Unperturbed, Samantha shifted her foot slightly, pressing her bare sole almost against my cheek, and once again, just like before, I froze from embarrassment and couldn't move. In the dim light of the living room, my burning cheeks weren't visible, but everyone nearby noticed Samantha sprawled out so languidly.

"Girls, maybe I should move?" Anna fidgeted, trying to scoot a bit farther away, since she was lying right between Samantha and me.

"Don't bother," Samantha calmly stopped her, ticklishly stroking my cheek with the tip of her big toe. "My foot just went a little numb from my shoes... Lottie, you don't mind, do you?"

I felt several pairs of eyes on me: Irene raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Amanda even let her pretty little mouth fall open, staring at Samantha's foot as if it were a venomous cobra resting on my shoulder.

"N-no, I don't mind, of course," I said with a strained smile, "if it's more comfortable for you, Sammy."

Growing bolder, I even stroked Samantha's leg just below the knee, as if I saw nothing abnormal in her antics.

Kitty suddenly pressed her fist to her lips and giggled. From her mischievous glance, I could tell she'd figured something out, and I felt horribly embarrassed. When Kitty raised her phone slightly for just a moment, it suddenly struck me that she'd snapped a quick photo.

"No, that couldn't be right, why would she do that?" I pushed those thoughts far away.

Only Anna seemed completely oblivious to what was happening—she kept glancing back and forth between my impassive face and Sam's unruffled demeanor with bewilderment. Apparently not noticing any obvious displeasure from anyone, she shrugged and buried herself in her smartphone screen.

"You've made yourself quite comfortable," Monica whispered to Samantha as she walked past, ignoring me entirely.

I lowered my gaze to the floor, burning with shame inside. Sam wasn't forcing her foot there—I could easily push it away and stand up... but I wasn't doing it. Which meant everyone was certain that for some reason I was okay with it. I didn't even know what would be worse—my silent acceptance or making a scene in the middle of the party.

Samantha's foot was still very close to my face, and I could even catch the faint scent of sweat and leather shoes, but it wasn't really unpleasant—at least not when I knew it was Samantha's foot.

I heard the sound of an incoming message and lowered my gaze, trying not to move my head. The message was from Samantha. Sitting just a couple of inches away from me, she had written:

"Do you really like this that much?"

I froze, not knowing what to reply.

This? Was she talking about her feet? About this whole absurd situation?

"You. I like you"—that's what I wanted to reply to Sam, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

I simply ignored Samantha's message, and that might have been a huge mistake. She always hated it when someone ignored her or forgot to reply on time. I didn't want to hurt her feelings at all—I just couldn't find the right words and was too embarrassed by the situation.

"Lottie," Samantha suddenly called to me, "I can't reach it—help me."

I followed her imperiously outstretched hand and saw a plate of fruit canapés on the side table. I carefully reached for it, trying to make sure Sam's foot didn't slip off my shoulder.

Kitty, who had been fiddling with her phone, kept shooting curious glances my way—she seemed thoroughly entertained by this whole situation. I was grateful that the other girls—including Nora, who had recently joined us—were chatting among themselves and no longer paying me any attention.

I grasped the toothpick with the canapé speared on it between my fingertips and held it out to Samantha. She reached toward me, but at the last second her fingers seemed to go limp: the canapé fell and immediately rolled onto the floor across the slippery leather upholstery.

"Oh, Lottie, I'm so clumsy, I'll pick it up," Samantha said with false regret, removing her foot from my shoulder and sitting up sharply... stepping on the canapé.

"Girl, you've had enough to drink," Anna laughed, briefly putting her arm around Sam's shoulders. "My devout mother would have scolded you for wasting food."

"Oh, how familiar," Sam said, lifting her foot to reveal the crushed canapé glued to her sole and wrinkling her nose. "Lottie has a religious family too. They have very strict rules. That makes me feel doubly terrible about this."

"Well, yes," I stammered awkwardly, not understanding what my parents had to do with anything, or why Sam was so drastically exaggerating their strictness.

