L.W.T.B.B Copyright © 2012-2015 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

Rewritten chapter posted - September 19th 2015.

It's my three year wattpad anniversary :) Thank you to everyone who has supported me in the past. Your strength and courage is what fueled me to continue writing and I would never be here today if it weren't for you guys <3 To my old readers, thank you guys for sharing a love so strong for this story, because Beer Boy and Barbie Girl's (Rewritten) story would never exist if y'all hadn't motivated me to pursue better writing <3. This one is for all of you. xx

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{ Chapter 11 } : Gripping His Stick With Expert Skills

I never thought of myself as someone who was easily influenced.

I always believed that despite my judgements and past decisions, no one knew me better than myself. Not my mom. Not my dad. And certainly not my best friends.

Wrong. So very wrong.

These past two years were proven to be a joke. At the end of the day, I didn't really know myself. I did reckless things. Got away with reckless things. Got myself into trouble for doing reckless things.

What I was doing right now felt like the most reckless of all things.

No amount of vandalizing, making graffito or hot boxing in a car could compare to this. I had years worth of stupid shit down. This was the stupidest by far. Especially because I never committed the same mistakes twice. Now I was making the same mistake willingly.

Standing in front of Layla's full length mirror, I cursed at myself for letting her and Gabriela drag me to another godforsaken party.

Layla came beside me in a short red dress and whistled. "Hot mama. Someone is looking sexay tonight."

I grimaced at her. "I look like a hot mess."

"Not sure about mess, but you got the hot part down to a science. I hate you and your fucking perfect genes. I'd kill for an ass like that."

"Oh, my... God," I moved a hand down my face, flattered and embarrassed at the same time. "You're too much." Years of squatting and elliptical machine had paid off.

She bit her lip and winked. "That dress was made for you, Jo. Those heels make you look like a skyscraper. I swear you're going to get fucked tonight."

In a flash, I blazed away from her as she laughed at my half-dirty-half-distraught expression.

"I'm not looking for some d*ick tonight," I stated flatly. Or ever again. My face felt like it erupted in a million flames.

Layla continued laughing devilishly. "Well, it will be looking for you. Dick searching for Anna." Then she laughed maniacally at her own dumb joke.

"You're so weird. Why are we even friends?" I asked more to myself than her. "Nothing is looking for me and I'm not looking for someone."

"Who said anything about a someone?" Layla looked smug as she crossed her arms over her chest. "We're just talking about dick."

I clicked my tongue, frustrated, and went on to fix my eye make-up. "No one. Dick won't be there."

Layla's expression transformed to pure evil. "I'm starting to think Dick is a codename for a guy."

I fixed my loose waves. "It's for no one." Then she made me second-guess myself as my thoughts drifted to a specific person.

Gabby's car horn blared through Layla's open window, and Layla tucked away the lipstick she was sweeping on her lips.

She swung her small purse over her shoulder and threw me a smile. "That's our cue to leave."

I surveyed my appearance one more time and cringed at what I saw there. Hot pink high pumps. A halter neck black dress that rode under the curve of my ass and dipped down to the small of my back, putting an ample amount of cleavage on display.

Forget, hot mama. I looked like a hooker.

In some way, I guess I was looking for Dick. Whatever the hell Dick was in this context.

I was just as twisted and fucked-up as my best friend.

* * *

Gabby drove us in her older sister's Lexus.

The gathering was small and formal, and at a house I'd never been to before. It was to celebrate the start of football season. All of Josh's friends were there.

It wasn't grand like his parties, but the atmosphere was more relaxed and homey. However, the thick smell of weed lingered in the entire area.

"If you guys don't mind, I think I'm going to go find Josh," Layla said the second we crossed the threshold.

For a small party, it was still crowded.

"Are you guys glued to the hip or something?" Gabby mussed, then shooed Layla away when she blushed. "Run along now. Go find your boy toy."

She trotted away quickly.

Gabby and I found some senior girls from our classes and started conversing with them in the kitchen. She drank water while I forcefully nursed a beer that one of my friends had handed me.

"I thought it was only supposed to be footballers and their girlfriends, and some close friends," I whispered to Gabriela as I observed a new wave of people entering through the front door.

She shrugged and fixed her sky blue dress. "People must have decided to crash."

We fell into our own pattern later. I spoke to a few girls I hadn't socialized with in a long time and most of them acted like we'd never drifted apart.

