say shit about me again, see what happens @ricc3rodeo - Tumblr Blog

ricc3rodeo

Jan 3, 2025

ricc3rodeo

2. an inch for a mile

those who play with fire tend to be consumed by it

word count: 6.2k

she’s baaaaaaaaaaaack!!!!!!

It was heavier than she expected.

Actually, she hadn’t known what she expected.

Sam had been dreaming of this moment her entire life. And all that time, she hadn’t considered too much just how heavy a Formula 1 race winner’s trophy could actually feel.

Her heart was oddly calm given the situation. Her right hand rested gently over where it lay thrumming behind her rib cage. She’d thought it would be racing—beating erratically because of all the adrenaline. But it beat steadily, somehow seemingly falling into rhythm with the Star Spangled Banner blasting over the speakers.

It hadn’t come easy. The race was long, hard-fought, and it had kept her looking in her mirrors nearly the entire time. But she knew the win was hers to take. At that one moment, a moment she knew she was likely to never forget, Sam knew for a fact that she was about to join the long but exclusive list of those to take the top step of a podium, and she was going to be the first woman in history to ever do it.

Samantha Thompson pitted for a used set of mediums, and if you ask me, the moment she passes Leclerc and can build a decent gap, she should be able to coast to the top step of the podium.

And what’s a decent gap in your opinion?

If she can pass him and get a 2-3 second advantage within a few laps, Leclerc’s 5 lap old softs would disintegrate far too quickly. It’s risky. Would the team let him push but risk him having to come in again with 10 laps to go? Or would they want him to conserve his tires and keep a podium position? It’s only the beginning of the season so their strategists have a bit of leeway with their call, but anything can happen.

Well here she goes! She barely nudges ahead into the turn, it’s two wide! Who’s going to pull ahead into the straight?!

And it’s the Mercedes!

But Charles isn’t going to give up just yet. Let’s have listen to his radio.

“DRS zone is coming up. 0.7 gap to Thompson. Push push.”

“Not now!”

Honestly Crofty I don’t think I’d be too happy if my engineer tried to radio me during a wheel to wheel battle either.

Thompson knows how to defend dare I say better than any other driver on this grid; she’s ruthless. Charles needs to close the 1.5 second gap in this DRS zone or he’s going to get left in the dust.

He’s got the extra boost! But Sam is not giving up easily! She’s taking the racing line and not letting go, Martin. Her first win is at stake here and she’s not going down without a fight.

Charles isn’t giving up that easily either, he’s going for the overtake!

Leclerc dives to the inside—there’s almost contact, but she covers it off! What a defensive move from Thompson!

Incredible! She’s not having any of it! Charles recovered nicely, but he’s falling behind desperately after wobbling to avoid contact like that. Sam has pulled 2.6 seconds ahead!

Martin, that is quite the gap to build up and his tires are fading quickly after a battle like that.

“Conserve your tires, Carlos is 2.1 behind.”

And that very well may have been the move to secure Samantha Thompson her first ever Grand Prix win.

It had been 112 days since she had last driven under these Saudi Arabian lights, at the exact track where her career nearly ended last season. The track where she purposefully drove into the second starting grid spot instead of the first. Where she was shown the black flag before the end of lap 1. Where she disappeared leaving only 4 letters of explanation in her wake. One small decision had nearly altered the course of her entire life, and it would’ve been successful if she hadn’t decided to let go of her anger and make such great friends in the paddock throughout the season.

She thought about the scared, closed off girl she was in her first press conference in Bahrain last year, not interested in making friends but hellbent on making enemies if she needed to.

She’d had friends like Molly and Mick, but the friends she made despite her initial outlook are what surpised her the most.

Friends like Daniel.

Daniel, who she learned to hate before she eventually learned to love.

Daniel, who’s ear-to-ear grin she saw piercing through the crowd of paddock personnel below the podiums at this very moment.

Despite his own driver duties, despite his poor finish, despite the risk it held of exposing their relationship, he was here. She knew he would be. But seeing him made it more real. It reminded her that not only was she in love with Daniel Ricciardo, but that he was in love with her too.

