Samantha's call jolted me awake early that morning. I didn't even need to check my phone screen to know it was her— recently I'd lost her a bet and had to set "You're My Superstar" as her ringtone. She'd even call me deliberately when we were together, just to laugh at my disgruntled glare.

I had memorized Jessie J's song from Ice Age by heart and was starting to hate it. Without letting the chorus finish, I grabbed my phone and muttered sleepily into it:

"You know it's Saturday, don't you?"

Her velvety laugh rang out in response. I couldn't help but picture those endearing dimples forming on her cheeks and her gray eyes sparkling with mischief. And there wasn't even a trace of remorse in her voice..

"Just open the link I sent, Lottie. This can't wait."

I hung up and immediately dove into my messages. The online music magazine STEM had published an article... about my friend.

“Samantha Ross performed at the opening of the Moonlight nightclub.”

I read the headline several times before finally noticing the photo.

Samantha stood before a dark blue stage backdrop that twinkled like a starlit sky. Above her head, a massive crescent-shaped disco ball cast its ethereal glow. The photographer had captured that perfect moment - Samantha lost in song, her face radiant in the shimmering light.

Her long chestnut curls cascaded over her shoulders, her large gray eyes gazing dreamily into the distance, her full crimson lips softly parted. The camera loved Samantha - she was striking in person, but through the lens her beauty became otherworldly... As if she were the club's moon fairy herself, descended to Earth for just one perfect song.

I remember that evening at the club vividly: glitter sparkled on Samantha's fair skin as she swayed her hips slowly, her enigmatic smile seeming to embrace everyone as she sang that same song I wrote when I was fifteen and solemnly presented it to Samantha on her birthday.

"You'll sing it much better than I would," I stammered shyly, handing over the pink sheet of paper with the handwritten lyrics.

Now this song seems terribly naive and childish to me, but Samantha still performs it on stage from time to time. Only her deep, honeyed voice transforms these awkward lines into something enchanting.

I was furious that evening because hardly anyone was truly listening to her singing. Most of the Moonlight's patrons were already drunk and eager to party. A young singer had performed an upbeat R&B number before Samantha, so a lyrical heartbreak ballad struck the wrong chord. Many guests simply ogled Samantha's long legs and made crude remarks.

Despite the headline, even the article barely mentioned Samantha herself. Just the basic facts: twenty-five, Texas-born, singing since childhood, former member of some obscure teen pop band...

I was so deeply lost in my thoughts that I jumped when the phone rang again.

"I know the article is boring, but that's no reason to nod off," Samantha giggled. "Besides, like I said, taking 'Ross' as a last name was a smart move. Samantha Barnes sounds so bland - like I'm running some family dental practice."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled guiltily. "The article really is ridiculous - it has more about the stage design than about you... But the photo is absolutely stunning, Sam - I'm in love with it!"

I meant every word, and Samantha's soft, melodious laugh rang through the phone once more.

"Oh, don't be silly, hon. If that song hadn't shared its name with the club, nobody would've given me a second thought."

"That's not true," I protested uncertainly. "And you sang a hundred times better than that squeaky Lil P!"

"And looked a hundred times better too," Samantha added with a playful laugh. "I may not be Taylor Swift, but my makeup artist is top-notch. Your makeup work was absolutely stunning!"

"Enough, Sam, we're drowning in vanilla here," I snorted sheepishly, trying to change the subject. "Better tell me what are our plans for the weekend."

"Oh, I've got something in mind..."

Even though Samantha and I had been friends for more than ten years, her praise was still the most important thing to me. I never would have dared to change my life so drastically if it hadn't been for that wild girl next door...

My family and I moved to Texas when I was fourteen. I was quite attractive but too serious for a teenager, self-conscious about my Western accent and large breasts. Samantha lived next door—and almost immediately came running over to introduce herself.

She was beautiful, mischievous, cheerful. Devils always seemed to be dancing in her large gray eyes—that's how my devout mother described Sam's gaze.

Our friendship helped me come out of my shell and settle into the new school. I loved to study, but I never missed a chance to have fun with Samantha and her friends.

Sometimes we'd skip classes and head to the mall, where there were arcade games and you could buy pizza for the whole group for just a couple of dollars. In the evening I'd always rush through my homework, because the next morning Samantha would laughingly ask me to let her copy my assignments. I could never refuse her... And I didn't see the point—we were friends, after all.

And my Sammy could sing. I first heard her sing at the school talent show in ninth grade. She performed "Girl on Fire" wearing a flowing bright red dress. She was like a phoenix soaring above the stage—I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her pure, rich voice gave me chills all over.

I loved to sing too, and I had a beautiful mezzo-soprano voice... But I would never have dared to go on stage, and a life in the public eye wasn't for me. I couldn't bring myself to perform even in front of a crowd of schoolchildren. Abandoning my dreams of the stage, I found myself helping Sam instead.

It all started with her half-joking requests and questions: "Let me borrow your lip gloss," "Draw my eyeliner for me—I can never get it straight," "What eyeshadow would look good with my eyes?"

I started searching for information online, borrowing makeup from my mother and older sister to experiment with Samantha's appearance... and I realized I really loved it. Her face was the perfect canvas! When I applied her makeup, it felt like we became very close... Samantha wouldn't trust her face to anyone else.

I realized I wanted to become a makeup artist, which shocked my family of teachers. They expected me to pursue a "serious" profession, and with my brains that wouldn't have been a problem—but a terrible stubbornness overcame me.

I believed that Samantha was destined to become a star and shine on stage. And I wanted to be the one by her side, to have a hand in her success.