That was the beauty of music and a little bit of alcohol; it brought people together.

"It's great to see you again, Jo," Marissa Wright, an old friend of mine who attended Eastwood High, said close to my ear. "It's been too long since I last saw you at a place this packed."

I smiled around the rim of my bottleneck. "I've been... missing in action."

"Yeah. I heard," she said. "You back for good now? Done hiding around in your cave?"

She didn't know what I hid from. My nightmares. My inner demons. Just that I stopped attending the local, every-weekend parties. Marissa was one of the girls I often hung out with back in the days.

Unlike the others from Joey's group, she wasn't rude and bitchy. I actually liked her and Marissa was sweet. She just happened to have a wild side that I could relate too. Maybe I liked her then because we were similar in so many ways.

Or used to be, at least.

A part of me wondered if I should be keeping my distance from her because she knew all the people from a past I had left behind. It occurred to me then that she didn't have a big mouth, and nor did she gravitate around Joey Donald because she was looking for a good shag. She simply hung out with his mutual crowd because she was a fan of a damn good party.

"I'm done hiding," I finally told her and my gaze skittered to the living room. "But enough about me - what's up with you?"

She chatted animatedly for the next few minutes and I listened with absolute vigor. It was nice. A little bit like old times, but not too much. The feeling-good sentiment was there, just not the rebellious behavior that was usually associated with it.

Marissa tied her caramel strands in a knot on top of her head and her hazel eyes shone with excitement. "It took me forever to convince my parents, but we're going to the lake house at the end of the year for sure."

She wasn't very tall - just above average height - but she managed to swing herself up on the waist-high island counter with ease. Her wedge clad feet swayed as she recounted me another story.

"What are your plans?"

We were talking about college.

"Honestly, I'm one of those people who have yet to figure out what they want to do with their lives."

"I feel you. I used to be one of those, too."

"And now?"

She smirked, then shot a seeking glance over her shoulder. "I have a clearer path of what I want to do with my life."

"Is something wrong? You keep checking over your shoulder." I followed her line of vision and saw a mass of football players huddled by the beer-pong table.

She sipped her beer. "It's just that I came here with someone tonight."

"Ouh." I leaned on the counter and wiggled my eyebrows. "You've got talking to do. Start spilling, sister."

He gaze flickered heavenwards. "Well... if you must know, you nosy bitch. He's just some hot piece of ass I started dating a few days ago. He plays for the Panthers - Bryce Callahan."

"Never heard of him."

"Then you probably don't know him. He's more of the shy, quiet type. Got a fantastic bod though. The kind where I'd totally lick chocolate sauce off every ridge and ripple."

I shook my head at her absurdness. "Nice guys are good for girls like us," I surprised myself by saying.

She sighed heavily. "Yeah, but we have the tendency to fall for the bad ones - the bad boys. We can't help it."

Samuel Adams is a bad boy. I hated myself for even thinking of that. Joey Donald was a bad boy, too. I resented myself at the end of that thought.

I closed my eyes, feeling the alcohol trickling through my system and slowing everything down. I leaned back against the cabinets and crossed my arms. "I wonder why that is."

Marissa seemed to have an answer to my dilemma. She ran a finger up her bronzed thighs and drew an invisible pattern. "Girls equally like the thrill of being chased by boys like that, but they'll never admit it. At the end, girls just want to tame the bad ones, while the latter are ready to move on the second they have us in their grasps. It's a game of catch and release; a stupid equation to which there is no solution. It's a vicious cycle. A heartbreak waiting to happen every single time you commit the same mistakes again."

I looked at her. Really, truly looked at her. "You said us. Are you talking from experience?"

She gave a nonchalant shrug but her eyes took on a glazed-like quality. "Don't we all want someone bad who will be good for us?"

I compressed my lips in a thin line and nodded. That's why I had wanted Joey. He chased me even when I made it clear that I didn't want to be with him. Stupidly, I fell in love with him not too long after. "I guess we do. It's sick yet we can't help but make the same choices again, huh?"

She laughed sarcastically and took another swig of alcohol. "Right on."

I threw away my finished bottleneck and grabbed another one. "So bad boys avoided for good, Marissa?"

"For now," she said simply, and smiled mischievously, all traces of sadness drained from her face. "Until the masochistic part of me is ready to have my heart ripped out again."