Ladies and gentleman, we have never seen anything like this in Formula 1 history. Samantha Thompson is the first woman to ever take the checkered flag, with a performance that has been nothing short of extraordinary. Listen to that crowd! They are absolutely ecstatic. It's a moment decades in the making, and she's made it her own. The way she navigated that final lap—precision, confidence... This is what champions are made of!

You’re right Martin, and I think if she keeps delivering results like this, she may very well be a contender for that title. What a victory this is. To make her way through the pack the way she did, to manage the pressure from the Ferraris behind her— it’s an absolute statement. Sam has just told us not to count her out this season.

This is more than just a win, Samantha Thompson is shattering boundaries. And look at this! She’s slowing down in the runoff.

Is she— she is!

She’s doing well-deserved donuts. You can feel the emotion in this celebration, Crofty. THIS is what Formula 1 is all about— passion, victory, the thrill of competition. Compared to last year, the team over at Mercedes has given her an inch and she has turned it into a mile. We’re witnessing history and it’s absolutely iconic.

Just look at the smoke pouring from her tires. The crowd is loving it! She’s giving the people a wave as she slows to a stop! I love it! Dare I say we’ve got a new fan favorite?

Maybe, Martin. Or maybe they’re cheering at the McLaren of Daniel Ricciardo slowing down as he passes through the haze of smoke.

And look at that, he’s pumping his fist in the air in congratulations. And she’s doing it right back. What a— is he knocking on his helmet? Haha what in the world was that? She did it too! You saw that right?

What an odd little exchange.

I love to see the camaraderie between drivers. Sometimes it feels forced, but I do believe these other drivers on the grid would not deny that a part of them is actually happy for her.

She’s made friends with a lot of the drivers since joining the grid, so I believe it. And there goes Max Verstappen, giving her a wave as he passes as well.

There you have it folks. Samantha Thompson, the first woman— and American— to win a Formula 1 Grand Prix, in front of thousands of fans here in Saudi Arabia, and a world watching on TV.

And her story seems to have just begun. To be watching this moment, especially after everything that happened last year, it feels quite special.

I truly think we have only scratched the surface with The Hell Raiser, and this is simply the start of something huge.

Absolutely. What a day for Samantha Thompson. What a day for Mercedes. What a day for Formula 1. And I think we are going to be talking about this moment for a very long time.

The night air was thick with the roar of engines and the scent of burning rubber, and for the first time in years, Sam felt like she was floating. The Mercede’s engine hummed beneath her as she slowed down on the straightaway into Parc Ferme, her heartbeat still racing from the exhilaration of it all.

The crowd's cheers were like a cyclone thrumming against her helmet, a sound she had always dreamed of hearing, but feared she never would.

The placard with the number 1 emblazoned on it grew closer and closer until she kissed it with her car’s front wing. She stopped, her muscle memory hitting the proper buttons to put the car in park and kill the engine.

Sam’s breath caught in her throat, and for a brief second, it was like no one else existed. She was the first and only woman to win in Formula 1, the one who had shattered all those glass ceilings, but in this moment, with the placard just beyond her halo, she felt like the only woman on the planet.

She blinked rapidly, nervous that this was just another dream she’d been having since she was a little girl.

But when she opened her eyes, that number 1 was still staring back at her.

It was real. Finally.

The next few minutes flew by in a blur, and before she knew it she was giving the crowd her signature curtsey and trading her trophy for a bottle of champagne.

“3, 2, 1!”

Everyone from the Mercedes garage shouted and pumped their fist into the air. Sam was in the middle of the group, her trophy sat at her feet, a pit board behind her spelling out her most recent accomplishment for everyone:

SAM P1

More cameras than she could keep track of flashed in front of her as they captured the moment.

To her left sat George, to her right Molly. Lewis and Suzie were crouched down on either side behind her.

Despite having been unable to stop smiling since the checkered flag was waved, Sam’s neurons fired the signal to her brain to do just that. She didn’t smile any wider; that wasn't possible. But her endorphins, her adrenaline, her oxytocin and every other happy chemical her body was capable of producing surged at that exact moment. Everything about it was all she’d been dreaming of since she was a young girl.