In our youth we often had sleepovers at each other's houses, giggling as we lay in the same bed and dreaming of our big future. I was too shy to sing myself, but I wrote songs, and Sammy would perform them for me—and some of the best ones she'd take for her band. Though it disbanded after just a year.

As soon as Samantha and I turned eighteen, we bolted for New York. I worked part-time at a café and attended makeup artist courses, while Sammy stormed auditions for every major music show and sent her songs to producers.

Alas, our shared dream was not meant to be. The competition was too fierce: thousands of beautiful, talented girls flocked to New York with the same goal—to become famous. Models, actresses, singers, dancers...

Sammy didn't have much luck. At the last moment, an offer would always slip away to someone else. She didn't even have her own album—just individual tracks. Sammy's work had fans, but hardly anyone would recognize her on the street and run up asking for an autograph.

She was invited to sing at clubs and restaurants, hired as an opening act for other stars. Nearly seven years had passed, but deep down I still believed—this wasn't the end, my Sammy would definitely be noticed and appreciated for her true worth... After all, she was so wonderful.

Her laughter, her smile, her eyes like a stormy sky, her charming, soulful voice...

When I worked with her—applying makeup, spending hours on her eyes, her lips... I could always detach myself easily and treat it as nothing more than work. As if I were an artist and she was my canvas. But when we became ourselves again—just Sammy and Lottie from Texas—sometimes I'd catch myself having strange thoughts and desires... But I always tried to find some rational explanation for them.

I remember two weeks ago when we all got together—me with my boyfriend Derek, and Sammy with Chris.

Derek and Chris had been friends even before they met us. We went on double dates, and then started celebrating all the holidays and spending time together. The guys joked that the four of us saw each other so often, we were practically one big happy family.

That day we got together for no particular reason—fooling around, watching movies, and eating pizza. Samantha kept teasing Chris. She'd been sassy and rebellious since she was young, and loved acting like a spoiled house cat—one moment she'd scratch, the next she'd let you get very close and nuzzle up to you.

It was very hot, and Samantha brought ice from the kitchen for our drinks—but not in a plastic tray... she carried it in her mouth. Gripping an ice cube between her lips, she waved it playfully in front of Chris's face.

"Hey, Sam, just drop it in my glass!" Chris laughed, holding his hand out demandingly.

Giggling, Samantha darted away, licking the edge of the ice cube.

I suddenly thought with irritation that Chris was stupid and didn't understand the rules of the game at all. Obviously, Samantha was teasing him, asking for a kiss—he just needed to press his lips to hers and take the ice cube with his tongue...

For a split second I wanted to do it myself—I even stepped closer and parted my lips without thinking, when suddenly I caught Samantha's questioning look. A wave of shame washed over me.

"My God, am I a complete fool?" I pretended I had just wanted to walk around Samantha and headed for the kitchen.

Fortunately, no one noticed my blunder.

I remember Samantha swallowing the melted ice cube and pointedly licking her lips, mocking simpleton Chris.

So I wanted to kiss Samantha? And if it hadn't been for her reaction, I wouldn't have stopped and would have crossed the line?

I can't imagine how Sam would have reacted. In front of witnesses, she wouldn't have made a scene or slapped me—she would have burst out laughing and turned the whole thing into a joke. But afterward, she definitely would have subjected me to a full-blown interrogation...

"What's gotten into you, Lottie?" I could practically hear her mocking voice in my head. "If Derek's that bad—just find yourself a decent guy; don't throw yourself at me."

Alas, along with the shame over that strange impulse, I also felt regret that nothing had come of it... Sometimes a sudden desire for closeness would catch me off guard. I wanted to touch Samantha in some special way, to be closer, to hear her sultry whisper against my ear...

"If you ask me, you just want to sleep with your best friend, you crazy girl!" I thought in horror.

It would have been easy to write this off as mindless attraction—like wanting a movie star from a poster or some random fellow passenger on a train. But the desire didn't only wash over me in moments when Samantha was particularly stunning—like on stage. No, sometimes I found myself hungrily watching her even when she was just sprawled on the couch in her house shorts, brewing coffee the old-fashioned way in a Turkish pot, or retelling me some stupid joke from the internet. Any version of Sammy was attractive—even disheveled, charmingly sleepy in the morning, with her voice hoarse after a performance...

Terrified by these thoughts, I pushed them as far away as possible. I tried to picture any other girl in Samantha's place—and I couldn't. I even felt a slight revulsion at the idea. So I wasn't really a lesbian after all, and boys still attracted me.

Derek and I have been together for two years now—but our relationship is at the same stage as it was in the beginning. We are comfortable together, and I don't expect anything special from him. Derek, however, irritates Samantha.

"You're just convenient, that's all," Samantha told me mockingly. "He'll stick with you until he finds someone better—then he'll propose to her in a heartbeat."

"Well, it's convenient for me too," I shrugged.

"You have no idea how comfortable you'd be with someone who actually gets his ass off the couch and does something for you," Samantha commented sarcastically. "You're beautiful, you make your own money, and you're not a nag. He hasn't been a good enough boy, and you're not Santa Claus."

"What about you and Chris?" I asked, hurt. "He's not exactly rushing to marry you either."

"He already has," Samantha snorted haughtily, rolling her eyes. "Chris is a simpleton. I had a Labrador when I was little—you never met him... Good old Lucky. As a kid, I used to drag him around by his ears, and he'd just endure it faithfully, never snapping back... Chris reminds me of him sometimes. Of course, I loved Lucky dearly, but I wouldn't marry him."

