam glowers at her, then at the dark green dress lying on Carly's bed. She's still unsure about wearing a dress to this party, and says so.
"Fine." Carly throws her hands up when she's done fixing Sam's hair. "Don't wear the dress; just go in what you're wearing. That'll really set you apart."
Sam winces at the sarcasm on her best friend's tongue and turns toward her closet. "I think I'll just grab a pair of jeans from your stuff, then." She glances at Carly strapping heels on her feet and attempts to pull on the pair of jeans she pulled out of her closet. They're black and tight-fitting, and Sam sighs as she finally gets the button closed.
"You have got a fat ass," Carly says, and Sam sticks out her tongue. She grabs a loose-fitting gray tank top with the embroidery of a purple butterfly on the front and accepts the strappy heels Carly hands to her. Together, they make their way downstairs, Carly on the phone calling their ride. Sam calls out to Spencer that they'll be back later, do not wait up for them.
"Okay!" he calls from his room, and his voice sounds garbled. A crash or two comes from his room as the girls leave the apartment.
"Sam, what are you doing back there?" Carly asks a short while later while they're seated in Gibby's car.
"Getting the party started, obviously." Sam pours another shot of the red vodka in her mouth before closing it and grabbing a beer.
"She's got the right idea, babe," Gibby says and reaches into the back of the car.
Carly slaps his hand. "Eyes on the road."
Sam laughs at the frown on Gibby's face and looks out the window. The sun is setting low in the sky and Sam breathes a sigh of relief. She didn't want to be seen in daylight stumbling over her feet in the tall heels Carly had lent her.
They pull up to the house they see a few kids from their school loitering around, and when Sam manages to extricate herself from the car, Carly immediately latches on her arm.
"I am not walking into that cesspool without my partner in crime by my side."
"Oh yeah? And just what kind of crime have you pulled to get the honorary title, Miss Shay?" Sam sways a little; she can feel the alcohol clouding her mind, but only just a little. She takes a sip of her beer.
She's ready to get this party started.
::: ::: ::: :::
The bodies are crowded around the table where Sam is playing beer pong against a wimpy eleventh grade student she hadn't known gone to their school until tonight.
"C'mon, Rick!" she yells and he blanches. "I thought you could drink me under the table, tough boy!"
He smirks, and Sam notices that he has a really cute set of dimples. "You're going down, Samantha."
"Call me that one more time and it'll be the last thing you ever said." The crowd 'ooh's' and shortly after, Sam can be found pouting on the couch next to Gibby and Carly, who seemed to invested in themselves to notice anything else going on.
She had lost at beer pong.
"I mean, Mama plays to win. I swear that little monkey cheated! I don't know how he did it, but it happened. Want proof? Here's proof. I lost!" Sam rambles on drunkenly, opens her eyes to see Gibby running his hand low on Carly's back. Carly's biting on the tip of her finger and staring seductively into his eyes. Sam pulls a face and struggles up off the couch. "Ugh, you guys are so nauseating. Be right back, gonna go scratch my eyes out."
They don't acknowledge her.
Sam pushes her way through the bodies, the bass of the song thrumming through her already muddled mind. She doesn't know where she's going, just wants to stand up and walk around and blow off some steam.
And then time seems to pause when she sees Freddie, and suddenly, she doesn't feel quite so drunk anymore. He's standing a few feet away from her, wearing a simple pair of dark jeans and a white button up shirt with a black vest effortlessly thrown over it, but Sam thinks it's the best that she's ever seen him dressed. It could be because of the brushed hair, she thinks.
She walks up to him and laughs as she purposely throws herself at him, pretending like she's stumbled. "Freddie!"
He looks down at her, which is not far seeing as how Sam's standing in heels, and smiles at her. His eyes are glassy and Sam knows he's had a few drinks in him. "Sam, hey!"
"You're late!" She pokes his chest and hums as she spreads her palm over the swell of muscle she can feel under his shirt.
"Do you know how hard it was to get away from my mom?"
"I can only imagine." Sam leans into him, breathes deep the smell of the cologne he's wearing. She doesn't want to know what the fluttering in her stomach might mean when Freddie wraps an arm around her.
He laughs. "You must be really drunk."
Sam waves her hand. "I had just a little."
She's startled as a clammy hand grabs her high on her arm and pulls her away from the rock solid wall of man she was leaning against. She turns around to see Nadia, brows raised. "Time to get your own man."
"Don't touch me," Sam says petulantly, shaking the grip off of her arm.
"Go sober up."
"Play nice," Freddie says, stepping in between them. "It's a party, just loosen up and have fun."