"Maybe you could eat it so it doesn't go to waste?" Samantha smiled and pointed down at her sole.

Though her dimples always made her smile look so cute, a poorly concealed sense of superiority froze in Samantha's large gray eyes.

In front of me was Amanda's stunned face as she sat slightly behind Samantha—her thin eyebrows shot up.

"Are you really going to DO THAT?" her eyes seemed to ask.

"Oh, stop it," Anna laughed, clearly thinking we were just messing with each other. "Lottie's not cheap—we'll just order more appetizers."

"But Lottie really wants it, I can tell." Sam clicked her tongue in feigned disappointment, looking at me. "Things like this really upset her."

I already understood that I had to do it. I couldn't put Samantha in an awkward position, couldn't make her look like a villain humiliating her friend... In everyone else's eyes she had always been a gentle angel, even if that impression was deceptive.

"Oh, my mother, yes, she once punished me for letting bread fall on the floor—I bumped it with my elbow," I giggled affectedly, hoping it sounded amusing. "She used to say that angels get angry when someone throws food away."

"Ew, what are you doing? That's disgusting." Nora wrinkled her nose and gave me a mocking look.

"But no angel will get angry now." I quickly took the toothpick with the crushed canapé from Samantha’s sole and popped it into my mouth, forcing a smile.

"Are all the girls in New York crazy?" Irene burst out laughing.

"I spent a year in treatment for an eating disorder because of my family—that actually triggered me." Anna shuddered and let out a wry snort. "Well, at least the angels are happy."

Kitty also snorted with laughter behind her fist, but said nothing. For some reason she looked satisfied, but I didn't have time to think about her reaction—I was trying to somehow come to terms with what had just happened.

Samantha had framed everything so that she appeared completely innocent—she'd simply pointed out the ruined food, and I had made the decision myself.

Amanda whispered something in Irene's ear, and both of them giggled awkwardly, glancing sideways at me.

I quickly got up from the couch and went to the bathroom, where I locked the door and sat for a while on the wide rim of the jacuzzi, staring at nothing.

I even rinsed my mouth, though I didn't taste anything unpleasant—just the sweetness of fruit juice. The thought itself was revolting: I had eaten food my friend had stepped on, and in front of so many people...

Many had already had quite a bit to drink, were tipsy, and probably wouldn't go spreading this story all over social media, but that didn't make me feel any better.

I walked over to the mirror one last time—and suddenly noticed a barely visible mark on the sleeve of my soft white dress. Samantha must have left it when she put her foot on my shoulder.

I touched this mark, not knowing whether I wanted to erase it or keep it…

Someone knocked softly—thinking I was hogging the room when someone else urgently needed the bathroom, I walked to the door—and found Samantha standing there.

"Where did you run off to, Lottie?" she asked quietly, forcing me to step back. She came in and closed the door behind her.

"Not at all, I just needed to use the bathroom," I mumbled guiltily.

"Is that so?" Samantha suddenly moved closer and slowly ran the back of her hand along my cheek.

Initially frozen with surprise, I closed my eyes and nuzzled my cheek against her hand with feline softness.

Sam smirked, allowing me this indulgence, but pulled her hand away almost immediately.

"Good girl. If it weren't for you, I would have already left this party."

"Why?" I asked, not understanding, lifting my blissfully dazed gaze to her.

"They just showered Monica with gifts. I'm so jealous," Samantha said, drawing out her words petulantly. "I feel so left out."

Oh, Sam... When her numerous brothers had birthdays, her parents always bought gifts not only for the birthday boy but for Samantha as well, otherwise she'd throw a tantrum. Of course she felt hurt. She was used to always being the center of attention.

"You deserve a gift too, all the gifts in the world," I said with feeling, yearning to touch Samantha just once more, but she thrust her foot forward, already in her shoes, as if drawing an invisible line between us.

"So you'll buy me a gift?" Samantha smirked and added tenderly, "Or better yet, I'll buy it myself. I already have something in mind."

