Sam

Maybe Sam’s idea to get wasted on her first night out wasn’t such a good one. It certainly wasn’t going as planned. She was just supposed to pretend to be drunk, so when Devon brought her home she could show her father what a bad influence he was.

Look, Dad. First night in Ireland and your bestie’s son gets your perfect daughter wasted. This kind of thing would never happen in Boston.

The problem was, Sam was a bit drunk. But the bigger problem was that Devon was way drunker. He was really bad at never-have-I-ever. Sam had totally been cheating, but still. For looking like an Irish heartthrob, it seemed like Devon really wasn’t much of a bad boy. He had the typical drunken teenager stories, but he refused to talk about girlfriends or sex. What a prude!

Maybe he was still a virgin? Nah, no one looks like that and holds onto their v-card this long.

Maybe he was gay? Nah, she wasn’t getting that vibe from him.

The drunker he got the more handsy he got. And he kept staring at her like the answer to the universe was hidden just inside her eyes.

Conning Devon was going to be even easier than she thought. She could probably get him to sleep with her and then tell her father he’d forced her. That would get her on the first flight back to Boston! But maybe not tonight. Devon seemed a little too drunk to get the job done. Plus, he was morphing from flirty-drunk to gloomy-drunk.

“Ya know? I’m really glad you’re here, Sam. Things with my dad . . . it’s not good. I know he doesn’t have much time left.” Devon sniffled and took another drink. “I don’t know how you did it, Sam. Losing your mom . . . how did you survive it?”

Shit. It was time to cut him off.

“I don’t think I can survive this,” Devon continued, staring into his drink.

“You’d be surprised what you can survive,” she said. “But come on. Let’s not start mourning anyone just yet,” she said taking another sip of her coke.

They’d switched to rum and coke a few rounds ago and Sam kept getting hers sans rum. She expected Devon to notice, but the pub was bonkers. It had turned from a normal restaurant atmosphere to a drunken zoo as soon as it got dark. There were burly men in soccer jerseys chanting fight songs and drunken women, talking and laughing too loudly. It was probably time to go. Sam looked at her phone to check the time. It was dead—but to be fair she hadn’t charged it since she left Boston.

Boston. Just thinking the word sent pain lancing through her. She looked over at Devon. He was now back to flirty-drunk, smirking at her adoringly. She’d done enough damage for tonight. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s pay our tab.”

Devon looked confused. “Who? Why? We’re just starting to have fun.”

“I think you might have had a bit too much fun,” she said helping him up from his chair. She dragged him toward the crowded bar to pay. Devon kept a hold on her hand and when they got close enough to the bar to pay, he was smashed right up behind her.

Sam hated how much she liked the way Devon felt pressed against her. He paid their tab and while they waited for change, he looped a hand possessively around her waist. She nearly had a stroke when he hooked a thumb inside the waistband of her leggings. It was an intimate gesture. Something a boyfriend would do, not a boy you hadn’t seen in nine years. But God, was it hott!

Devon finally removed his hand when the bartender gave him his change. Sam was already slipping from his grasp, anxious to get out to the street where there was more space and less Devon. He staggered a bit and she had to put her shoulder under his arm to steady him as they moved through the crowd. They were almost to the door, but Devon didn’t seem in any rush to leave. He was saying goodbye to everyone they passed and when Sam reached for the door, she let go of him. He almost toppled over and she had to lunge back to grab him, wrapping her arms around his waist to keep him from going down. And of course, Devon took that as an invitation to pull Sam into another bone-crunching hug.

“Christ, I’m so glad you came home, Sam.”

“Yep,” she said trying to pry herself loose. “Me too.” She had experience with drunk people—okay, mostly just drunk Megan—but Sam knew being agreeable was usually the best plan of attack.

Devon loosened his grip so he could look down at her. He really had to look down too because the top of her head only came to his chin. It hurt her neck to look up at him.

“I really missed you, Sam,” he said dreamily.

“Yep, I missed you too. Now let’s go,” she said trying to pull him out the door. But Devon pulled back and before she knew it, she was locked in his arms, her feet dangling inches from the sticky wood floor. She tried to say something in protest, but her face was so incredibly close to his, she worried if she opened her mouth they’d be kissing.