Sam leers, nudges Freddie to the side as she flicks her finger on the cup Nadia held in her hand. "Sure you have enough grape juice there, big kid?"
"I am so sick of you and your foolish games."
"Sentiment's reversed, bitch."
"Sam!" Freddie says, scandalized.
"Are you such a pathetic, jealous loser that you have to go for other people's boyfriends? Or is it just Freddie?" Nadia smirks, quirks a brow. "Newsflash, he doesn't want you!"
Sam can't help it; she lets out an incredulous laugh. "Really, now? Then what was with the other day when Freddie and I had—"
"Sam, no!" Freddie interrupts.
Nadia looks between the two of them, and then fixes Freddie a heavy stare. "What is she talking about?"
"Nothing," he says quickly. A little too quickly.
"I'm pretty sure that it was more than nothing to you, Fredward," Sam interjects, arms crossed.
Nadia steps up to her boyfriend. "Freddie, you tell me the truth. Right now."
He shifts his eyes, answers, "Nothing, honest."
Nadia catches his lie and Sam can see it coming before it happens. The sound of the slap reverberates in Sam ears.
Freddie clutches at his cheek, gaping. Sam would laugh if it weren't happening in this moment, and besides, the only person allowed to inflict bodily harm on Freddie is her.
"You're lying to me," Nadia yells. "Just tell me what you did, and we can move away from this. I promise I won't even be mad."
"Um…" Freddie glances at Sam.
"What does it matter to you?"
Nadia holds a hand up to Sam's face and gives Freddie a look that reads, Well?
Freddie lowers her hand, says, "I had Sam over to my house, like, two weeks ago."
"And?" Nadia prompts.
"And one thing led to another…" he trails off.
Sam laughs derisively, pulls Freddie down by his shoulder and lays a kiss on his cheek. "It's alright, baby," she coos. "You can tell her what happened."
Nadia snaps out of her shock and tugs Freddie to her, kissing him on his lips. She looks Sam up and down. "He's still mine."
Something green and nasty clouds what little judgment Sam possesses, and she turns Freddie's face to her and kisses him aggressively, thrusting her tongue past his teeth.
Freddie gets a dazed look on his face. "Whoa," he breathes.
"Did you just kiss my boyfriend?"
"No, sweetheart, I tongue-fucked him. There's a difference."
"I don't want you near her anymore."
"That's not possible," Freddie shakes his head. "She's one of my best friends."
"No, she is just a jealous whore with a dependency issue. I wouldn't expect more from a fatherless child."
"Don't talk about her like that."
"She's a lowlife, Freddie! And you're going to either choose her or me."
Freddie looks down at the floor, runs a hand across his jaw and sighs. "Don't make me choose. You wouldn't like who I picked."
Nadia slaps him again and Sam grabs Freddie, pulls him behind her. "Hit him again and you'll have an imprint of this stiletto in your forehead."
To her credit, Nadia stands her ground. And then she tosses whatever she has in her cup at Freddie and says before walking off, "I hope you have a miserable life."
Sam thinks Nadia's lucky that Freddie has quick reflexes. If he hadn't grabbed her around the waist to hold her back, Nadia would have been lying on the floor with a bloody nose.
Sam is dragged through the party and up a set of stairs, and before she blinks, she finds herself in a bathroom, Freddie closing the door and going over to the sink to splash water on his face. The collar of his shirt is stained red and a few strands of his hair are sticking to his forehead and Sam is spitting angry, but somewhere deep down, she feels victorious.
"How does she know I didn't grow up with my father?" Sam asks, breaking the silence.
Freddie gives her a wary look through his reflection in the mirror over the sink. "She was my girlfriend, Sam. I told her things."
"Oh, well…" Sam fidgets, looks around the bathroom. She laughs. "God, Nadia is such a bitch!"
The corner of Freddie's lips lift. "Yeah…"
"Why were you with her?"
He shrugs and goes back to rinsing his face.
Sam stands near to him, fixing her hair in the mirror. "Well, good riddance."
Freddie turns to her, and his gaze is heavy on her, almost too intense in the way that it roves down her face to her body. He raises a wet hand and touches her shoulder. She flinches. "Sorry," he chuckles. "You had a spot--"
Sam interrupts him by putting her lips on his. He waits a beat, but then begins returning her kiss.
It's soft and sweet, the way he kisses her, and honestly, Sam had expected no less. She lets out a shaky breath she hadn't known she was holding when his tongue dips into her mouth, and she can't keep her mind from straying to the memory of what had happened between them only two weeks ago. She presses into him, moaning, and he wraps his arms tight around her waist.