I laughed, though I was surprised by her cynical joke.

Sometimes I was jealous of Chris when it came to Sam, but that seemed natural to me. Friends get jealous of each other sometimes too. I always took pride in the fact that Samantha called me her best friend. Though many people had adored her since high school, she rarely let anyone get close. In school I felt chosen when the local star Samantha would sit with me in the cafeteria and dismiss the other girls with a casual wave of her hand.

We're no longer schoolgirls, but I still treasure our friendship deeply—which is why I'll never tell Sam about my foolish desires... I'm too afraid of losing her. A girl from Texas, raised by a stern conservative father and a bunch of brothers, would never understand her close friend's "pink" romantic fantasies.

That Saturday when Samantha woke me with her call, we went with the guys to a new cafe that served artisanal Japanese desserts.

I admired the Japanese artistry in presenting an ordinary rice bun as if it were a work of art... but the taste didn't impress me. Sam, however, was absolutely delighted—she always loved trying anything new and unusual.

"Lotty, try this," she said playfully, swirling a spoon of some airy mousse in front of my face. "I bet this is exactly what clouds taste like."

This teasing brought back the memory of the ice cube incident, and I snapped back with a too harsh refusal.

"Well, fine, you grump," Sam snorted and savored the spoonful as she put it in her mouth.

"Oh my gosh, you're Samantha Ross, aren't you?!" a thin, excited voice suddenly piped up from behind us.

We turned around in surprise and saw a pretty girl who looked about fifteen. She was gazing at Samantha with admiration, clutching her pink-cased smartphone to her chest in an endearing way.

"Maybe I am," Sam replied with a coy smile.

"You opened for Holly Parish, I remember you! I've watched that performance so many times!" the girl gushed, blushing furiously, then awkwardly added, "You're also really beautiful in person..."

She was so touching and sincere, so openly nervous and excited about meeting her idol, that I couldn't help but smile. Of course, I was pleasantly surprised. This was the first time I could remember a fan approaching Sam in a public place! I was bursting with pride.

Sam is rarely recognized partly because she's so different on stage versus in real life. The paradox is that on stage, Samantha seems softer—like a gentle kitten with a dreamy gaze. But Sam is uninhibited, bold, and vibrant; sometimes her wild energy just knocks you off your feet. Her decisions are hard to resist, so I'm glad we're almost always on the same page.

"You know, I love all my fans, but some I love especially," Samantha said with a sly smile, winking at the girl. "You're very honest and brave. What's your name?"

"Kelley..." the girl became noticeably flustered from the praise and gripped her phone tighter. "You know, that performance—it inspired me so much... God, I never thought I'd meet you in a place like this! Miss Ross, is there anything at all I can do for you?!"

The "Miss Ross" made me giggle involuntarily, but Samantha remained completely unfazed and kept smiling just as charmingly—the kind of smile that could melt anyone, even the straightest girl in the world.

"Do something?" Sam drawled doubtfully and chuckled, clearly intending to politely decline, but suddenly a diabolical glint flashed in her gray eyes.

Oh, I knew that look all too well... Even our guys didn't say a word, watching with curiosity as the show unfolded before them.

"You know, I'd love to try their signature strawberry cocktail," Samantha smiled, cat-like and predatory, tilting her head slightly to one side. "Would you get it for me?"

For a moment Kelley was taken aback, but then she visibly perked up.

"Of course, my mom gave me some money... Oh, I mean, never mind, I'll be right back!!"

After saying this, Kelley hurried toward the counter, glancing back several times—as if afraid that Samantha would vanish the moment she looked away.

"If you wanted that cocktail, why didn't you ask me to order it?" Chris asked, puzzled.

"Because I didn't want it then," Samantha smirked. "And besides, did you see how her face lit up? For a fan, there's nothing sweeter than doing something nice for their idol."

"And you're clearly enjoying this," Derek chuckled, thoroughly surprised.

"You know," Samantha turned her narrowed gaze on him, "this is exactly how I pictured fame—crowds of fans hanging on my every word and dreaming of doing anything for me."

"And you always deserved it," I finished silently, gazing at Samantha with adoration.

Kelley really did come back quickly—she held a tall glass with a pink drink carefully in front of her, obviously terrified of dropping it or spilling even a single drop.

"That's very sweet, darling," Samantha smiled contentedly, taking the glass.

Kelley's earlobes flushed pink with embarrassment. Encouraged by such a reaction, she excitedly blurted out:

"Can I get a picture with you as a keepsake?!"

For some reason, the girl turned her anxious gaze to me, as if silently asking for support—and I gave her an encouraging smile. At the time, it seemed important to me that Kelley should have the most pleasant memories of meeting her idol... Which is exactly why what happened next shocked me so much.

"Of course," Samantha said, but for some reason she was in no hurry to get up for the photo. Instead, she fixed Kelley with a penetrating stare and asked, "Tell me, that performance of mine... How do you think I looked?"

"Like a queen!" Kelley burst out, as if she'd been waiting her whole life for that question.

People at the table laughed.

"Like a queen, you say?" Samantha laughed. "Then perhaps you'll kiss your queen's hand? For the photo, of course. Nobody wants to leave with some boring, run-of-the-mill picture."

I was just as flustered as Kelley. It felt like mockery, but Sam acted so casually that it was impossible to suspect her of any ill intent. Kelley must have thought the same thing, because she overcame her embarrassment and nodded.

"Yes, of course... That would be amazing," she murmured breathlessly, stepping closer to the table.

I took her phone to take the picture.

