Private 02 - Private Paradise

boyfriend and he didn't do “stupid ass shit” like prom, that she'd immediately gone to Mr. Ramsey, the shop teacher, and told him that Sam was the one who had stolen his car back in February.
    The reason she knew? Natalie had been with him.
    “ I always thought it was unfair that Natalie got off free and clear and you got suspended and had to do four weeks of summer school.”
    Sam's strong pecs rippled against her cheek as he shrugged. “I was the one who did it. She was just along for the ride. Besides, I was such a dick to her about the prom I feel like I deserved it.”
    He was silent for a few seconds. “Want to know something? I kind of wanted to go to prom. But I didn't have the fifty bucks to buy one ticket, much less a couple hundred for the limo, the dinner, and all that other bullshit.”
    The admission had made Carla's chest tight and brought the sting of tears to her eyes. It was one thing to realize someone was poor, but it was another to realize how that translated into normal everyday things like prom.
    “ I didn't go to prom either,” she whispered. “No one asked me.”
    Sam rolled her to her back and propped himself up with his elbows on either side of her head. “I can't believe what a bunch of dumbasses the guys in your class are, not seeing how hot and smart you are.”
    Carla smiled into the darkness and pulled him down to her, her heart exploding in her chest at his words. Sure, he'd left a string of broken hearts including Natalie Cushman's in his wake, but Carla was different. She had to be. There was no way Sam had said things to them like he'd said to her. No way he had shared his secrets and his hopes for the future. And there was Chris, one of Sam's best friends. No way would he screw over his best friend's cousin.
    And, she was convinced, no one had really loved Sam. Not like she did.
    She cringed now, her fingers tightening around the cold wrought iron of her balcony railing, remembering just how stupid and naïve she'd been. How convinced she'd been that she and Sam were destined to be together, especially after Sam's father had shown up unexpectedly the first week in August, drunk and demanding to see his son.
    Carla and Sam had been on their lunch break and were flirting over burgers and fries when Frank O'Connell had burst into the employee dining room. His eyes had locked first on Sam, then Carla. The grin he gave them both was a little blurry around the edges, but it couldn't hide the light of pure nastiness in a pair of blue eyes that were a bloodshot, watery version of his son's intense gaze.
    Conversation stopped as everyone turned to watch the commotion.
    Sam had frozen, his face a grim mask.
    “ Come on kid, I haven't seen you in weeks. Aren't you happy to see me?”
    Only Carla knew Sam well enough to see the flush of embarrassment creeping across his tanned cheeks. She stood up and offered her hand. “Hi, Mr. O'Connell, I'm Carla DeLuca, a friend of Sam's.”
    Frank had focused his gaze on her and Carla fought the urge to squirm as he eyed her up and down, his dark brow cocked and his mouth quirked in a creepier version of his son's cocky grin. “Well, Sam, I can see with this little thing to occupy you, you wouldn't be missing me too much.” He'd continued to hold her hand as his gaze narrowed on her face. “Why do I know you? Wait a minute, you were in the paper. Valedictorian of your class this year?”
    Carla had nodded, surprised Sam's dad read the paper, much less retained any of the information in a brain that was obviously pickled. “That's me,” she said, snatching her hand away and surreptitiously wiping it on her uniform skirt.
    Frank's smile had taken on a cruel cast. “I'd think a smart girl like you would know better than to mix it up with a loser like Sam here.” He chuckled and turned his attention back to Sam. “I guess it just proves, you show a girl a good enough time in the sack and even the smartest ones will be panting after you like a bitch―”
    Sam had exploded from the table, grabbed his father by the wrist, and twisted his arm up his back. He started pushing his father, who was struggling and shouting obscenities, toward the door. “Stay out of this, Carla,” Sam had shouted when she would have followed.
    More than the words, it was the look on his face that froze her where she stood. His mouth pulled into a snarl, his eyes bright with fury like she'd never seen. She watched, helplessly, as Sam dragged his father