Samara Walker is fluid in flirting and she knows it. But that doesn't stop the world from questioning her skills. So when an opportunity in the from of a bet knocks, it doesn't take more than a blink of an eye for her to be in it to prove herself.
A...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
PEOPLE SAY GAMBLING is bad. An addiction that ruins life. But those people had never felt the rush one gets from placing a bet. Feeling the smooth surface of the rummy in your fingers, sweat beads forming at the corner of your forehead as you wait for the ball to drop. The thrill of winning, the heartache of losing -- everything has its own exhilarating experience. And Samara Walker had just signed herself up for the experience of a lifetime.
Of course, gambling - betting in general - had never been Samara's scene. Never-mind, being the most popular personality at Troy High, she wouldn't risk her soul at the expense of popularity. Not that betting had been the peek initiation of someone's fame at Troy High. It was rather easy to be on the fame list there - just being original could get you straight to the top of the food chain, Samara being the prime example.
"Why are we here, again?" Liam Rush piped up from the plush couch he was sitting on. That was the third time he had asked the same question and Samara doesn't blame him. It was ridiculously early in the morning and they were sitting ducks in this rustic Italian living room - bigger than a swimming pool - without an ounce of coffee in their systems.
"We'll know once Liv comes, okay." Samara said-waving her hands in a bossy feminine way-her eyes glued to that faint red smudge on the Diaz's lavish carpet under her latest edition of Celine. She remembered the day when Liv and she decided to imitate their respective mothers on a casual brunch and wine. Liv had insisted Samara to wait downstairs while she went up to get a surprise, only to see the tiny glass bottle - worth more than 550$ - dazzle like a ruby under the chandelier, when she came down. Samara remembered being so excited to have that shade of red tainted on her pale nails, that she hurriedly grabbed the bottle out of Liv's hand and then dropping it in the process. The fragile bottle broke in silence, the glass shards - now colored red - sticking to the silky matter forming a spot that had earned both of them two weeks of house arrest by their mothers, back then. But looking at it now, the spot had been a symbol of a memory of a very old and strong friendship.
As Samara vaguely recollects her old memories - a habit she adapted to stay focused - or in this case, stay awake, when Dorota, Diaz mansion's cherished possession had stepped into the living room - silver tray clutched firmly in her hands, filled with sweet smelling confectionaries. "Miss Diaz will be with you shortly. Till then," Dorota carefully places the tray on the center table and ways her hand over it, "help yourself to some pre-breakfast munch-ons"
"You're a lifesaver Dorota!" Samara exclaimed, claiming the chocolate covered bonbons for herself.
"I'll be back with some coffee." Dorota said, before excusing herself out of the living room, leaving Samara, Liam and his friend, Max Addington alone. Again.
"I could literally die for these." Samara picked out a white bonbon and put it in her mouth, while Liam nibbled at the chocolate chip cookies he snatched from the tray.