It seemed like Kelley was ready to go through with it right then and there, and I partly understood her—when you're really nervous and embarrassed, it's better to just get it over with quickly, without thinking about the consequences. But that wasn't enough for Samantha.

"You know, it would look a little silly if you did this standing up," Sam drew out, still smiling charmingly as she looked at the girl frozen before her. "Have you ever seen how aristocrats have their hands kissed? You need to kneel down to make it authentic. Will you do that for me?"

I froze with girl’s smartphone in my hands, and my heart began pounding faster for some reason. Samantha's act was outrageous... and exhilarating at the same time. This was right—this was exactly how people should treat my goddess. I wanted people to adore her as intensely as I did—but I hoped to hold a special place in her heart.

And even now I was so ridiculously jealous of this girl who would be allowed to touch Samantha's hand...

Kelley took a deep breath, as if before a leap, and actually sank to her knees before Samantha, kneeling right on the tiled floor that people had been walking on in their street shoes.

Our table immediately drew attention—there weren't many customers, but they were all staring at the scene in surprise and whispering to each other. I heard a couple of snickers.

Maybe because Kelley, though wildly embarrassed, looked happy, no one thought we were bullying a teenager. Most likely the other patrons figured they were witnessing some stupid TikTok challenge, so they didn't particularly want to end up in the shot.

Reverently cupping Samantha's palm, Kelley pressed her lips to Samantha's fingers. I almost forgot I needed to take the photo—Samantha's pointed look directed at me snapped me out of my trance. I hastily clicked several shots.

Kelley immediately jumped to her feet, awkwardly brushing down her wrinkled skirt. She sincerely thanked Samantha and even apologized for taking up her time.

"How delightful," Samantha giggled once Kelley had finally left, taking a sip from the cocktail bought for her. "But this drink is awful—way too sweet... Oh Lottie, why are you practically glowing?" Samantha suddenly burst out laughing. "As if she were your fan."

"Yeah, yeah," Derek chimed in unexpectedly with a mock sigh. "If only she admired me even half as much as she does you... Even after you took it too far, Sam."

"You haven't earned it." Samantha stuck her tongue out at him. "Our Charlotte has taste, you know. And what do you mean 'took it too far'?"

She and Derek kept up their playful bickering, making me blush, but at least it meant I didn't have to answer Sam's awkward question.

"I don't think anything special happened," Chris unexpectedly shrugged, calmly sipping his coffee. "Just some impressionable teenager. At that age, anything can send them into ecstasy."

Chris probably wasn't trying to hurt Samantha—he was simply one of those people who laid out all their thoughts without holding back and never got overly excited about anything. I'd always felt that for someone as vibrant and creative as Samantha, he was too straightforward and shallow.

I glanced over and noticed that Samantha was smiling, but her eyes were cold, like two little pieces of ice.

Oh, someone's in for a thrashing at home, I thought, finishing my dessert.

But even I was completely stunned when Sam announced three days later that she and Chris had broken up.

“Could it really be because of that incident at the cafe?” I wondered as I listened to Samantha on the phone.

Samantha never shared her feelings about the fame that never came. Even I didn't know what was going on in her soul. Perhaps behind all the jokes and sassy comebacks she was hiding personal pain—and Chris's words were the final straw. Though Chris was never right for her anyway...

I don't know why I was so thrilled by the news of their breakup. I tried to convince myself that I was just happy for my friend, who had gotten rid of the "dead weight"... but I kept returning to that exhilarating thought. Once again, no one stood between Sam and me...

It just so happened that my relationship with Derek was also starting to fall apart. He and Chris were close, and Chris was constantly whining and complaining to him about Samantha, saying she had broken his heart.

Trying to defend my friend, I quarreled with Derek, and it all ended with us breaking up. For the first time in two years, he raised his voice at me and insulted me.

"You're just as crazy as she is!" an enraged Derek threw at me as his parting shot. "Two damn bitches—you can live out your lives together, the failed singer and her pathetic little lapdog!"

I almost slapped him hard across the face, but I held back from cheap drama—I simply told him in an icy tone to get out of my life.

After he left, I immediately dialed Samantha's number with trembling fingers.

"Sam, I... I kicked Derek out; we broke up. I mean, the other way around..." I blurted out, trying to collect my thoughts.

"That's wonderful," my friend laughed without a trace of regret in her voice. "He and Chris are two of a kind. Maybe they should try dating each other."

I couldn't help but snort with laughter.

"It was only a matter of time, Lottie," Samantha added mockingly. "They don't deserve us. As a lover, Chris is so boring he makes you want to yawn."

"Still, I feel lousy about it," I complained mournfully. "I didn't think we'd end things with a fight."

Though it wasn't that I regretted Derek—it was more that I was still wrestling with these wild thoughts about my friend being single again... Thank God she had no idea what was running through my head.

"Don't mope, honey. We just need to hit up a club and let loose a little," Sam suggested with a laugh, never one to stay down.

"Do you mean Moonlight?" I giggled.

"Oh, screw that," Samantha snorted. "I don't want to see those smug faces after their ridiculous fee. Let's go to Electroshock, get wasted, and have a proper good time."

I was surprised by her choice, but didn't object. I was ready to go anywhere if Sam thought it was a good idea—I really did need to shake things up. Maybe some light flirting and meeting new people would help me take my mind off my friend and focus on something else...

Electroshock was a popular techno club, always packed to the rafters. We could have easily found some one-night entertainment there, but Samantha and I had already agreed we'd go home together after the club.

"We'll just tease the boys a little and then bail," Samantha chuckled into the phone. "Nobody's ever died from blue balls."