Devon nuzzled her cheek with his nose. He smelled like a distillery.

“I don’t think you understand, Sam,” he whispered. “I really missed you. Like for the past nine years, missed you.”

Her breath caught in her throat again, and all her devious plans vanished. All she knew was that she needed to get out of Devon’s arms or soon she would be kissing him—and from the looks of his perfect lips—enjoying it. Down girl!

God, she’d never wished for a bucket of ice water so badly.

“Devon,” she started. But he nuzzled her lips with his nose. And that was dangerous territory, because his lips were right under his nose—his perfect, beautiful, delicious lips. And then, they were on her lips.

Shit! Stop!

No, wait. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.

If kissing were an Olympic sport, Devon would be a gold medalist. No, he’d be Michael Phelps. Yes, Devon was definitely the Michael Phelps of kissing. His tongue swept hers slowly at first, but then his strokes increased. Sam wrapped her hands around Devon’s strong neck, hanging on for dear life as he swam for the finish line in her mouth.

Good God! No wonder Devon hadn’t said anything about his past girlfriends. They were probably all deceased if he could kiss like this. Died of spontaneous combustion. Sam was pretty sure her panties were on fire at the moment. She was just waiting for the rest of her to go up in flames as she curled her fingers in his perfect brown hair when a splash of something cold hit her in the face.

Not now!

Of all the times for her stupid wishes to come true . . . Sam and Devon broke apart, which pretty much meant she stumbled to the floor trying to catch her breath and balance all at the same time, while wiping at the contents of whatever beverage had just been dumped on her—it didn’t taste like water . . . more like vodka.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” a shrill female voice demanded.

Sam regained her composure and followed the voice. It belonged to a petite blonde that looked like she’d just walked out of a Ralph Lauren ad. She was holding an empty glass and glaring at Devon.

“Sophie?” Devon looked like he was just waking up from a nightmare.

“Still snogging anything with tits, I see,” she added with a scathing sneer.

“It’s not any of your business who I snog. You broke up with me, remember?”

“Best decision of her life,” said the handsome thick-necked man that walked up behind Sophie. He put his hands around her waist and promptly shoved his tongue down her throat.

Watching them kiss wasn’t pretty, but it must have been offensive to Devon, because he paled three shades and then a red flush crept from the back of his neck to the hollows of his cheeks. His mouth hung open for a moment before he tried to form a sentence. But it just came out as jumbled sounds. He looked like a fish gulping for air. The anguish twisting his perfect features was agonizing to watch. Sam didn’t really know what was going on, but she couldn’t help but feel bad for Devon, because it seemed to be crippling him. Her instincts told her to pull him away from the couple who were still going at it. Damn, was kissing an Olympic sport in Ireland?

Thankfully, Devon followed Sam’s gentle tugging and let her lead him out of the bar.

“Good seeing, ya Dev!” the thick-neck boy called after them.

Sam looked back to see the couple had finally stopped kissing. The blonde girl was sneering at Devon and finger-waving patronizingly, while thick-neck laughed. Sam didn’t know who the hell they were to Devon, but she instantly knew them. They were the popular kids—mean girls and jock gods—and their language was universal. Sam would recognize it anywhere. How could she not? She was one of them. Or at least she used to be at her old school. It seemed all bets were off here if that’s how they treated a guy that looked like Devon.

Sophie

Sophie McKenna stared after Devon and the scrubby looking brunette she’d caught him snogging. After Sophie watched them get into Devon’s car, she whirled on her boyfriend, Zander. “Who the hell was that twit with Devon?”

“Samantha Connors, I think. She’s his friend from the states. She’ll be joining us at Eddington this year.”

“How do you know that?”

“Her father is Henry’s business partner. Henry asked him to come help run the company and get Devon up to speed. He’s supposed to be brilliant. I’d love to pick his brain about Cor-Tec and—”

“Oh shut up, Zander! I hate when you blither on. I thought we agreed no geek talk. I’m not dating you for your brain.”

“Right,” Zander grumbled.

“What else do you know about Samantha?” Sophie asked, hissing the other girl’s name like it was a dirty word.

“Not much. She was born here, but moved to the states, Boston I think, after her mum died. And now she’s back.”

“How do you know all this?”

