Dirty Little Secret

It’s your typical Georgia summer night—hot and muggy—and the sheer amount of people here only adds to the heat. Luckily, my water is ice cold.

I decide to make a lap around the yard. Who knows, maybe I’ll spot a familiar face, or at the very least find a quiet corner to hang out in.

Except, instead of finding any of that, I stumble upon the last person I ever wanted to see again. Literally ever.

“Stella,” he exhales my name in that deep rasp of his, freezing me in place. “What...” His eyes roam over my body, making me feel hot and cold all at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

Micro-tremors rack my body as I take in the man I once thought was the love of my life. It’s only been nine months since he so callously left me, but it feels like a lifetime. “What are you doing here?” I ask when I finally find my voice.

“You look good.” His voice wraps around me, familiar and comforting, like coming home.

Except Samson Carter isn’t my home anymore. He’s not my anything.

“Mmm.” I nod and raise my cup to my lips.

“Are you drinking?” he asks, his gaze sharpening before dropping to my mouth.

My tongue darts out, swiping across my lower lip; Samson clenches his fists at his sides.

“What’s it to you?” Fuck him for thinking he has a say in anything I do. He lost the right when he left me without a single word. He certainly didn’t care then, so why should he now?

“You’re not old enough.”

I force out a laugh. “Wasn’t old enough all those times you kissed me either, but you still did.” My lips tingle at the memory of his moving against mine, but I force myself not to react.

“I swear to God, Luna.” He steps closer to me, but I stand my ground. “You don’t want to test me.”

“Ding-ding!” I loop my index finger through the air. “We’ve got a winner.”

“That fucking mouth,” he mutters.

“But just to clarify further, it’s water and I don’t want anything to do with you.” I take a step back. “So, I’ll just be going now. Have a nice night. Or choke and die. Either way.”

Anger and sadness clash within me, two warring emotions fighting for dominance, as I turn away from Samson. But before I can flee, his big hand clamps down on my shoulder.

“Not so fast Luna.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me.”

“Not until we talk.” His voice holds a note of pleading, like the thought of me being upset with him is unbearable.

A rueful laugh escapes me. Clearly my pain is nothing to him, or he never would have left.

“We have nothing to talk about,” I say, refusing to let him sway me. For as long as I can remember, Samson Carter has been my drug of choice, but I’m nine months sober and I refuse to let his reappearance derail my progress.

“We have everything to talk about.” He steps closer, all the while stroking his thumb over the back of my neck.

I scoff. “We really don’t.”

“Stella.” The way he growls my name sends shivers down my spine.

“Samson?” I spit his name.

“I missed you, you know?” His fingers skate down my left arm, where he grabs my wrist. “You’re not wearing it…”

It takes me a second to realize what the it he’s referring to is.

“You have some fucking nerve, you know that?” Rage boils in my veins, turning my blood to lava. “I don’t care if you missed me. I don’t care why you’re back. The only thing I care about is you staying far, far away from me.”

With one hand still on my shoulder and the other holding my wrist, he steps impossibly closer. So close I can feel the heat of his body at my back. “You don’t mean that.”

“Let go.”

“Not happening.” He presses his face into the side of my neck, inhaling deeply. “Come talk with me.”

“I swear to God!” I jerk against his hold, but it’s useless—he’s easily twice my size.

He cuts me off. “Now, Stella.”

“Never, Samson.” I punctuate my words with a kick to his shin.

“Ouch!” he shouts, releasing me. The second I’m free, I toss my cup and run like hell. “Fuck! Stella! Come back!”

But I don’t… I can’t.

I run all the way back to my car, wishing not for the first time for a friend to talk this all out with.

Once upon a time, Samson was that friend. We’d sit for hours on the front porch or my spot in the woods where we met for the first time, talking about anything and everything. He always listened and gave the best advice. He was my everything.

My first love, my first kiss, and my first heartbreak all rolled up into one tall, strong, and devastatingly handsome package.

I loved him with every ounce of my being; served him my heart up on a silver platter and he tossed it out like two-week-old leftovers. Like it was nothing… like I was nothing.