It's just not in this girl's nature to be insecure about anything. Sam and you had been friends for as long as she could remember, as long as you'd been sharing toys and making jokes about the boys in the parallel group. It didn't come as a shock to her that her ears twitched at the sound of your laughter and the awkwardness that hovered around us. She likes you. Love.

But hell, you had a boyfriend, and he was an asshole, but that doesn't change the fact that he was there. It was a spot you were driving yourself into, slowly but surely. Samantha saw it, trying to lift the veil from your eyes, to draw your attention to her, all suave, attentive, everything this asshole doesn't have.

Her ambition crumbled like a house of cards when she thought for just a moment that maybe you didn't like girls at all. Shit. Right now the uncertainty was eating her stomach from the inside out, making her squirm.

It was late at night, you and Sam were watching a raunchy show with the typical plot of a cheating husband and an unhappy wife. Samantha nervously tapped her finger on the can of beer in her hand, glancing back at you from time to time. You were looking nervously at your phone, obviously texting someone.

"Is he writing again?" The girl didn't even try to hide the indignation in her tone, resting her head on your shoulder. "He's a jerk." Involuntarily, she pouted, her plump lips bulging and her eyes rolling. "Don't you see?" Sam changed the channel where the news feed was spinning.