Sam returned from the kitchen with two glasses of wine and a smirk that screamed interrogation mode.
"Okay," she said, handing one glass to Viola and flopping back onto the couch. "Start talking. I want the who, what, when, where, why, and how many times you almost ripped each other's clothes off."
Viola groaned and took a big sip of her wine. "I hate you."
Sam grinned. "Liar. You love me. Now spill."
Viola hesitated, but the wine was warm, the lights were soft, and her best friend was already giving her the look.
So she let it out.
"I went to dinner at his place."
Sam gasped like she'd just won the lottery. "THE place? The marble kitchen, intimidating wine rack, definitely-a-sex-bedroom place?"
Viola blinked. "How the hell would you know what his place looks like?"
Sam sipped casually. "I may or may not have stalked his Instagram and Google-Earth'd his building."
Viola choked on her wine. "You did not."
"Oh, I did. Girl, we had to make sure you weren't walking into a dungeon. Turns out, you walked into something way more dangerous—a man with a wine decanter and emotional complexity."
Viola laughed, sinking deeper into the couch.
"And?" Sam prodded. "Did you guys finally—" She made an incredibly crude hand gesture involving two fingers and her fist.
"SAM!"
"What?" she said innocently. "I just want to know if our girl is walking funny tomorrow."
Viola shoved a pillow at her face. "We didn't have sex. We… talked. Then it got intense. Then I left."
Sam narrowed her eyes. "Okay, define intense. Like, emotional? Or 'he looked at me like a starving man at a buffet' intense?"
Viola's silence was answer enough.
Sam squealed. "OH MY GOD."
Viola sipped again. "He said dinner again. Tomorrow. At his place."
Sam waggled her eyebrows. "Round two. Sexy dinner, sexy dessert, sexy… Viola blackout from pleasure?"
"You're literally the worst."
"No," Sam said smugly. "I'm the best. Because I'm the one who'll help you pick out your outfit, your underwear, and your safe word, if needed."
Viola burst out laughing, wine almost spilling over her glass.
She loved this girl.
Loved the ridiculousness, the loyalty, and how Sam always knew exactly how to pull her out of her own head.
As the night wore on, the two of them laughed until their stomachs hurt, watching trash TV and finishing the bottle of wine.
The sun hadn't even kissed the horizon when Sam's phone blared with the most obnoxious alarm known to humankind.
She groaned from the floor of Viola's apartment, buried under a mountain of blankets."I hate capitalism," she mumbled, slapping at her phone like it had personally offended her.
In the kitchen, Viola—already awake and too chipper for 6:30 a.m.—was stirring sugar into two mugs of coffee.
"Rise and grind, babe," she sang out, dropping a slice of toast into the toaster. "You've got customers to charm and tables to sass."
Sam emerged from the blankets like a gremlin. "If one man asks me if the coffee is 'hot like you,' I swear I'll body slam him into a pancake stack."
Viola snorted. "You do get the creepiest ones."
"Because I'm irresistible," Sam said, flipping her hair dramatically. "And because I once made the mistake of winking at a man named Barry."
Viola passed her the coffee. "You winked at Barry? That man wears socks with flamingos on them."
"He tipped well!"
They burst into laughter, the kind that came easy between them.
Sam downed half her coffee and grabbed her bag, still in yesterday's jeans and an oversized hoodie.
"I look like a hungover raccoon."
Viola smirked. "A chic raccoon. Like if a possum ran a beauty blog."
"Wow," Sam deadpanned. "Such love in this household."
She made it halfway to the door when a knock startled them both.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Expecting someone?"
Viola shook her head. "Nope. Mack doesn't knock. He just materializes like sexy Batman."
Sam cracked open the door—and froze.
Standing there in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled, tattoos peeking from beneath the cuffs, was none other than Jace, Mack's right-hand man. Sunglasses tucked in one hand. A crooked grin on his face.
"Well, damn," he said. "Morning, Sunshine."
Sam blinked. "Did I time-travel into a Calvin Klein ad?"
Jace chuckled. "You always this spicy before 7 a.m.?"
"Only on Mondays and days ending in Y," she quipped, leaning against the doorframe. "What are you doing here? Planning Mack's next dramatic rooftop entrance?"
"I came to drop something off for Mack," he said, holding up an envelope, "but I might have gotten distracted."
She raised an eyebrow. "By?"
"You," he said easily. "And the fact that I've been thinking about asking you out since the day I saw you threaten a man with a butter knife."
Viola choked on her toast from the kitchen. "SAM."
Sam's eyes widened, cheeks pink. "That was... a Tuesday."
Jace grinned. "Dinner?"
Sam paused, lips curling. "I work nights."
"Then I'll wait until you're off."
Viola leaned around the corner, grinning like a fool. "Say yes!"
Sam gave him a slow, amused once-over. "Fine. But if you're boring, I'm fake-calling a work emergency."
Jace's smirk deepened. "Challenge accepted."
He handed Viola the envelope, winked at Sam, and turned, disappearing down the hallway like he knew exactly the effect he'd left behind.
The door clicked shut.
Sam stared at it for a moment before turning to Viola.
"Did I just get asked out by Mr. Tattoo McTrouble before I'd even brushed my teeth?"
Viola grinned. "You did. And you loved it."
Sam huffed, pulling her hoodie over her head as she walked out. "Whatever. I'm still the sexy raccoon."