"You're so cruel," I couldn't help but laugh, anticipating our evening together.

“ “ “

Music pounded through the club, and multicolored flashes of neon light danced across faces—happy, carefree, and often drunk. In a crowd like this, you didn't have to worry about being recognized...

Samantha and I downed our cocktails and headed straight to the dance floor. I wasn't much of a dancer, but alcohol always helped me loosen up and stop trying to control everything.

The DJ dropped a fast track with furious drums, and the buzzing crowd surged into motion. But among hundreds of partying people, I could see only Samantha...

She laughed and danced with her arms raised toward the ceiling. Her long curls whipped out from her sharp movements like snakes. Several times she accidentally tickled me with her hair when I got too close, and it was like a jolt shot through me.

Samantha wore a short, tight black dress that hugged her curves, with delicate golden patterns along the sides that mimicked snake scales. She really did look like a king cobra as she arched and moved her narrow waist with sensual grace...

I nearly recoiled in surprise when Sam moved in close, her hot breath searing my neck. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it could drown out the music.

"Those two over there are staring so hard they're gonna burn holes right through us."

Without stopping my dancing, I stole a glance around and found the ones Sam was talking about. Two tall, handsome guys who looked uncannily similar, like brothers...

"Want to meet them?" I asked, giving Samantha a questioning look.

"No, babe, they're the ones who want to meet us," my friend smirked. "Give it a couple minutes—the boys will work up the nerve."

Samantha was right, as always. Before I even realized what had happened, there we were—the four of us sitting at a table with the guys eagerly buying us drinks.

The blatant lust in their eyes was so obvious it actually made me laugh. Samantha's playful mood seemed to be rubbing off on me a little... We had drinks with the guys and got to talking.

"You and your friend are models, right?" asked the one who'd introduced himself as Zak. "Here to conquer the New York runways?"

"Of course, he didn't recognize Samantha," I thought with a sudden pang of sadness.

"Wrong guess," Samantha said, taking her glass and sipping from it, playfully licking her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Maybe your friend is more perceptive?"

"Jack's my brother," Zak chuckled, confirming my hunch. He suddenly leaned forward, putting on a sly expression. "So what happens if we guess right?"

"Oh, well," Samantha slowly traced her finger along the rim of her glass, "maybe a miracle will happen."

"Wow," Zak followed her hand with his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the other side of the glass, trying to touch her fingers. "Will you grant my wish, night fairy?"

Samantha just smirked, pulling her hand away, and coquettishly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"No, bro, I think they're actresses!" Jack guessed with excitement.

I barely joined their conversation, choosing the role of "mysterious stranger." Talking was Samantha's thing, and I liked to watch, listen, and smile at the right moments. Sometimes that got guys just as worked up.

"Maybe singers?" Jack guessed again without waiting for an answer, openly staring at Samantha's cleavage before slowly shifting his gaze to my chest.

I secretly glanced at my friend: would she confess or continue the game? She decided to continue.

"God, Lotty, these two will never figure it out. We'll have to give them a hint," Samantha laughed and suddenly whispered in my ear, "I want to tease them a little. Play along with me."

“What? Play along?” I didn't have time to ask this out loud before Samantha suddenly kicked off her high-heeled sandals and jumped right onto the table.

No one even noticed her—people were having a blast and mostly watching the dance floor.

"Ha-ha, baby, you're on fire!" Zack slammed his palm on the table in excitement. "Light it up!"

Samantha caught the rhythm of the song pouring from the speakers and began to dance. She swayed her hips sensually while her arms and legs drew smooth lines through the air. It reminded me a little of an Eastern dance, only she moved stealthily and slowly, like a cat... and she was watching me.

After wiggling her round, firm ass in front of the guys for a bit, Samantha quickly moved closer to my edge of the table. Her inviting gaze seemed to sear right through me, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

“What does she want from me? To jump on the table too?!” I was getting nervous and even fidgeting a little in my chair.

Sam knew perfectly well that I was terrified of performing, and here were these strange guys staring at us like predators eyeing rabbits.

I looked up and saw Samantha wink at me. I flushed.

Seeing that I wasn't reacting at all and was sitting there as if I'd been nailed to my chair, Samantha moved even closer and began to slowly descend, never stopping her dance... She undulated and swayed her hips, once again resembling a cobra, and gazed straight at me—as if only the two of us remained in the entire club.

She crouched down, making several erotic movements with her belly in my direction, as if she wanted to press against me, to merge us into one... And all of this without a single word—only her large gray eyes blazed feverishly. My throat went dry with nerves, and I couldn't even move.

I forgot about the guys—they were both staring hungrily at Samantha, clearly anticipating wild sex... which they weren't going to get.

For a moment, Samantha seemed to break character with a quick grin, but just as quickly, the seductress's mask was back in place. She rose to her full height again and began presenting one leg, then the other, to me, playfully swaying her hips. At some point I caught myself staring intently at her bare feet. She had such graceful feet—probably both would fit in my palms.

As if sensing my attention through her skin, Samantha suddenly and deftly placed her left foot on my forehead—it was an almost weightless touch, but once again it felt like electricity shot through me.

Smiling, Sam slowly drew her toes downward, tracing an invisible line to my lips, and stopped. Now it was as if I were kissing the tips of her toes! I realized that in another moment Sam would pull her foot away... but then I would lose my last chance to somehow participate in her dance.

I impulsively parted my lips and sucked Samantha's big toe into my mouth. It happened so fast that I didn't even have time to process what I was feeling.

"What are you doing, Lot?!" Samantha burst into laughter, her toe involuntarily wiggling in my mouth from the tickling sensation.