He pulls back after a short while, pants against her lips, "I meant to tell you this earlier, but you look nice."
"That's it—only nice?" Sam smiles into the kiss. "You look nice, too."
He laughs and pushes his tongue past her lips. Sam is already wet, had been since Freddie wrapped his arm around her when she had stumbled against him in the throng of the party, and she dimly recognizes the fact that she is climbing him. Her fingers claw at his shirt and Freddie groans into her mouth, palming her breast.
She's been aching for him for weeks and is only glad that this is her chance to finally have him.
She pulls out the condom she had stowed away in her pocket and presses it into his hand. Freddie stops kissing her, a quizzical look on his face as he looks down at the small square.
"Wait for what?" Sam asks and tugs her shirt over her head. The cool air in the bathroom makes her shiver, but she hardly thinks about that. When she reaches for his belt and he pulls back, she gapes at him. "Why are you backing away from me?"
"I'm not, uh…" He swipes a hand across the back of his neck.
"What? You don't want me?"
"No, I'm just not… I'm not taking you in a bathroom, Sam."
She laughs, sneers at the surprised look on his face. She can't keep the scorn from coming. "So you can have me over the phone and on your mom's kitchen counter, but you can't 'take me' here, in the flesh, willing and ready?"
"Sam, it's not like that."
She scoffs. "I know exactly what this is like." She doesn't look back at him as she leaves the bathroom and goes down the stairs, tugging her shirt over her head. She leaves the party, comes across Carly and Gibby Eskimo kissing on the steps outside of the house, and shouts, "Here's something! How about you guys just hook up already, get married, have lots of babies, and fuck off the face of the planet already!" Seriously, there was only so much bedroom eyes that Sam could take.
Carly calls her name but Sam doesn't answer, just walks as fast as she could in her heels down the block. She does, however, turn when she hears him call her name. She eyes Freddie warily. "What do you want?"
"I want to know where you're going."
"Home. Carly's home," she corrects herself.
He reaches for her, but she backs up, trying not to stumble. "Look, can I just explain myself?"
"What is there to explain, Freddie? What is it that you want?"
"To clear what happened back there!"
"That's not what I'm asking." Sam searches his eyes, shudders in the cool night. "I'm asking if you want me."
"I…" his mouth closes. He tries again, but Sam cuts him off before he can start.
"You know what? Don't even answer. I don't think I wanna know that you don't want me. Just go back to the party." Sam turns away from him and continues walking, and this time, he doesn't follow.
::: ::: ::: :::
There's an odd thing that Sam's feeling. It consumes her, chokes her up and makes her want to punch everything in her way.
She thinks it may be a broken heart.
She fingers the green dress still lying on Carly's bed and raises it to her nose, breathing deep. She thinks that she should have just taken Carly's advice and worn the stupid thing because maybe he would have wanted her if he saw that she put more of an effort into looking pretty.
She throws her heels in one of the dark corners of Carly's room and sheds her clothes. With the dress on, Sam stands in front of the mirrors and lets her hair out of the half-bun. She runs her fingers through her hair and climbs back onto the bed, picks up the beefstick. After two bites, she tosses it away, feeling suddenly tired and like her throat closed up around every swallow.
She lies on the bed and squeezes her eyes shut, tries to will away the tears she can feel welling up behind lids, and doesn't notice when the door opens. She feels arms wrap around her waist and stiffens.
"Sam," he whispers in her ear. "I'm sorry."
"You're going to be real sorry if you don't get your hands off of me."
Instead of moving away, he tightens his hold on her and Sam tries in vain to swallow the lump forming in her throat.
"I'm sorry for freezing up on you," he says. "I just needed some time to think, to sort through what I was feeling."
"Whatever," she mutters and pushes her face into the pillow.
"I noticed, Sam, things intensifying between us in the past couple of months, and I've been scared. And I'm still scared of… What I may be feeling for you."
Sam places her hand over his, stops him from tracing his thumb on her hip. Her heart thrums. "So what do you want?"
"To be honest, I don't know. I'm not too sure of it yet." Sam feels his lips on her neck. "But I do know that what I want is right here with you."
Sam sighs, feels tension running out of her like water as he lavishes kisses on the skin behind her ear. She has to ask, just once more. "Are you sure?"
"I'm pretty sure."
"Pretty sure doesn't mean anything, Freddie."
"Then yes, Sam, I'm completely sure."
She turns in his arms when he nudges her, opens her mouth underneath his. She can feel her heart soaring and the emotion is almost too much to focus on. So she turns her attention on her body that's heating up from his passionate kiss, the way that his fingers trace up her leg, leaving a steaming path in its wake. She unbuttons and pushes his shirt and vest away from his body, arches up as he dips his hand underneath her dress.