We laughed in unison and clinked our beers together.

* * *

Two beers and a shot of tequila later, Marissa and I had migrated to the living room, where the real party was going on.

We watched two games of beer-pong and continued talking quietly. Layla was busy with Joshua by the far corner of the room as they necked the night away. On the other hand, a junior from the football team was desperately hitting on Gabriela. Hunter Warren was close to them, too, and he was glaring daggers at his teammate while his girlfriend annoyingly clung to his arm. It was messed up. It made me laugh.

Somewhere between another drink, and Layla and Gabriela laughing/feuding over something irrelevant, I had to pee.

Marissa giggled but it almost came out as a slur. "I'll come with you."

We trudged to the bathroom on the second floor and what I saw there had my stomach churning. Marissa blocked her eyes with her hands. "I'm going to be sick."

Sitting on the linoleum flooring of the bathroom, a girl puked her guts out into the toilet bowl. The sounds she was making... they were unsettling me. Normally I would help her but I was frozen. Marissa, too.

Some guy shouldered past us and into the bathroom. He held the girl's hair away from her face and flushed the toilet as she continued being sick. When I opened my eyes, I was knocked off my axis when I realized it was Samuel.

Next to me, Marissa gasped a little. "Hey... that's..."

"Sam." I finished for her, and at the sound of my voice, his gaze snapped my way. His eyes widened in surprise then he jerked his head back to the girl, finishing his task. He helped her stand up, handed her a tissue so she could clean herself, and led her out the bathroom.

He left when the girl's friends had taken over, expressing their tremendous gratitude to him.

"Do you know him, Mare?" I was watching his retreating back. I didn't think he was here tonight. I hadn't seen him all night.

Marissa shook her head. "No, but my best friend Candice does... really well."

"Oh." My oh didn't sound really nice. In fact, it sounded mean.

"He's a nice guy," Marissa finished in a soft voice. She was so done drinking.

"He's a bad boy." Apparently, I wasn't.

Marissa frowned and a crinkle etched between her brows. "Not all bad boys are bad boys...some of them are... good guys disguised as bad boys."

Deciding my bladder didn't need emptying at the same toilet that the girl puked in, I started descending the stairs one step at a time. I swayed because of my high heels. "Marissa, you don't even make any sense right now."

Downstairs my friends made me chase all the alcohol down with a bottle of water. I took a break from drinking until I felt a little better.

No amount of distractions could stop me from thinking about Samuel Adams and how he'd tenderly helped out that girl tonight. Moreover, I couldn't understand why he hasn't out here with the rest of his rowdy and douche-bag friends.

He's a nice boy. Marissa's words played in my mind like a tape. Sometimes bad boys are good guys disguised as bad boys.

I shook my head in a vain attempt to clear it of clouding thoughts.

Marissa stirred beside me on the couch. Gabby and Layla were now engaged in a game of beer pong versus Joshua. A couple of people danced to the music in the open-space of the living room.

"Anna?" Marissa's voice sounded sleepy. She told me she was just waiting for Bryce to finish up so they could head back to his place. "Why did you and Joey break up?"

A splash of icy cold water is how her words felt like, trickling into my bloodstream and causing every muscle of mine to harden. Until the ice felt like it had reached my beating heart and weaved its frozen tendrils around it. Even in my half-inebriated state, I sat up rigidly, squeezing my eyes closed to block out the pain.

Because Joey is not a good boy.

I couldn't tell her. I thought I would burst into tears so I crushed her question away and made an excuse as I stood up. The alcohol in my system was making me woozy and emotional.

I told Gabby and Layla the same; I needed fresh air.

Earlier I found a balcony when I was upstairs with Marissa. My plan was to go there, but my feet changed their course of direction upon reaching the landing of the staircase.

Hearing the familiar sound of Samuel's deep baritone had me heading towards the room I saw him last disappear to before I left to go downstairs.

He's a nice boy. A nice boy disguised as a bad boy.

I entered the dimly lit room and Samuel was perched over a pool table with a cue stick. Some partygoers strayed close, watching the game.

I stayed far from them, near a couple quietly making-out on a couch. My back was plastered to the wall and I breathed heavily, sweat smeared across my throat and collarbone.