I immediately released her toe and jerked back, blushing to the tips of my ears.

"Wow, and she looked like such a modest little thing," Zack laughed heartily. "Do you two often play around with each other like this?"

"Just so you know, your little toes would feel really nice in my mouth too," Jack winked at Samantha, slightly drunker than his brother. "But I'd also love to watch you two..."

I couldn't even manage a word from embarrassment and just clutched my half-empty cocktail glass. Samantha laughed, looking down at me with mild surprise, then hopped down from the table.

I desperately wanted to flee the club under some pretext, but I couldn't think of anything, so I just smiled stupidly. Everyone quickly forgot about what I'd done and continued chatting and joking as if nothing had happened.

Fortunately, Samantha was also caught up with the guys—I was too ashamed to look her in the eye…

But when my emotions settled down a bit, I suddenly caught myself thinking that it wasn't unpleasant—holding Samantha's toe in my mouth. Not that I'd ever fantasized about something like that... But when I really thought about it—I'd never done anything more erotic. Kisses on the cheek, hugs when we met, even sleeping cuddled together—that was completely different. There had never been anything sexual in our closeness before.

But I knew that Samantha's stunt was just a show, and I should have turned the whole thing into a bad joke: laughed it off, lied that I'd gotten too carried away and wanted to shock the guys.

An hour later, Samantha insistently pulled me away from our table.

"Boys, we're just going to powder our noses," she winked at the guys, who were pretty drunk but still fired up. "Wait for us."

We'd already called a taxi and were planning to slip away unnoticed through the back exit. Samantha had invited me for a sleepover at her place the night before.

"It's been ages since it was just the two of us," Sam had told me before we went to the club. "I mean, without the guys. Time for us to relive the good old days."

Of course, she didn't have to convince me.

Our little scheme worked perfectly—two unsuspecting guys are still waiting for our return, while we're already racing home, giddy and free, without a shred of guilt.

Once home, Samantha kicked off her sandals first thing and let out a loud groan.

"God, curse whoever invented heels!" she declared with feeling.

"He's been dead for ages," I couldn't help but laugh, then added sympathetically, "Are your feet sore?"

"No," Samantha collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion and stretched out her long legs, quickly flexing and unflexing her toes. "Just damn tired. I'm no dancer, after all."

Remembering her sexy dance on the table, and then my reckless move, I blushed. Good thing Sam still hadn't said anything about it. But watching Samantha rubbing her calves with her palms, I got an idea...

"You know, my mom was on her feet all day when she worked as a teacher, and in the evenings my dad would give her foot massages. That was the only thing that saved her," I shared, perching on the edge of the couch.

"He’s a saint," Samantha snorted, slowly rubbing one foot against the other.

Her short dress had ridden up, and I could easily see Samantha's underwear dug into her crotch, but somehow I couldn't tear my gaze away from her legs. Maybe it was that thrilling sensation from when her toe had been in my mouth that I couldn't shake.

"Sometimes Dad couldn't, and then I would give Mom the massage," I tried to keep my voice steady, not wanting to betray my inner excitement.

The moment I saw Samantha looking so vulnerable and tired, I immediately wanted to do something nice for her, but I didn't know how to bring it up. I had to approach it carefully.

"Mmm," Samantha murmured vaguely, covering her eyes with her hand. "Seriously, Lottie, do you actually know how to give massages?"

"I don't think I've forgotten how," I replied evasively and, without waiting for permission, slowly slid down to the floor. "Tell me if it feels uncomfortable..."

When I heard no objections, I carefully cradled Samantha's right foot and gently squeezed with my fingers. She jerked her leg involuntarily, but then immediately relaxed. I noticed how Sam pulled her hand away from her face and looked down at me with surprise.

Hiding my nervousness, I ran my knuckles along her skin, alternating with gentle massage strokes. Now I was so close to her feet that I could smell the minty scent of her body lotion.

"Oh, Lottie, this is pure bliss," Samantha moaned softly after a moment, completely relaxed now. "You have magic hands."

Her praise encouraged me, and I began to squeeze, gently flex and extend her feet with a bit more boldness. I caressed them so tenderly and reverently, as if they were made of crystal.

"Mmm, Lottie," Samantha murmured with a satisfied smile, "now I understand your mom. I wish someone would give me a massage like this every day."

I memorized her words. It was strange to realize that what was happening thrilled me almost more than it did Samantha herself... I stole glances at her reactions and noticed with a flutter of excitement that sometimes she was watching me just as intently... Maybe I was reading too much into it, and Sam was simply enjoying the unexpected gift of a massage.

Her feet went completely limp in my hands, and she only wiggled her toes occasionally, stretching them out lazily like a cat. I watched them as if mesmerized, unconsciously leaning my face closer and closer.

Her big toe was drawing closer and closer, and for some reason I found myself trying to remember—was this the toe I had held in my mouth, and would the sensation be the same?

I desperately wanted to find out, and I even parted my lips slightly, as if preparing to taste. Samantha let out a loud sigh above me, as if from pleasure, and I immediately snapped back to reality. Realizing what a wild thought had crept into my head, I jerked my head back sharply, all while never stopping my massage of Sam's feet.

"Thank you, Lottie, you're simply wonderful," Samantha practically purred in her deep, slightly drowsy voice.

Her praise made me squirm—not because of the massage, but because of my own stupid thoughts... as if I'd taken advantage of her in my mind and secretly done something shameful.

"Want me to sing you a lullaby as a thank you?" Samantha suddenly asked with a mischievous glint.