Zander laughed. “Devon never shuts up about her. He used to have a crush on her when she lived here. And I’d say he still does.”

Sophie felt her temper flaring. Stupid prat. Zander should have led with that! It was all she needed to hear to make up her mind. There was no way Sophie was going to let some American twit dressed like a rehab-reality star get in the way of her plan.

She could feel Zander frowning at the back of her head. “What?” Sophie spat, not even turning to look at him.

“Is Samantha a problem for you?”

Sophie laughed. “Girls like that are never a problem for me.”

Devon

“Friends of yours?” Sam asked when they were outside.

“Used to be,” he mumbled.

“Do they go to Eddington?”

He nodded.

“Great.” Sam groaned. “Is everyone at Eddington so welcoming?”

Devon scrubbed his face in frustration. Seeing his ex-girlfriend snogging his ex-mate had made him queasy. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Sam. Can we just get out of here, please?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I should drive,” Devon said, once they’d crossed the street. He stood outside his Defender with his hand on the back of his neck. He felt like a total wanker asking her to drive, but the last thing he wanted to do was endanger her by getting behind the wheel after drinking too much. He’d put her through enough tonight.

Sam looked at him like she was just figuring out he was drunk. He tossed her the keys. “You drive.”

“What? No! I can’t.”

“Sam, I’m not kidding. I’m not gonna drive you home like this.”

“Well, I can’t either,” she said trying to hand the keys back.

Devon refused to take them. “I don’t know how you managed, but somehow you seem a lot more sober than me, so just drive, okay? I don’t want to be here right now.”

“I can’t!” she yelled. “Just call a cab or something.”

Devon huffed a laugh. “Where do ya think ya are? There’s no cabs in Dalkey. This isn’t Boston.”

“Clearly!” she fumed.

“Christ, Sam, why is everything so difficult with you? Just drive us home.”

“I can’t!” she yelled. “I can’t drive! As in, at all. I don’t have a license.” She crossed her arms angrily. “I don’t know how to drive, okay?” she said quietly.

Devon didn’t know if it was the booze or the shear insanity of the notion, but it took a while for what Sam was saying to sink in. And when it finally did, for some unknown reason, Devon thought it was hilarious. Okay, he did know why he found it so funny, it was the booze—he’d always been a giddy drunk. He started shaking with laughter, which must’ve been the wrong thing to do, because Sam looked like she was going to punch him. She shoved him instead.

“Jesus, just get in, Devon! I’ll drive us,” she grumbled angrily.

“No way! I’m not letting a half drunk Yank who doesn’t know how to drive touch my baby,” he said jokingly as he blocked her from getting into his Defender.

He was only half joking. He really did love his car.

Sam huffed defiantly. “I thought I was Irish? Ireland remembers, and all that crap,” she said, quoting him.

“Yeah, that was before I knew you were still a child.”

Sam’s eyes widened and then went twitchy. Wrong thing to say, mate!

“Oh, I’m a child? Do you normally go around kissing children? Is that sort of thing acceptable here in Ireland? Because let me tell you, the rest of the world frowns upon it.”

Devon ran his hands through his hair. “No, Sam . . . I didn’t mean . . .” he blew out an exasperated breath. How was he going to talk his way out of this one? “About that kiss . . .”

“Forget it! I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just pretend it never happened and figure out how the hell to get home.”

“Fine by me,” he said.

“Good. So, which way’s home?”

Devon watched Sam spin helplessly around looking up and down the street. Poor thing didn’t even know where she was. Once again he found himself compelled to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go. She was just so damn cute—too cute for her own good. Just like he remembered her. She was still the same willowy girl he memorized, yet not. There was more to her now. And all of it was good. The familiar parts, the new parts, the kissing parts.

Shite! He needed to get his mind out of the gutter. He needed to focus on getting out of here before Sophie and Zander came out for round two of layin’ boots to him. Devon still couldn’t quite believe they were together. It wasn’t so much Sophie, but Zander. They’d been mates forever. And that was their one rule. Put a lass before your mate and end up on your arse. Bro-code and all that. But things had been complicated with Zander ever since Devon’s father married Zander’s sister, Cara. Technically that made Zander, Devon’s uncle. It still grossed him out when he thought about it that way.

“Earth to Devon! How are we getting home?” Sam yelled.