The game was over and Sam's friends dispersed. Moving along the room with a drink in his hand was the friend I recognized as Nate. The guy he was talking to looked vaguely familiar. I looked away when Nate and the other guy caught me staring.

Sam's eyes fastened on mine.

I sucked in a shuddering breath. He was chalking his stick, and when he deposited it against the wall, I was on the move. Some kind of invisible force propelled me towards him.

He met me halfway, a hand weaving around my wrist to steady me before I could stagger into him.

"What are you doing?" His hot breath hit the shell of my ear.

I gulped, locking eyes with him again. They were a darker shade than usual.

He's a nice boy, Anna.

"I'm sorry," were the words that escaped my lips. He wasn't so bad maybe, I think...yet a part of me continued to stubbornly label him the wrong way. I don't exactly know what I was apologizing for. Maybe for spitting rude words at him in the library. Maybe for everything in between those lines.

Sam's dark blond eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

My stomach flipped at the look and then I suddenly had word-vomit. "Thank you." For breaking my fall. For helping that girl in the bathroom, and making me realize that maybe you aren't as bad as I thought you were. For everything between those lines - everything I couldn't think of in this moment.

It was the liquor that gave me the courage to come up to him, even though I thought I wanted to avoid him. Now that I was here, I didn't want to leave. I couldn't think of another place I'd rather be. My emotions ran a high when Samuel Adams was concerned and I didn't know why. It confused me. I didn't like feeling confused.

Sam's deep sigh hit my forehead and I used the fabric of his shirt to pull myself upright. "You're the most confusing girl I've ever met."

"I'm trying to make this right."

"Make what right?"

I took a greedy pull of his cologne, deciding right there and then that I utterly loved his scent. "Everything."

Sam's big hand came around to cradle my jaw and my skin tingled where he touched me. He lifted my head from his chest. "Can we please speak in English, Jodanna?"

I sighed and put some distance between us. "I have so much guilt inside me." Those were the truest words I'd spoken in awhile. "For what I said to you in the library." And for what I've messed up in the past.

"Are you drunk?" he rumbled.

Just a little tipsy. "No." Okay, a little past tipsy. "I'm feeling tired...and regretful."

"I don't get you," he said lowly, his voice causing shivers to snake up my spine. "You say you want to avoid me, ignore me because of the kind of guy I am, yet you're here saying sorry because you regret something you said to me on impulse."

"I'm complicated." My face twisted at my own words, but my tone was soft, barely audible. "I was angry and said things I didn't mean."

"Apology accepted," Sam mumbled, defeated, like he was tired and ran a hand over his head. "I'm sorry, too."

I noticed his hair was fuller at the top , resembling a mass of gold, and the sides were faded, cropped closely to his head. The way he styled it, it looked a little bit like a faux hawk. I liked it.

"Apology accepted," I quoted.

Samuel had a tight white t-shirt on that stretched across the expanse of his broad chest. A hint of a tattoo peaked out from underneath the collar of his shirt. My hands itched to push aside the fabric of his shirt so I could have a look, curiosity quaking within me. Under the hem of his short sleeve, there seemed to be the ending of another inked design.

Oh, God. I was a sucker for the tattooed ones. Now I was even more intrigued with him and that wasn't good.

"I shouldn't have called you a bitch, either," Sam continued, murmuring so quietly I had to lean in to hear him. Regret burned in his features. "I was mad you'd said those things, especially when you don't even know me."

"Let's forget about it." I avoided his gaze like the plague and reached across the pool table to grab the 8, desperate to make light of this situation and just move on. "I'll act as if it never happened."

Sam let out a breath and backed up. "Right. Clean slates."

"Where are you going?"

He threw me a look over his shoulder. "Aren't you the one who said we should avoid each other - for whatever reason that is?"

"Oh." I swallowed roughly. "I see."

He began walking away and panic knocked me off balance. I suddenly didn't want to be alone. My gaze darted around the room and there was no one here... everyone I needed to hide this from was downstairs.

"Wait!" I called after him desperately. Sam wheeled around and raised his brows almost cynically. My throat worked and I glanced down at the ball in my hands. "How about one game?"

With a deep breath, Sam stalked towards me. I watched Nate watching us from the corner of my eye. "What are you talking about?"

I held up my hands in surrender. "One game. I'm not ready to go back downstairs and from the look on your face, neither are you."

Sam smirked a little, but he tried masking it by rocking his jaw from side-to-side.

