behavior. I’d never outdo her in the art of highly choreographed not-giving-a-shit, but I could try. So I intentionally knocked over a carousel of costume jewelry on my way out to make my exit more dramatic in a Dynasty kind of way. I thought I would feel exhilarated by my liberation, by the anticipation of Drea’s inevitable apology for overreacting. But when I looked back to see Drea on her hands and knees, scrambling across the gold marble floor to pick up every overpriced, faux stone bauble, I didn’t feel victorious. I just felt confused. And sad.
Very, very sad.
Alexis Carrington never looked back. Drea never looked back. And next time neither would I.
Correction: There wouldn’t be a next time.
40
GOOD LUCK
I made the best of a sucky situation by heading straight to Sam Goody.
Now that we’d done it, I thought it would be kind of fun for him to see me dressed like a Cosmo cover model. Like, maybe I could lure him away from the sales floor to try out some sexy role play or something. Just a few minutes alone in the stockroom would be sufficient to erase what had just gone down at Bellarosa.
I was ecstatic to see him stacking cassettes near the cash registers. I sauntered over to the counter and elbow pressed my boobs together until my cups nearly runneth over. It was one of Drea’s classic moves.
“Did you miss me?” I purred.
“Bellarosa!” Sam Goody gaped at my cleavage for a few seconds. “Whoa!”
“Do you like my new look?”
“I like you,” he answered.
He propped himself up over the counter and kissed me. For a few idyllic seconds, all ill feelings toward my ex–best friend melted into dreamy oblivion. Sam pulled away before I did, his mouth smudged purple.
“Well, I’m glad you like me,” I said, wiping the wayward gloss from his lips with my thumb. “Because Drea hates my guts…”
I wanted to sound like I couldn’t care less. Unfortunately, I failed hard at flippancy. The analgesic effects of Sam’s kiss had already worn off, and I felt as hurt by Drea as I had when I stormed out of the boutique. Before I could stop myself, my eyes were welling up.
“Hey, there,” Sam said with alarm. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I brushed away my tears and pretended Drea’s dismissal had no effect on me.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I croaked. “I’m fine.”
I was relieved when Sam silently took my hand and led me to the stockroom. Less crying, more kissing. Yes! That was exactly what I needed! I wrapped my arms around him, but he limply returned the hug. This was a crueler rejection than a stiff-armed rebuff.
“I like you,” he repeated.
It sure didn’t feel like he liked me.
“I like you too,” I said.
“But this”—he broke from me and swiped a hand in the space that separated us—“is weird.”
“It’s just hairspray and about ten pounds of bronzer!” I insisted. “I can take it off if you want.” Then I lowered my voice to my best approximation of a sultry rasp. “I can take it all off if you want.”
I didn’t wait for an answer before launching myself at him for a lusty kiss. But without my glasses, I misjudged the blurry inches between us and clocked Sam in the chin with my forehead instead.
“Whoa!” he cried out. “Let’s slow down here!”
“Slow down?” I objected. “We don’t have time to slow down!”
“Seriously,” Sam said in a watchful tone, “before one of us gets hurt.”
He was rubbing his jaw, but that wasn’t the pain he was referring to. This stockroom seduction was not going at all the way I had planned.
“You sure know how to ruin a mood,” I griped.
Sam took off his glasses, wiped the lenses on the bottom of his T-shirt, then put them back on again, as if to double-check that the girl he was talking to was really me.
“Look, I don’t know what sex means to you, but it’s special to me,” he said. “Before you, I’d only ever done it with my ex, and we dated for two years first.”
This speech was all very sweet and sensitive and wholly unnecessary.
“But the hatchback was fun, right?” I asked. “We had fun.”
Sam blushed and nodded in agreement.
“I’m leaving in six days,” I argued. “What’s wrong with having the most fun right now?”
“I guess I’m not a right now kind of guy.”
He spoke in such a low voice, I had trouble hearing him over the snarling guitars playing over the store’s sound system. It wasn’t Nirvana, but similar. The