“I guess we’ll have to walk,” Devon replied.

Walking wouldn’t be bad. It wasn’t that far. Plus, it meant more time with Sam. Maybe more time kissing Sam.

Sam

“Walk?” Sam frowned. “How far is it?”

Devon shrugged. “Not that far. Maybe five . . . six miles.”

Sam looked down at her feet, once again regretting her choice of attire. She was still wearing her Uggs—not exactly long distance walking shoes. Plus, she felt dumb in them. They were cool for like a minute. And not even in Sam's lifetime, but she secretly loved them. They were so comfy and warm. They were her official airplane shoes. It's not like she ever dressed up to fly. She wasn’t expecting to run into anyone she was trying to impress on an airplane. Or parade five miles through town in them. Sam suddenly wished she was one of those people who dressed up to fly. She never understood how people wore suits on planes. But now she sorta saw the appeal. Then, at least she wouldn’t be in her stupid Uggs. 

She scowled at her boots considering her options. What if she ran into more of Devon’s so-called friends? She didn’t want to be cast as a social pariah just because they saw her wearing Uggs.

Sam was popular at her old school in Boston. And Stanton Prep wasn’t the easiest place to be part of the in crowd. She wasn't a Golden or anything—those were the crème de la crème at Stanton. You couldn't be a Golden unless you were obscenely rich, famous or blessed by divine birthright. And sometimes that didn’t even guarantee you would be a Golden for life. Goldens fell from grace all the time. Sam’s mind instantly flashed back to Cody Matthews, a boy a few years older than her at Stanton. He was probably the most famous fallen Golden. She couldn’t even imagine dealing with his disaster.

But, anyway, that didn’t matter, because Sam wasn't a Golden, she wasn’t even at Stanton anymore. But she was still hoping to be popular at her new school, Eddington Academy.

She knew from experience being part of the in crowd made things a lot easier. Sam thought it would be easy to win everyone over at Eddington. She was pretty, played sports, got good grades, and made friends easily. But if the popular crowd at Eddington treated a guy like Devon this bad, Sam was afraid to see what their versions of Goldens were like. With Devon’s looks and wealth he would be a reigning monarch at Stanton. Eddington must be a viper’s nest if even Devon couldn't survive. 

That sealed the deal. She wasn’t risking walking through town in her current attire. She didn’t want to be referred to as Ugg-girl for the next few months of her miserable life in Ireland. She turned to Devon. “Screw that! It’s freezing. I don’t want to walk home.”

Devon

Sam was right. It was unseasonably cold, but that was pretty much the only temperature Ireland had in the fall—cold and colder.

“Here,” Devon said shrugging off his sweater and offering it to Sam.

“Thanks.”

She stuffed her head through and damn it all to hell if she didn’t look even cuter. Her tiny frame swam in his massive baby blue sweater—like a kitten wearing clothes or some rubbish.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I’m still not really crazy about walking six miles in these boots.”

“Unless you’re joking about the whole not-knowing-how-to-drive thing, I don’t see what other choice we have.”

“I wish I was joking. But, how hard can driving a few miles be? Maybe you could teach me?”

She sounded so optimistic Devon would have said yes to anything. You’d like a kidney or maybe my liver? Sure thing, kitten. Anything for you.

* * *

Ten minutes later they were both buckled into the Defender and Devon was running through the basics of driving a manual transmission, completely regretting his decision.

“Like this?” Sam asked.

The car lurched forward and stalled.

Shite! This was a bad idea.

She tried again. Grind, lurch, stall. Grind, lurch, stall.

A very bad idea.

People inside the pub were watching and pointing now.

“You’re too close to the car in front of you. Put it in reverse,” Devon directed.

“Okay.” Sam slammed the brakes, grinding to a halt.

Devon winced, putting his arm behind Sam’s seat to look over his shoulder so he could guide her. He listened to Sam grinding into reverse and closed his eyes. His poor baby!

When Devon opened his eyes he realized entirely too late that they weren’t moving backwards—but forward. “Stop!” he bellowed.

Crunch.

“Shite!” Devon yelled, staring at the wreckage in front of them.

“Oh my god!” Sam’s hands were covering her face, which was a good thing because half a dozen people came charging out of the bar and they looked murderous.