I continued. "We can start over. Once the night's done, we'll pretend we never met."

A beat passed. Then his eyes narrowed. "You do realize I'll be seeing you more often now that your best friend is dating my teammate, right?"

"I know." The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why I was so adamant about pushing him away - although I'd come to terms with the fact that maybe he wasn't so bad. But a part of him was still trouble, and that trouble I needed to stay away from. This meant keeping contact and conversation to a minimum. For tonight, I'd allow myself to slip a little. "Doesn't mean that we have to acknowledge each other."

"That's how you want to play it?"

"Yes." I don't know why but I wanted to be around him for tonight. I'd begun seeing so many different sides to him lately and it was making my head spin. The cocky, the smug, the irritated, and the caring Samuel Adams. Just how many layers were there to this enigma?

Sam levelled me with a look at the sheer desperation in my voice and when I returned it, something changed within him. I felt it - the flicker of disappointment, the sagging of the shoulders - right before the cool and confident mask slid into place.

A heart-melting smile glided over his full mouth. He extended a hand. "I'm Samuel Adams. But you can call me Sam or Beer Boy for short."

It took me a split second to catch up. "I'm Jodanna Baker," I giggled. "Not Johanna. My friends call me Anna or Jo for short. But you can call me Barbie Girl - as long as no one else hears it."

"Deal." He chuckled, playing along, and closing in on me, taking my hand. He placed a kiss on my knuckles. "As long as you only call me Beer Boy when no one is around."

I giggled again - the alcohol really kicking in - and something about it had Sam's face softening even further.

"That should have been our first real meeting," he hushed against the skin of my hand and the vibrations shot tingles up my arm.

"Agreed," I whispered back.

My eyes bore into his green, mesmerizing ones. I snapped out of my reverie when he suddenly leaned in...

"I-I'll go get myself a cue stick."

On the other side of the room, there was a shelf that catered to several billiard sticks. I was getting one when I felt Sam's eyes on me. I didn't turn around.

Only when I heard a soft whistle from beside me.

I flinched. Before I could face the direction of the sound, Sam's stern voice sifted through.

"Tony," he all but barked, causing a few heads to turn my way. "Leave her alone. She's not looking for you to pull some damn moves."

Tony, who I now recognized as the boy chatting with Nate earlier, laughed darkly and sipped his beer. "Don't get your boxers in twist. I was just going to tell your friend here that I really like her shoes."

My eyes dropped to my hot pink heels and I glared at him. Something about him unsettled me. Not to mention that everyone here at the party was starting to look familiar. Like I knew them from somewhere. It was bothersome.

I quickly padded to Sam's side. He was still shooting daggers in Tony's back with his eyes.

"You didn't need to do that," I said, even though I appreciated it. I liked fighting my own battles.

"I did," Sam insisted. "You're not looking for a fling."

He said that with confidence. I cocked my fist on my hips. I wasn't looking for one, but he didn't need to know that. "How do you know I'm not?"

He looked at me abashed, as if my words were mortifying. "Because you turned down my offer."

I gave him a dumbfounded look. "You're so fucking cocky."

Sam's eyes danced with amusement. "Honestly, the only words I heard from your mouth were f*uck and c0ck."

Oh, my... God. "You're so crass."

He shrugged. "It's part of my charm."

"You have no charm."

"That's not what you thought the first time I spoke to you."

I set my stick aside and folded my arms over my chest, feeling kind of defensive. "What do you think I thought?"

His teeth grazed his bottom lip. "You were attracted to me."

Truth. I still leaned forward on the table challengingly, and it caused an ample display of cleavage. "Really?"

Sam had a hard time keeping his eyes on my face. "Admit it, Barbie. Lying is a fucking bad habit."

I flipped my hair over my shoulder. "Fine. I found you hot." Just like everyone other girl that's laid eyes on you.

"Found?" Disgust was laced into his tone.

"Fine." I tried to hide my smile. It was like his eyes were talking to my boobs with the way his hot gaze kept zeroing on them. He was such a guy. "I find you hot. Present tense."

"I find you fucking gorgeous, too."

Jesus. "You told me that before."

"Is this enough foreplay or do you guys need to go on?" Nate's lazy drawl echoed from beside us and Sam and I sprang away from each other, like little kids caught doing something bad by their elders.