The trophy in front of her. The supportive team surrounding her. Her best friend and teammate on either side of her. Mick standing behind the cameras grinning. And somewhere off waiting to congratulate her in private was her boyfriend. She’d defied the odds. She’d proved all those people wrong. She’d done the seemingly impossible. Sam had won her first of many F1 races.

Sam had shown them exactly what it means to drive like a girl.

Cameras continued to crowd her vision, and she had no idea where to even look. But as her subconscious faded back into the moment and she heard somebody count down from 3, she knew what was coming next.

After 1, the whole team shouted. Sam pumped her trophy into the air.

Then came the next round of cheers; she thrusted her trophy high again.

Finally, everyone shouted one last time and champagne rained down across the group. Some people tried to run out of the way, but most stayed and celebrated.

In the blink of an eye, Sam was being hoisted into the air and bombarded with sparkling wine. Mick appeared and laughed as he sprayed it in her face. Mechanics she couldn’t see dumped it down her race suit. Molly had no shame as she drenched her best friend’s hair to the point of soaking it. It came from every direction and it came all at once.

This is absolutely what she imagined being waterboarded felt like.

But she laughed. She smiled. And she enjoyed every moment of it. She reveled in it.

Samantha Thompson was victorious. Nobody could take that from her.

“God, I still can’t believe this is real!” Molly squealed, “I mean, I literally believe it’s real because you totally deserve this and we all knew it was coming. You’re more than capable, I just mean we’ve always dreamt of this day and—“

Sam laughed through her grin, “I know, Moo.”

The celebrations were damp, the handshakes were sticky, but the smiles were genuine. It was overwhelming to say the least, but she wouldn’t change a minute of it.

Lewis placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder from behind, and she turned to see his gleaming grin.

“Thank you,” she started off with immediately, “this is all because of you and the chance you gave me. Seriously, I owe you everything.”

He shook his head, “This has little to do with me and everything to do with you. Incredible drive today, Sam. I’m looking forward to seeing what else you can accomplish this season.”

She smiled, and offered him a thank you.

The team principal smiled even wider and gave her a pat on the back, “Now, let’s get a photo with just us and George.”

His head searched left and right in the crowd for any sign of the other Brit, and Sam continued to thank, hug, and pose for photos with those who came up to her. She was none the wiser at the absence of her teammate.

“Where’d he run off to?”

“No idea,” Sam responded, finishing up an autograph for a little girl, “maybe he snuck off to media or something.” George was the last thing on her mind as she signed another cap stuck out in her direction.

“It’s alright,” Lewis said beckoning for the team social media admin to come his way, “just the two of us will have to suffice.”

A photo was snapped, which would later make its debut on the team instagram, but no sooner was it interrupted by another world champion.

“Seb!” Sam squealed.

Sebastian Vettel opened his arms wide to embrace Sam, just as he’d done since she was a young girl.

“Gut gemacht!” Well done!

“Danke,” she replied with a grin. His smile nearly matched hers in caliber.

His eyes softened along with his smile. One of his hands remained on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, while his other hand pointed a finger up at the stars of the Saudi Arabian sky.

“And to think he got a front row seat to see his daughter win her first race.”

Sam smiled and let out a light laugh, trying to deflect the tears she felt brewing, but also because she hadn’t mentioned the stars to anyone in years.

The stars she had always told herself were her dad watching over her since he had passed.

But she knew Sebastian, and she knew he wouldn’t forget something like that, no matter how long ago or how many times she had mentioned it. He was attentive, he was kind, and he was somebody Sam had considered a father figure ever since she lost her own. She wished her dad was here— she wanted nothing more than to see him, or even just tell him about it.

Yet this was as close as she was going to get, and she was grateful Seb had given her that reminder.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the older driver, bringing him in for another hug before he went on his way.

She tilted her chin to the sky and the corners of her lips turned upwards. There were no stars twinkling here or there, not a single one appearing any time she looked left or right. Despite the intense light pollution of the city drowning out the sky, Sam knew there were stars up there even though she couldn’t see them; just like she knew her dad was with her all the time even though he’d passed long ago. The symbolism of it all made her lips for a thin smile.