She used her power over me so shamelessly that I had no will left to argue. If I was the only one who could make Sammy happy—I didn't want to lose that privilege.

"Of course, Sam..." I mechanically reached for my purse and remembered I'd left it in the entryway. "Oh, I... If you don't mind, I'll transfer it to your card..."

"All right," Samantha agreed easily, tilting her head slightly to one side, and smiled sweetly. "Transfer five hundred dollars to my account."

I nearly dropped my smartphone right onto the tile floor. In such a short time, Samantha had extracted almost a thousand dollars from me!

I knew that any argument would hurt her deeply and we'd end up fighting, so I obediently transferred the money. Once I confirmed it had gone through to her account, I looked at Samantha hopefully: maybe she'd let me touch her again? Give me a kiss?

But Samantha only kissed two fingers and gave me a playful little salute, then left the bathroom, chuckling contentedly to herself.

It was foolish to hope for anything more... Sighing, I followed her out.

Samantha and I didn't leave until nearly dawn—I called us a taxi because getting behind the wheel drunk wasn't in my plans. First I had the driver drop Samantha off at her place, then headed home myself. Of course, paying for the taxi fell to me too—Sam already took that for granted.

At home I drew the bedroom curtains to block out the sun. Already lying in bed and drifting off to sleep, I thought about how every time I tried to work up the courage to refuse what Samantha asked, she pulled something that made me change my mind... Like that tender touch today in someone else's bathroom.

I could barely keep my eyes open, I was nearly asleep, when I heard the ping of a message. Thinking it was Samantha, I instantly reached for my phone.

"Thanks for the great show, ha-ha!"

At the end of the message was a pink heart emoji.

I read the message several times, not understanding what it meant. It had come to my private Facebook page from someone named Kate Hall. Kate...

"Kitty?!" I realized the moment I opened her profile photo.

"How did you find me?" I typed back right away.

"I just saw you in Samantha's friends list. Don't be so scared." At the end of her message were a laughing emoji and a winking one.

My mouth went dry, but there was no time to go to the kitchen for water. I couldn't understand why Kate had written to me, especially so soon after the party.

"What's your relationship with Samantha?" came the next message.

My heart started racing with anxiety. Could it be... What if she wanted to blackmail us? She knew that Samantha is going to be on a TV show.

"We're best friends," I typed, wanting to find out what she wanted.

Kate fell silent. I bit my lips with impatience, waiting for a response. I couldn't give in to fear and text her first—I might blurt out something I shouldn't in my emotional state.

Finally a message came from Kitty—I immediately pressed my face to the screen... and saw a photograph. A dimly lit room, female silhouettes on a couch. The faces weren't clearly visible, but if someone wanted to, they could recognize the people in the photo... One girl was sitting with her leg draped over the other's shoulder. Samantha's face was barely visible because of the camera angle, but mine—slightly confused and embarrassed—could be made out.

So I wasn't imagining things then... Kitty really did photograph us.

"We were just fooling around, Kate. We've known each other since childhood. Please delete that photo," I typed hurriedly, realizing that if Kitty had malicious intentions, my words wouldn't convince her.

She suddenly sent me a voice message, and I heard her laughing voice.

"Charlotte... Or can I call you Lottie too? I can practically hear your panic, ha-ha, relax! Sorry I took that photo without asking—I didn't mean any harm. You two look amazing together. I think we should meet up sometime in a more... intimate setting. I have an interesting proposition for you both."

"A more intimate setting?" I wondered frantically. "What is she... Does she think we're a couple? And now she wants... a threesome?! What else could she possibly be suggesting?"

The situation was horribly stupid and awkward... I was afraid to refuse Kitty outright, in case I made her angry. What if she posted that photo out of spite?

"Of course, you can call me Lottie... I think you misunderstood us, Kate—there's nothing between Samantha and me. Of course, we can continue our friendship, you and I. I'm always happy to meet new people."