"Stop teasing me," I couldn't help but giggle, "I'm a big girl now."

"Oh yes. But who else would listen to my songs if not you?" In Samantha's teasing voice, I suddenly caught a hint of melancholy, and I felt a pang of worry.

"I'm sure more people love your songs than you think!" I fervently assured my friend, instinctively almost pressing her leg against my chest.

"That's different, baby. Maybe I want something more," Samantha murmured, staring at the ceiling.

"More?" I asked, getting up from the floor and carefully lying down opposite Sam.

"To be crazy about me. To admire me. Ready to kiss the floor I walked on," Samantha drew out dreamily.

"You're serious?" I tried to hide my embarrassment, because I remembered ridiculously kissing her foot. It really did resemble a scene of idol worship, though I hadn't been thinking of anything like that at the time.

"Well..." Sam stared at me intently and suddenly burst out laughing. "God, Lottie, of course not! Do I look crazy? Getting asked to sign chests is quite enough. Though if that little girl at the café had asked to kiss the floor beneath my feet, I might have let her."

She laughed for a long time after that, swatted me with a pillow, and turned away, still chuckling quietly. Something in her words and laughter told me that her confessions about admiration and worship weren't entirely a joke... but I pushed those thoughts aside. It was much more comfortable to see her like this—ironic and daring.

Under the influence of alcohol, we fell asleep fairly quickly—right there on the same couch, because we were too lazy to move to the bed. But before drifting off to sleep, I caught a faint, unusual scent... It was coming from my palms, and I realized I was literally breathing in the smell of Samantha's feet. Not knowing exactly what I felt about this, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

“ “ “

In the morning I woke to sunlight filtering through the curtains and stretched lazily. Samantha always slept so soundly that even a gunshot wouldn't wake her. I didn't bother waking my friend and just lay there in bed, replaying the events of the previous evening.

Of course, my mind immediately flooded with thoughts of how I'd taken Samantha's toe into my mouth, her shocked expression, the guys' crude jokes... And despite all of this, I had absolutely loved what I'd done—so much that I was ready to do it again.

Any remnant of sleep vanished instantly.

I was tormented by guilt—whether toward my friend or toward myself, I couldn't tell. This wasn't normal—remembering such a thing, let alone fantasizing about doing it again. A friend... Hell, not even every lover would agree to kiss someone's feet.

Perhaps my passion would have been cooled by disgust on Samantha's face—but she had looked merely very surprised.

I sighed and rolled over to my other side, hearing Samantha's quiet, steady breathing behind me. Sam and I have been friends for so many years—so why after crossing the line just once, I can no longer calm down and stop thinking about her?

I tried to distract myself by scrolling through my news feed. I suddenly became curious whether other girls had found themselves in similar situations. Not knowing how best to phrase the query, I tried several different searches.

"In love with best friend."

"Want to kiss my friend."

"Attracted to friend's feet."

"Accidentally kissed my friend's feet."

"Okay, I went overboard with the 'accidentally' part," I admitted, deleting the ridiculous search query.

Most of what I found were erotic stories or pseudo-confessions—I was certain most of them were just fantasies from lecherous men. Besides, I didn't like the idea that my craving for closeness with Samantha was just some kind of fetish.

What hooked me most was the story of some Lorraine B., who had posted her tale of "love" on social media: she'd divorced her husband for her best friend, who was ten years older. Lorraine wrote that she admired everything about her friend, considered her perfection, and even—hung photos of her all over the apartment, which she worships several times a day.

"Everyone goes crazy in their own way," I thought, feeling a mix of disgust and pity for this stranger. "I'm nothing like that... Sam and I just have a special connection..."

I realized that searching for answers online was a stupid idea. I just needed to have a drink and distract myself. Alcohol would help me relax, and let it be the middle of the day—there was no one around to judge me.

With that thought, I carefully slipped out of bed and got dressed. Samantha still hadn't woken up, snuffling sweetly into her pillow. Casting a tender glance at her, I quietly left the apartment.

Across from Samantha's house was a bar—I wasn't a big fan of this little place, but I didn't want to go anywhere else. Sipping my cocktail, I idly watched the handful of customers, but my thoughts inevitably drifted back to Samantha.

Yesterday everything happened too suddenly and unexpectedly... But if Sam felt disgusted, she wouldn't have let me give her the massage. I felt sad thinking that right now this was the only way to touch her without being rejected.

"But if I'm too pushy, Sam will get angry," I thought and sighed.

I wanted to touch her again, to press my lips against her skin... even if it was just her feet. Yes, I had enjoyed giving Sam the massage, but I wanted something more.

And the longer I thought about it, the deeper I sank into despair. We were the closest of friends, but it felt like there was an abyss between us! My place would soon be easily taken by another "Chris" or "Derek."

I wanted to tell Sam all of this, to hear her reaction, but I was afraid I'd only make things worse.

I came back to the apartment after two cocktails, but instead of pleasant relaxation I felt tension. Fortunately, Sam didn't notice anything. She was excited about our plans for the day: we wanted to go shopping, then Samantha had a Pilates class and I was going to swim in the pool while waiting for her. We decided to finish the evening at our favorite little rooftop French restaurant.

"Lottie, can I borrow your shorts?" Sam asked unexpectedly before we left, holding a pair of short white denim shorts. "And you go through my stuff, pick something out for yourself. I'm already sick of everything I have."

I had brought a couple of outfits with me, not knowing exactly where we'd end up, so I could easily lend Sam my shorts.

This was common practice—if she liked something, she often borrowed it from me, and sometimes kept it forever. And it wasn't about money—her closets were bursting with clothes bought by yet another lover.