Tonight had already been so full of emotions, and she had been overcome by so many in such a short amount of time that she didn’t even know what she was feeling at this exact moment. But when it came to her dad, Sam never got into her car without thinking about him. Matter of fact, she knew he was with her from the moment she buckled her safety restraints all the way until she unbuckled them, so she had no doubt he was there with her when she crossed the finish line. Everything about it felt bittersweet.

Sebastian’s words echoed in her mind. Of all the races she was to claim her first win during, it had been a night race. A race under the stars, a race where she felt even closer to her father. Almost as if it was meant to be. More than anything, it brought Sam comfort. After all, he was the reason she was here today— both on this earth and in her career— this was what they had always wanted, and she had just accomplished something they had dreamed about.

She knew wherever he was, he was proud of her.

And tonight made one thing clear:

Now Samantha was determined to give him even more to be proud of.

On any normal day a party so extravagant—thrown solely in her honor—would’ve made Sam cringe.

But tonight was not any normal night.

An entire club rented out for Mercedes team personnel celebrations, with the invite graciously extended to those who wished to celebrate Sam’s first win in Formula One.

The overhead lights flashed multicolored, while music blared through speakers making it difficult to hear the person next to you over the vibrations of the bass. Most importantly, the celebratory drinks were flowing.

Sam and Molly had stumbled their way back into their hotel room knowing they had just under 45 minutes to shower themselves free of sticky champagne and change into their outfits for the night. Luckily (as she reminded Sam about every 5 minutes) before the 2022 season started, Molly had insisted on packing each of them a fun little dress for when this day would finally arise— Sam’s first win.

The driver’s dress was gold and sparkly— not her usual style, but she knew Molly had good intentions with the significance of the color for the occasion. As she was slipping the straps over her shoulders a knock rang at their hotel room door, interrupting Molly’s tangent about how she’d have to find them new dresses because outfit repeating was simply not an option.

Looking through the peephole, Sam didn’t recognize the man before her. She checked her watch: they had a little under 10 minutes to get out the door. There was time to see what he needed.

“Hi,” she said cautiously, peeking from the crack she’d created in the doorway.

“Samantha Thompson?”

She nodded, still unsure of what was going on exactly.

With that, the man walked out of the door frame, making Sam stand up straight in confusion. Before she could step into the hallway to see where the mysterious man had disappeared off to, a giant sea of red took up her vision.

“Oh,” She blurted out in surprise.

This tiny man was holding the biggest bouquet of red roses she had ever seen; it had to have been half his entire body size.

“Where should I put these?” Sam picked up the slightest tremble in his voice, from the weight she assumed.

“Thank you so much, I can just take them off your hands,” she smiled, taking a step forward to do just that.

From behind her, she heard Molly come out of the bathroom and into the suite.

“Do you still have those earrings— Holy Macaroni! Who robbed the Queen’s flower bed!”

Laughing, Sam closed the door and set the flowers down on the coffee table gently.

“I think I have a guess,” she smirked, grabbing the small white card tucked perfectly between a few of the flowers.

for the woman who can do it all. you never cease to amaze me. I can’t wait to celebrate you tonight, and every time after that.

xx your daniel

“You’re whipped!” Molly shrieked in delight at the bright pink rush of color to Sam’s cheeks.

“Maybe I am,” she grinned, placing the card back in the flowers and grabbing the shoes Molly had left out for her.

“It looks good on you,” her best friend smiled ear to ear.

“Enough with the cheesy stuff, I’m gonna be late to my own party.”

Sam deflected, cheeks red as the roses, and Molly let her. Because she wasn’t being defensive or secretive as she had before; this time, she was in love. And Molly would let her deflect because she was coy over a boy any day.

When the girls made it downstairs, Mick, Jack, and Daniel were all waiting for them in the lobby while security created a path between the fans waiting with their phones out, and the car waiting to take them to the club.

“Everybody else is already in the car,” Mick said, snaking his arm around Molly’s waist. She pecked him on the cheek in return.