My message reeked of falseness, but I sent it anyway and wearily closed my eyes. Kate didn't write anything else.

I decided not to say anything to Samantha for now, so as not to worry her unnecessarily. If Kate didn't let up, started writing to me or making threats, I'd try to deal with the problem myself.

"That's exactly why we need to be careful," I fumed—not at Samantha, who had publicly humiliated me at the party, but at that brazen Kate, sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

Feeling my eyes closing against my will, I fell into sleep.

“ “ “

On July twentieth, the TV show "Do Like a Star" filming began. Guests who weren't featured in the episode were allowed to take seats in the audience among the extras, so Samantha and I went too.

The concept of the show was pretty straightforward: five stars served as mentors, and their much less famous colleagues—still fellow performers, but in the role of students—competed under their guidance. Each star represented a different genre: pop, hip-hop, R&B, jazz, and rock.

The stars taught their protégés the ins and outs of show business, brought them along to training sessions, put together joint performances, and sometimes did ridiculous tasks to entertain the audience.

Samantha could have gotten the role of protégé, but alas—her spot was taken by young pop singer Rebecca Blu. Samantha was merely a backup singer in all the joint numbers between the two pop singers. The show's producer promised that in the finale concert, each singer would get a chance to shine, and if their ratings allowed—even earn a small solo number.

I worried a little about my friend. Should Samantha have even come? Wouldn't it be too painful for her to watch someone else's success?

Samantha looked calm, smiling... Then again, she knew they were filming us, and she had a chance to get on camera.

When Rebecca took the stage and started singing, I noted with irritation that she was pretty good—she had a beautiful, rich tone... But it still couldn't compare to Samantha's deep and piercing voice!

If I had any say in the matter—I would have given that role to Sam...

I awoke from my thoughts as Samantha whispered, barely audible, "Lottie, smile."

It took several takes to film Rebecca's opening number with her mentor. When they called for a break, Samantha and I returned to the dressing room. I was thirsty and looked around for the bottle of mineral water I'd left somewhere.

"Lottie," came Samantha's voice from behind me, "did you like Rebecca's number?"

I froze, then slowly turned around.

"Honestly?" I asked, catching Samantha's penetrating gaze. "Nothing special. There are plenty like her. Maybe the rumors are true, and she's the head producer's mistress."

"You can't explain every success by someone's lucky sex life," Samantha chuckled, though she looked pleased. "But little Becky has already gotten too big for her britches and barely musters a hello..."

"Little brat," I snorted. "It's easy to get arrogant at her age, but you were never so pompous..."

"You'll be working on her makeup, right?" Sam suddenly interrupted me, glancing quickly at her watch.

"Yes, most likely..." I blinked in confusion. "I'll do a test look, and if they approve it, I'll keep working with her."

"If I asked you to," Samantha's eyes narrowed slyly, "could you hurt her? Use expired foundation on her, say? Cut off one of her precious curls?"

"What? But Samantha, that's... that's practically criminal..." I stammered helplessly.

Sam suddenly burst out laughing, looking at my almost frightened expression.

"Silly thing! I'm just testing you," Samantha waved her hand dismissively. "I want to know that my Lottie hasn't gone completely crazy from her adoration of me."

I bit my lip, hurt.

"Sam, I just know you don't need to do this... You... you're the best, you don't have to prove it to anyone..."

Samantha turned coquettishly over her shoulder, tossing her long hair.

"All right, all right, Lottie, forget it. Break's over, let's go."

I nodded and followed Samantha, still mulling over her words. Did she really want to know if she could use me for such dirty purposes? Or was she testing whether I'd turned into some brainless devotee?

Samantha once confided to me in secret that she despised people who were completely consumed by their idol. She liked to think that a person wasn't just blindly worshipping talent, but was overcoming something within themselves when they spent their last money on a ticket, wept over a star's poster, or chased after rare merchandise.