I was flustered while Sam looked like he wanted to pummel Nate to the ground.

"What do you want?" Sam bit out, letting irritation bleed into his voice.

Nate was smug. "Nothing." Then his eyes darted to mine. "Hi, Anna."

"Hi," I mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes. My face and body heated up.

Nate realized this and it made him laugh harder. "Relax. You kids can go back to your flirting. I was just giving you a heads up." He jutted his chin at Sam and waved his keys. "I'm leaving right now in case you wanted to come."

Sam's cast me a glance from sideways. "No... I'm going to come later. I'll catch a ride with Hunter or something."

Sam and Nate did that guy hand-shake thing and then Nate was leaving, winking at me for good measure. "See you around, Anna."

I turned to Sam and cleared my throat. "Let's get on with it."

There was practically no one left in the room. The couple had vanished somewhere between Sam and mine's back-and-forth and Nate's interference.

Sam's tone turned suspicious. "With what?"

"The game..."

"Right."

Sam got to work and placed everything, then turned to me, his left eyebrow hitched. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

Did I want another drink? One look at Sam and the distraction that he was had me nodding. "Beer."

He smiled to himself as he walked to the mini-fridge located at the far corner of the room. "No Pepsi this time."

He came back, handing me a Stella and I held back my grimace. I didn't like it but I sipped it quietly, enjoying the burn it left as it trickled down my throat.

Sam watched me tentatively before he reached forward and grabbed my drink. Just like he'd done the night of Joshua's party, he placed his lips directly where mine had been, keeping me hostage with his hypnotizing stare.

"Where are your boots?" he remarked casually but I sensed the hint of disappointment.

"In my closet. I ditched them for these." And I flashed him my hot pink heels clad feet.

He laughed boyishly and his eyes lingered on my tanned thighs. "I like these, too. Literally what fantasies are made of."

I all but spurted my drink and joined in on the laugh. He was so easy-going and carefree all of a sudden.

We paused mid-laugh, glancing at each other deliberately, almost as if to acknowledge that this was the first time the atmosphere was so peaceful between us.

Not liking the sudden comfort pouring between us, I ached to change the dynamics. It'd been awhile since I was alone like this with a boy. Any boy. "Right. Let's start the game."

And get on with what I came here for.

Which, honest to God, I was starting to forget as each second in Sam's presence passed.

I needed a grip on everything that was sifting through my fingers.

"You ever played?" He grunted .

I was an expert. "No."

"I'll teach you," he said arrogantly. Pool was something my dad had taught me. "I'm a good teacher."

"I bet you are." I gave my most flirty smile. "What's the first move?"

Sam stepped forward, cupped his hands to my shoulders, and turned me around until I was facing the table. He stood directly behind me and his warm breaths hit the side of my neck as he leaned in to grab a stick.

"I'll show you how to properly position it," he whispered, and maybe it sounded sexy in my mind because of all the alcohol running wild in my system.

"The stick?" I whispered back, teasingly.

He swept a hank of my blonde hair to one side, so he could place his chin where my shoulder met my neck. "My stick."

"What about the balls?"

"We'll touch them once we've got a good hang of the stick, all right?"

"Do I... have to grip it tight?"

Sam's lips touched my ear, and his voice was laced with all kinds of naughty promises. "Not too tight. Not too loose."

I stifled a laugh. "We still talking about pool?"

"Yeah." I could hear the amusement in his voice. "Still all about my stick."

I tossed my head back and laughed, setting aside my finished beer. "You're a bad teacher."

He slipped his arms around me. "And you're a bad, bad learner." Then he gripped my hips. "Now for the position." He pushed my back forward with a strong hand. "Bend over," he commanded in all seriousness.

I shot him a flat look over my shoulder.

He husked a laugh and drew his bee-stung bottom lip into his mouth. "Okay. I'm done. I fucking tried my luck."

"You're running out of it, Beer Boy."

"You still gripping my stick?" I nodded and he smirked. "Then I'm not running out of anything."

I elbowed him playfully and he laughed but didn't budge.

Despite the innuendos, I leaned forward on the table and gripped his stick with expert skills.

Sam took my bending over as an excuse to plant himself against my ass.

"The view from here is magnificent," he murmured, molding his body atop mine and running his fingertips down my arms until his hands held mine.

I sucked in a sharp breath. "Don't push it."