He kisses her long and hard until Sam can't breathe. She pulls away from him and flips them over, sits back on his hips. She can feel his hardness against her and hesitates for only a moment before lifting the dress over her head.
He whispers her name, looking at her appreciatively through brown eyes. His fingers trace up her back and he unclasps her bra and Sam blushes lightly when he pulls the fabric away. He says her name again and Sam leans in to kiss him again. She's sucking his tongue and he's pinching her nipples and Sam moves against him, feeling her arousal dampen her panties.
Freddie's jeans are lying on the floor beside the bed and Sam's panties are thrown into one of the corners of the room, and Freddie rubs her arm, asks, "Are you nervous?"
For all the bravado she likes to show, she thinks that she may be just a little nervous. She nods her head, but says, "No."
"Good." Freddie kisses her and nudges her open with the blunt tip of his cock.
Sam grits her teeth. She grinds down on him slowly, taking him in bit by bit. "You feel so big," she breathes when she's fully seated on him.
Freddie bites his lip and there is sweat beading on his forehead as he grips her hips tight enough that Sam can feel finger-shaped bruises forming and moves her body on his. Sam moans loudly and steadies herself by putting her hands on his chest, twists her hips over his. They're going slow, almost painfully so, and when Sam bites down on a spot below Freddie's chin, he gasps.
"Sam, you're so tight," he says, pushes hard up into her. "I don't know if I can… last like this." Sam makes a dejected noise when he pulls out of her, leaving her feeling oddly hollow. He kisses her, hard, and asks for the condom she had earlier.
Sam frowns as she gets off the bed and gropes through the darkness for her jeans. She finds them after a short while and grabs the condom before climbing back on the bed. Freddie scoops her in his arms and kisses her before laying her on the bed underneath him. He runs his lips down her body and Sam is panting by the time he reaches the swollen, wet lips of her cunt.
Sam places the heels of her feet into the bed and grinds on his face as he thrusts his tongue in and out of her. He holds her open with two fingers and sucks her clit past his lips and Sam has to hold her breath to keep from shouting when she feels her orgasm approaching. She bites down on her fingers.
Freddie licks her one last time and moves away, breathing cool air on overheated skin. Her skin is humming and her legs are shaking and she can't tear her eyes away from Freddie's hands as he tears open the package and slides the condom on. He puts his face into her neck and presses into her.
"Yeah, so good," Sam moans. He has one hand on the bed next to her head and one the other on her thigh, lifting and holding her open as he pushes into her hard and deep. She focuses on the spot he's hitting deep inside her, fingers digging into his back and leaning into his lips on her neck.
His breath stutters against her skin. "Mmm, Sam. I'm about to come, hard," he says, and then bites down.
It's intense, the way her orgasm slams through her, and it leaves her breathless. She shouts his name and he whispers hers back and his fingers dig into her thigh as he pushes deep and holds still.
Sam sucks on the skin of his shoulder and rakes her fingers through his hair, feeling her body slowly wind down. Freddie collapses to the side of her and Sam turns into him, allowing his arm to circle around her in an embrace.
"You okay?" she mutters.
He nods. "Yeah, that was…"
Sam laughs, squeezing his arm. "Something we should do more often."
"Definitely," he says, and kisses her.
::: ::: ::: :::
It's late Friday night-- maybe even Saturday morning—and Sam yanks Freddie by his ankles. She laughs as he hits the floor and screams when he grabs the sheet off of Carly's bed and wraps it over her head. Together, they change Carly's bedding, and Sam walks Freddie down to the door.
"Goodnight, dork," she says, playfully shoving him.
He captures her wrist in his hand and pulls her flush against him. "You can't possibly be still thinking of me as a dork after how I made you scream."
"Scream or not, you, Fredward Benson, will always be the biggest dork I've ever known."
"Oh yeah?" he challenges.
"Yeah." And then Sam is kissed, left breathless, and she opens her eyes to see Freddie smirking.
"And you, Sam Puckett, will always be the sweetest girl I've ever known."
"No I won't—I'm a terror!" Sam scoffs.
"Yeah, well, you're sweet to me, and that's all I care about."
Sam scowls at him and closes the door on his face, but can't help the smile from blooming on her lips. She lies in bed that night, awake for a long time, and shakes her head. Shakes off the feelings lying heavy in her heart, filling her up and making her want to fly to the moon.
She sits up in bed and bites her smiling lips, sends a text.
r u still awake?