When the filming wrapped up, we were both exhausted, even though we'd hardly done anything: it was the tension that permeated the entire set, the monotony of the work, the constant noise around us, and the director's irritated shouting that had worn us down.

I suggested to Sam that we grab dinner somewhere and head home, but she declined.

"I have a meeting planned, so you'll have to go home by yourself. By the way, I'm expecting you tomorrow," Sam smiled.

"I can't wait for tomorrow," I assured her.

I was curious where she was going, but of course I didn't pry into things that weren't my business. Tomorrow Samantha had invited me over... and that certainly excited me, even though there was a legitimate reason for the invitation.

I could sense that Sam had something in store for me, but predicting her train of thought was nearly impossible.

"I hope everything goes well," I said nervously, licking my lips.

On the way home I stopped by a Chinese restaurant and picked up eel noodles so I wouldn't have to cook at home. I had this silly desire to go to bed early so tomorrow would come sooner.

"What are you, some schoolgirl before her first date?" I scolded myself.

Devouring my noodles at home in front of the TV, I wondered what to wear to Samantha's.

"And here I am again, pretending this is a date," I sighed.

If I dressed too flashy or fancy, Samantha would surely make fun of me. She'd figure out that I was trying so hard just for her...

I checked tomorrow's weather forecast: heat above ninety again. During the day the city was simply unbearable without air conditioning.

I gave up and decided to wear simple shorts and a tank top for our meeting.

I was ashamed to admit that I'd thought about the practicality of it: if Sam wanted a massage, it would be much easier to give one in shorts than in a skirt or dress.

This was starting to feel like an obsession, but I could no longer think of Samantha just as a friend. 

I think I loved Sammy far more than I was ready to admit… And I forgave her things I would never forgive any guy, let alone another girl. 

After clearing away the remnants of my noodles, I glanced around my little apartment and sighed. It looked so abandoned, as if no one lived here. I’d been coming home far too seldom lately. I’d probably be stuck at Sam’s again until evening tomorrow. 

I used to put so much effort into making this place cozy, buying stylish decor. I had been reluctant to give up on my efforts, but now I was seriously considering moving—somewhere closer to Samantha. If it weren’t for the fear of coming across as clingy, I might’ve done just that already… 

The next morning, I met Samantha, who was in high spirits and practically radiating contentment. 

“Huh, did yesterday’s date go really well?” I couldn’t help but think, a pang of jealousy striking me. 

That meeting could’ve been purely business for all I knew, but I’d already let my imagination run wild, trying to guess if Sammy had a boyfriend. 

"You look amazing, Sammy," I greeted warmly. 

She wore a delicate blue dress with a skirt that started just below her chest. Topping it off with a straw hat and dark blue sunglasses—she looked like some "beach girl" straight out of a fashion magazine. 

"Thanks, Lottie. Let’s hurry before the sun finishes us off." 

The only reason we were heading outside was because Samantha had to pick something up at the mall—she’d reserved some item and was going to collect it. 

Sam told me to wait in the car while she ran in to get it. 

“Doesn’t want me to see what she bought?” I thought, puzzled. 

She returned quickly with a small bag—I recognized the shoe store logo. Probably just another pair of summer sandals or shoes—nothing worth hiding. 

On the way back, we stopped at another store to grab some wine and snacks for the evening. It felt like one of our usual girls' nights, just like back then... But deep down, I knew it wasn’t. 

The sun was already beating down harshly, so we hurried along. The scorching asphalt almost seemed to steam—meanwhile, back at home, the cool air conditioning awaited us. 

Samantha was the first inside, immediately kicking off her sandals and padding barefoot, leaving faint footprints—the city streets were dusty, and that dust clung to her slightly damp, sweaty feet. 

"Ugh, damn heat, I'm so worn out." Sam sprawled on the couch, letting her legs slump to the floor. "Thank goodness we’ve still got an hour to spare." 

"Want me to get you a cold compress?" I suggested, looking sympathetically at my heat-drained friend. 

"No," Sam turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on her palm. "It’ll just feel gross. I’ll tough it out."