He helped me break apart the first formation. "Oh, I'm pushing it, all right."

"You're a dirty motherfucker."

He didn't get offended by my words. Instead, I felt him grinning from behind. "And you're a fucking tease."

I smirked and looked over my shoulder. Time stopped and we both realized at the same time that our faces were inches away. So close that he could tilt his head and kiss me.

The thought of kissing drew my eyes to his beautiful mouth like a magnet, and I wondered if they were just as soft and warm and inviting as they looked -

Oh, God. Throw that train of thought over the bridge, Anna. What on earth are you thinking?

Sam's fingers squeezed mine a little tightly and when a small sound escaped his throat, I knew I had to put a break on whatever this was.

"Are we going to play some real pool or continue talking about balls and your stick?"

He seemed rattled. "Real pool." And he automatically detached himself from me.

I stood up, too, and resumed a rigid stance. "It's your turn."

Beer Boy finally took a shot.

* * *

I had too many drinks.

Or it was more like Samuel had given me too many drinks, and now I was a goner. It's not like he didn't drink just as much; he was just better at holding his alcohol. My tolerance sucked shit after so long.

I may have moaned. "That feels so good."

Above me, Sam grinned lopsidedly. The muscles in his neck strained with the exertion. "Told you I was good."

I had enough drinks to find myself wound up on the pool table, feet propped against the edge as Sam attempted to give me a foot massage in his tipsy state. He was doing a great job so far.

My pink heels lay forgotten on the floor and his fingers worked wonders on my calves muscles and sore feet. I wasn't complaining. I'm not sure how I got here. A bet and winning the game had landed me to this point, I think.

It also helped that no one was here to witness this - me melting into a puddle of mewls at Sam's mercy.

"You should just become a masseuse," I slurred, then moaned as he pressed right there. Right where I needed it.

He grinned boyishly and his eyes were nearly bloodshot red. "I give my mom foot massages all the time."

"Isn't that sweet?" I took another sip of my beer, as I kicked back and offered him more of my leg. Clearly I wasn't ready to give up the alcohol. Or the foot massage.

"I am sweet."

I suddenly sat up, causing a whirlwind of dizziness. His hands slipped up my thighs with the motion and I almost fell backwards with the rush. He gripped my hips, steadying me. "Easy, Barbie."

I laughed stupidly then frowned. "Why do you call me that?"

"Barbie?"

I nodded my head and the simple motion spurred the light beginning of a headache. "Yeah. It's so... dumb."

Sam leaned in a little, towering over me. "I like it. It helps that you look like one, too."

That made me defensive and I jabbed a finger in his chest, but I'm sure it was only a feather-light touch to his rock-hard chest. "I'm plastic to you? Y-You're not sweet anymore."

Now he frowned so adorably that I wanted to punch him for it. My logic was messed up to me, too. "I-I call you that because you're so perfectly put together. Blonde hair, flawless skin, pink lips, colored eyes, and a rocking bod. Fucking hot. Just like barbie."

It was hard to explain to someone that perfection on the outside was all I had. I was a train wreck on the inside, one that you didn't want to get a closer look of. It was even harder to explain this in the tipsy-addled state that my mind was.

"I think it's messed up how you find something plastic hot," I tapped his chest with my hand. "And my e-eyes are n-not colored. They are a boring brown."

He released a laugh that made him hot. "Let me get a closer look," he rasped and then his hand was on my jaw, tipping my head back, seeping warmth through me. "They're hazel. Not boring at all."

I laughed playfully - I'm sure I sounded like a wailing hyena - and pushed his hand away, falling to the side until he grasped me and sat me upright again. I took another sip of beer. "Same thing."

"No. You have the most expressive eyes I've ever seen."

His statement lead to a moment of intensity between us. Suddenly, he leaned in again and I giggled, pressing against his chest and shoving him off of me. "Stop it, Sam! You've been trying to kiss me all night!"

He chuckled boyishly. "That's not true." It was true. He leaned in again, playfully this time, and I was sure he was going to swoop down for a kiss but he stopped when he came a couple of inches away from my mouth and snatched my beer instead, taking a healthy swig of it.

My jaw popped open when he finished it in another drain. I forced him to get me a new one. He drank half of it by the time it came to me.

Time slowed when our gazes connected again, a moment of intensity igniting between us. My eyes riveted to his glistening mouth. His Adam's apple bobbed and his lips parted as his eyes flickered to mine.

