The Coldest Summer✓

Two

The office has finally granted my vacation. Today I return home early, feeling like a schoolgirl on her summer break. Much to my surprise, however, I find Sam inside my apartment turning my space into her beauty parlor. This woman! I scoff and step in.

She's busy polishing her long nails with a huge manicure kit on the coffee table. Her short bleached hair cascades freely down her giraffe neck, like the bombshell she is, and I only see a fashion model in her. She's quite a beauty, and she knows that fact so well.

"Hi, Kiki!" She beams, and I hate that name. "You're home early. Let me guess, we're going on that trip." Her eyes flash expectantly.

"How did you get in?" Ignoring her excitement, I close the door behind me.

She frowns and then drops her long legs from the table. "Kira, I told you to stop hiding your keys under the flowerpot, didn't I? But well, I'm glad you didn't listen."

"Well, I should've guessed," I murmur, pulling a hair clip to free my dusky brown curls. What a day! "When did you get here?" I ask Sam as I head toward the bedroom, ready to get cozy into something loose.

"About an hour ago," Sam replies, "and I'm fine in case you've forgotten about my health!"

A smile stretches across my lips.

"I'm glad you are. Have you had lunch yet? Or still on a diet?"

"Depends," she says. "Are you going to cook?"

"Lasagna or Spanish omelet?" I glance at her via the wall partition acting as my enormous bookshelf.

"Lasagna, please." She grins from ear to ear.

"As long as you wash the dishes," I mutter.

She chuckles. "Evil witch!"

"Sleeping beauty would've been proud." I smile softly and start whipping off my clothes.

Moments later I ask Sam about the guy she's supposedly dating. It turns out they met during work, and she allegedly volunteered to tour him around the city since he's not from L.A. Other intimate details follow that I refuse to listen to, but in a nutshell, she seems to like him.

"He's not just a hangup, Kira. I seriously like him." She sounds sincere.

And it's a first.

"Okay, I'm not arguing. Is he rich? Because I don't think he's a pauper if you're that excited." I lie lazily on the couch, waiting for the lasagna to bake properly in the oven.

"No, he's loaded," Sam says, shrugging heedlessly.

As expected.

"Is he handsome? Like... enough to make terrific babies?"

Sam stays silent for a second as if meditating on my question, before brewing a flushing smile and saying, "He's extremely breathtaking."

Interesting.

Now I'm curious to meet this amazing man enough to make the incredible Samantha Ford drool over him. I understand my friend loves playing big leagues, but she never takes any of those rich boys seriously. But now I think she's serious about this one.