The cool air from the AC was already blowing on us, so Samantha should have started feeling better soon.

"Maybe you'd like to try on your new shoes?" I suggested, thinking it might distract her a little. 

"I do," she rolled onto her back, "but I'm too lazy to wash my feet... I'll just get them dirty, they're so white and pretty." 

I looked around the room hesitantly, trying to figure out what to do. 

"Oh, well, I could get warm water and bring it here," I finally spoke up. 

"No need!" Samantha scoffed, irritatedly swinging her legs in the air. She studied me carefully from beneath half-lowered lashes, a sweet smile playing on her lips that clashed with her demand. "Why bother? Just clean them with your tongue." 

"What?!" I couldn’t believe my ears. "My tongue? Sammy, are you joking?" 

"And why not?" she asked with genuine confusion, lifting her foot so her heel was at eye level. "You do love kissing them, after all." 

"But... that’s completely different," I stammered weakly. 

This was already too much and definitely didn’t feel like playful flirtation. 

"Why don’t you want to?" Samantha drawled petulantly. "Didn’t you say there’s nothing more beautiful than me and my feet?" 

"Of course, but... I... Sammy, please..." 

I still couldn't believe she was serious about this. 

"I don’t want to hear it," Samantha scowled, rolling her eyes dramatically as she abruptly sat up. "You ruined my mood! It was such a lovely day. I should’ve just gone home without you, Charlotte." 

Listening to her tantrum, I felt like a spineless rag. If I walked away now, Sammy might never invite me back... Why would she, when I wouldn’t do what she wanted? She’d be disappointed and never... never love me back. 

And yet, it was hard to accept how low I'd fallen in her eyes. Sammy didn’t think anything of me! Was this just a joke to her? A bit of twisted fun? For a whim she’d forget in a few hours, she was willing to watch me humiliate myself. She didn’t care how licking filthy feet might affect my health, much less my already wounded pride... 

Forcing myself, I slowly sank to my knees beside Samantha's feet. She immediately quieted, watching me from beneath lowered lashes. For a while, I silently tried to steel myself mentally—for Sammy, for her satisfied smile... 

I slowly leaned in toward her right foot and took her big toe into my mouth, sucking lightly. I tasted dust, sweat, and leather. It was unpleasant—but more than anything, humiliating, especially when Sammy playfully wiggled her toes to mess with me.

After releasing her toes, I began licking her soles with my tongue, starting from the tip and moving downward towards the heel. 

Perhaps it would have been disgusting if someone else had been in Samantha's place… But I reminded myself that these were my Sammy's feet—so attractive, slender, and delicate. I loved all of her, from her fingertips to the top of her head… Unable to resist, I rubbed my nose against the damp arch of her foot and involuntarily inhaled its scent. 

"Ticklish," Samantha giggled, lightly slapping my cheek with her free foot, almost like delivering a playful slap. 

"Sorry," I muttered shyly before resuming my interrupted task. 

"You missed a spot here," Samantha laughed, tilting her foot one way, then the other. "And here, Lottie… You need to put in more effort." 

I didn't miss a single inch—even running my tongue between her toes. While I focused on one foot, Samantha used the other to lightly tap my shoulder, forehead, or cheek, watching my reactions the entire time. 

I looked at her with annoyance, sometimes pleading eyes, hoping she would soften and treat me with more tenderness, but Samantha was far too amused by the whole situation. 

"Lick right here. You’re being lazy," Sam teased, dragging her foot along my tongue—sometimes faster, sometimes so slow that my jaw ached from the strain. 

I licked her feet frenziedly until the only taste left on my tongue was the essence of her skin and my own saliva. Her feet looked pristine, as if she had just stepped out of the shower, while my mouth was utterly parched and aching for water. 

Samantha’s mood brightened instantly. 

"Good girl. Now go get my shoes," she commanded, watching with satisfaction as I immediately stood and walked to the hallway.

I complied, returning with the shoebox.