“Wow,” Daniel and Jack awed at the same time when they saw Sam.

While Daniel kept his eyes locked on Sam, Jack turned his head ever so slightly in the direction of his fellow aussie.

“The party has arrived,” She grinned, ruffling Jack’s styled hair. He huffed out a laugh and tried to fix it as they walked to the car.

There was something about Daniel’s response that threw Jack off: Daniel’s wow did not sound like a wow you gave to a close friend, and he knew because it sounded nothing like his own.

Jack blinked, trying to focus on something, anything, else. The sound of the cars in the distance, the buzz of the crowd outside, anything to bring him back down to earth. But the protective younger brother side of him couldn’t stop milling it over in his head.

“Wow”

Huh… he wasn’t sure that was something a just-a-friend says in a tone like that, is it? He reared his head back a little bit, trying to keep his confusion to himself.

Well, he said it, didn’t he? And Sam is nothing more than a friend— an older sister figure if anything more.

Interesting…

Jack shrugged.

Those whiskey shooters he had in the hotel room really must be going to his head.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

Yeah, that’s all it is. Just a compliment. Nothing more.

Jack was overthinking, that’s all. With a quick rub of his eyes he forgot the whole thing ever happened— only reminding himself he needed to stick to the non-hard alcohol…

Meanwhile, it took everything in Daniel to keep his hands in his pockets.

“So,” he started, bumping his shoulder gently into Sam’s as they walked, “did you happen to get anything delivered to your room while you were there?”

Her smile fell, “No, why? Was I supposed to?”

Daniel stopped walking, a look of horror across his features.

Sam couldn’t keep a straight face any longer.

“They’re gorgeous,” she smiled, his shoulders dropping in relief. He started walking again and they made their way towards the door. “Thank you,” she smiled even wider, glancing at him from his side discreetly as they approached the glass doors separating them from the fans.

“Any time,” he smiled and opened the door for her.

If there was one thing everyone knew about Sam, it was that she swore the drinks tasted better when they were free. And tonight was no different.

She had broken from the small group of friends that had stayed by her side all night. It had been hours of celebrating with anybody that would cross her path. Whether it was on the dance floor, at the bar, or just chatting in a booth, Sam was reveling in every moment of it.

Despite his protests, she offered to go grab the next round of drinks for her and Daniel. Her heels were killing her from just standing, so she thought a little walking might do the trick.

And that's how she found herself tucked between two groups of people engaged in their own little worlds, flagging down a bartender for drinks. It was the first time all night she hadn't been engaged in conversations— she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the small break just a bit.

“Wow,” someone came up beside Sam and rested their elbows on the bar. Just from the look of the pink, showy drink held loosely between their well manicured fingers, Sam knew it was Lindsay. It was still weird to act like there had never been any bad blood between them, but Sam choked it down and turned to smile at the blonde.

Lindsay continued, “I never pegged you as a beer girl.” She gestured towards the Corona bottle with a lime wedge sticking out of the top that Sam was holding in her left hand.

Sam looked between Lindsay and the bottle and chuckled, “You’re absolutely right, I wouldn’t choose to drink a beer even if it’s all there was left. It’s not for me.”

With perfect timing, the bartender dropped off a highball glass filled with bubbly, golden liquid, garnished with a lime slice.

“This,” Sam said, pulling the glass towards her and messily trying to corral the straw between her fingers, “lovely little tequila beverage is for me.” She took a sip as Lindsay laughed. “That,” she clarified, pointing to the bottle, “is for Daniel.”

Sam had a smile on her face, which she found rather shocking considering who she was talking to. The most shocking part is that it wasn’t even forced. Lindsay was acting so…normal. Sam pushed gown her gut feeling that they were physically incapable of getting along, like ever. Maybe they could get along after all…

“So are you guys a thing, or just like sleeping with each other on the down-low?”

Always trust your gut, kids.

And never trust the alcohol.

Without a doubt the question took her by surprise. If she had just taken a sip of her tequila-ginger ale, it would have gone spraying out of her mouth like it does in the movies.