He tilted forward at the same time that I extended a hand to cup his jaw.

The distance between us was becoming fictional and I was surrounded in his arms and body - a hard fortress of muscle - and enveloped in his musky scent. Lost. I was lost somewhere in the moment, until I got too close and snapped out of it.

His tattoo deftly stole my attention. I retracted and traced my finger down his throat, over his collarbone, and down the front of his t-shirt collar. Sam's breathing quickened. I could feel the steady thump of his heart against my shaky palm.

"Let me see your tattoo," I whispered, peering up at him through my lashes.

His eyes fastened on me and he pressed himself closer. His tongue snaked out to lick his bottom lip. "Which one?"

"You have more than one?"

His smirk was a cocky. "Which one do you want to see?"

"All of them," I found myself whispering back, leaning closer until it felt like I'd forgotten the meaning of personal space. Sam did the same. His hands went to the hem of his t-shirt and it took me a second longer to figure out what he was going to do. He was lifting off his shirt to show me all those inked hard planes.

Exhilaration poured through my veins as I saw his muscles flexing and straining with the movement.

But of course, all good things must come to an end - drunk, tipsy or sober.

Joshua and Gabriela stood at the entrance of the room, gawking at the compromising position Sam and I were locked in. My legs draped over his hips, mouth close to his neck. His hands on my thighs, eyes fastened on my cleavage like the pervert he was.

"Wow, Sam," Josh said, bewildered. "Keep your shirt on, man."

Beside him, Gabby looked like she was about to faint. Her eyes popped out of her skull.

Every muscle of mine locked into place as mine and Sam's eyes connected. He cursed lowly under his breath and we pulled away from each other at the same time. I coughed and pushed myself off the pool table, hunting for my forgotten heels. When I looked up again, Sam's shirt was smoothed back into place and a frown rested between his brows as he glanced at me.

I swayed again and he caught me before I could fall flat on my face.

* * *

I was being dragged out. At least that's what it felt like as I my bare feet touched the rough carpeting of the small lobby by the entrance of the house. My eyes fluttered open and I realized I was hanging halfway in Sam's arms.

Layla must have been drunk. In front of me, there was Joshua and Gabby, heading towards her.

I spotted my shoes in Sam's hand, swinging back-and-forth with the motion of his arm. I mumbled something but he shushed me quietly.

Until Layla spotted me.

She covered her mouth with her hands in a scandalized fashion and much like Gabriela, her eyes popped out of their sockets when she saw me walking out - okay, being dragged out like a ragdoll - with Sam at my side. She shrieked, and pointed a finger at him then me.

She all but yelled. "Dick!"

The rest of them stopped to assess her words, confused. Surprisingly, I caught on quickly in my state. I gave a horrified look at Sam, who looked like he didn't know what to do with Layla's comment.

I groaned and snagged myself away from him, stumbling a little and grabbing my head. "Y-You're not my dick, okay?"

Sam looked downright terrified. Mouth parted. Heels swinging in his giant hands. "And I-I'm certainly not your... vagina... I think."

"Good." Now that that was cleared out, I stalked towards him for my heels. Layla, Gabby, and Josh watched our exchange in disbelief.

Sam dropped my heels on the ground and I used his strong, broad shoulders for leverage as I slid into them. His hands cradled my waist to help me, and once I safely had my heels on, he pulled away.

My stomach churned and I pushed past the others and ran out the door. Once I found the sidewalk, I bent over and heaved. I tried to stop the puke but it didn't work. Old Anna would drink and puke everywhere. I didn't. That was in the past.

The sound was alarming and somehow Sam was at my side, pulling my waves away from my face as I emptied the contents of my stomach.

"Shh, easy," he hushed beside me. "You're going to be all right, Barbie."

And those were some familiar words. They were words I'd heard a million times after Joey and I would come back from a party and I would have had one too many shots. The only difference being? He never held my hair away from my face. Only tapped my back awkwardly.

Looks like I didn't leave the past behind after all. It still followed me everywhere.

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A/N: So Chapter 3,5,8 and 11 are by far my favorites in this rewrite! What are yours? Let me know what you think of Sam and Anna's entire exchange through this chapter? ;) I had fun writing it. Everything flows so easily when it's these two, I don't know why.