I had never seriously thought about it before, but Sam had some kind of obsession with other people's things—even little trinkets. In school she would "borrow" erasers and pencils from me that way; later it was makeup, jewelry, clothes. Though I couldn't exactly remember whether she took other people's things, or just mine…

"You mind?" Samantha raised an eyebrow in surprise, seeing that I was silent in response to her request.

"No, no, don't be silly—take them!" I snapped out of my thoughts and smiled hurriedly. "White looks incredible on you."

Sam smiled sweetly, revealing deep dimples, and went to change.

I didn't take her up on her offer—for some reason, rummaging through her things right now seemed somehow improper to me... There was enough delicious excitement in knowing that something that had just been on me would soon be on my Sammy.

Near the end of our walk through the shopping center, Samantha dragged me into a shoe store.

"Lottie, look, how lovely!"

She showed me the sandals: white satin buckles embroidered with flowers, and thin lacing around the ankles that resembled flower stems. They had high, chunky heels with small platforms.

Samantha immediately sat down to try them on.

I watched, mesmerized, as she carefully wound the delicate cord around her graceful ankle. Her toenails, painted with pink polish, looked like petals. Seeing Sam struggling to put on the second sandal, I felt an unbearable urge to kneel before her and help.

"And then just jump out the window, you fool—it's the fourth floor, perfect," I mentally scolded myself.

Meanwhile, Samantha glanced at the price tag and her face fell.

"They cost like they were sewn by the tiny hands of elves," she grunted in disappointment, admiring the shoes a little longer while swinging her feet in the air.

The sandals looked so enchanting on her feet that in some wild impulse I wanted to buy them for her, even though the price was impossibly steep. I was torn by doubt.

"Come on, Lottie, all this disappointment has worked up my appetite." Samantha changed her shoes and beckoned me to follow.

Her sharp tone chilled me, and I bit my lip in frustration.

Maybe I should have bought them in secret and then presented them as a gift? But I couldn't think of any compelling reason to do so.

Sam didn't have serious financial troubles: her parents still supported her, and lovers paid for her other indulgences. But now she was alone, and the invitation to sing at the club opening was her first real work in a long time.

I was a little disappointed, but I said nothing. After our workout at the fitness center, we went to our favorite restaurant and ordered a bottle of wine with dinner.

We rode home a little tipsy. I wanted to grab the things I'd left at Samantha's and then head back to my own place. We tumbled into the hallway of her apartment, giggling drunkenly and for some reason retelling each other stories we already knew for the hundredth time.

I suddenly caught myself realizing that my entire day had been devoted to Samantha: her plans, her desire to go here or there... Even the pool—I'd only gone because I wanted to wait for Sam to finish her Pilates class on the floor above.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd asked Samantha for anything or invited her anywhere... I didn't want to dwell on it for too long, especially now that the alcohol had finally restored my playful mood.

Samantha, with bags in hand, had already jumped onto the couch, nearly spilling all our purchases onto the floor.

"Lottie, was I blind when I bought these?" Samantha slipped the aviator sunglasses onto her nose and glanced at the mirrored closet door across from her. "I look like a female cop from a porno."

"That's not true," I giggled, settling down beside her. "It's just that your sexiness isn't so easy to kill..."

"You think so?" She took off the glasses and squinted. "Well, your mom managed to."

I burst out laughing at the unexpectedness of it. My mother really had tried to give Samantha "proper" clothes by her standards—old-fashioned floor-length dresses and long skirts. Apparently, she thought Sam wore short outfits out of financial necessity. I had to give Samantha credit—she was never rude to her elders, accepted the gifts, and then fooled around in front of the mirror trying on the new clothes.

I watched for a long time as Sam sat with her long legs tucked beneath her, contentedly tearing into the shopping bags.

Maybe it was the alcohol that gave me courage, or maybe I'd been stewing in my thoughts too long, but I scooted a little closer and asked softly:

"You've been on your feet all day today, Sammy. Want me to give you another massage?"

Samantha froze for a moment, then looked up at me with a hint of surprise. I could see her hesitating slightly, but she must have remembered that pleasant feeling from when I'd massaged her feet before.

"Lottie, are you not only my makeup artist now, but my masseuse too?" she laughed. "I'll have to start paying you extra."

"We're friends—I wouldn't take money from you," I tried to smile just as casually, though I was burning with impatience and the desire to touch her again.

It was like we were playing 'touch-me-not'—the game where a guy is burning with desire to sleep with the girl he loves, but pretends he's much more interested in drinking coffee with her or looking at family albums.

Samantha playfully stretched her leg toward me and wiggled her big toe teasingly.

"These feet are so beautiful that you can't resist them, can you, Lottie?" she asked mockingly.

I knew Sam was joking, but my heart started beating a little faster from excitement.

"You're asking me this after making me listen to 'You're My Superstar' for a month?" I caught her foot, gently cradling it in my palms. "All of Samantha Ross is beautiful."

Samantha didn't resist me holding her foot in my hands.

"Say that again," Sam suddenly smirked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Samantha Ross is the most beautiful woman on Earth," a drunken chuckle escaped me. "And she deserves a massage."

The alcohol in my digestive system was still pushing me toward impulsive acts. Having been granted silent permission to touch Samantha's feet, I grew even bolder. Slowly massaging her feet, I gathered my courage—because the massage wasn't my real objective.

"You know... I often think about that night at the club..." I murmured, with nervous excitement.

Samantha looked up at me, puzzled.

"Sometimes... Sometimes I want to kiss your feet again," I finally blurted out.