A part of Sam wanted to get offended and roll her eyes at Lindsay jumping to conclusions and throwing any ounce of feminism out the window by assuming she and Daniel were more than friends just because she had bought him a drink in a crowded bar.

But she couldn’t. Because they were apparently friends now.

Well, and also because Lindsay was technically correct, but that’s besides the point.

“Excuse me?” Sam tried to force out a laugh, one that made her sound far more drunk than she actually was, and then stubbed it out by taking a long, long sip from the cocktail in her hand.

Lindsay giggled and swirled the drink in her hand, “You heard me! There is like, totally some tench between you two.”

“Tench?” Sam asked, not needing to force herself to sound confused.

“Tension, silly! Sexual tension…” Lindsay giggled as if it were obvious. With a grin she went on, “I could like, smell it from across the club.”

All Sam could smell was sweat, which was diluting the sheer amount of cologne these foreign men thought was acceptable in order to attract the female species, as well as the sting of liquor mixed with citrus wafting from her glass, and not to mention the gallon of aerosol hairspray Lindsay needed to keep her blowout intact.

Finishing another significantly larger sip of her drink, she forced herself to grimace at the notion, “Oh no, there’s no tench at all. We’re just friends.”

Was their tension really that palpable to other people? Was that something she should be worried about?

Lindsay seemed taken aback, “Really? Wow, from the looks of it— sorry I didn't mean to assume.” Sam couldn’t help but be mesmerized with the girl’s hands as she moved them in a mistaken gesture back and forth. Her chrome nails glimmered in the light, the excessive amount of bracelets on each wrist made a loud clinking noise as they shook into each other, and the jewels on some of the rings on each finger caught the colorful club lights like a suncatcher.

Sam was tipsy and easily amused, but that didn't diminish the small tingle of self-consciousness it sparked in her. With one quick look down at her own hands, Sam took a deep breath; her nails were painted cherry red, and the only other thing she had on either of her hands was a dainty gold wristwatch.

She shrugged it off, blamed it on the alcohol, and brought her attention back to the girl in front of her.

Lindsay brought her drink up to her lips; the look on her face telling Sam that the woman did in fact want to assume. Actually, it looked like that's all she wanted to do, seeing as this conversation had literally come out of nowhere.

A part of her didn't want to give the blonde the satisfaction of continuing to talk about Sam’s boyfriend . All she had to do was utter an it’s okay, grab her drinks and wander off. But Sam’s curiosity— and jealousy— was saying something altogether different.

She took a deep breath, and another sip of her drink for good measure.

“It’s no problem at all,” Sam smiled. “Daniel is such a fantastic guy, I’m honestly kinda flattered you thought that.” She laughed, and my god did it sound fake.

She took another sip and hoped Lindsay wouldn’t catch on to her lies. To make it more convincing, Sam flashed her a toothy smile— the small black straw in her drink still clenched between her teeth.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Lindsay flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced over to where Daniel and the rest of Sam’s friends were standing. Daniel looked up from his phone and saw Lindsay looking over at him; his gaze dropped behind the blonde and landed on Sam.

His face lit up and he offered his girlfriend a wave from across the club. But before she could wave in return, Lindsay beat her to the punch.

“Do you think you could set us up?”

Sam quirked her eyebrow, “Set you up where? The whole club is rented out,” she tossed her hand over her shoulder, “the elevator is that way if you don't want to take the stairs. I’ve been hearing it’s way less crowded up there tonight. You can probably grab a table and—”

“No silly, like a wingwoman!” Lindsay let out a laugh that Sam believed had to be fake.

But as she looked at her with a blank stare, Lindsay smiled just as widely as before. She took another large sip of her drink and her straw made a loud protest at the lack of liquid against the ice in the glass.

“Set us up… you know. Like on a date,” Lindsay emphasized as if it were obvious.

“Oh!” Sam finally broke from her trance, eyes wide in surprise at the question. It never occurred to her that somebody would want to go on a date with her boyfriend, until she reminded herself that nobody knew he was her boyfriend. She tried not to show the panic on her face by plastering a fake smile over her lips. “Right, yeah! I’m just not sure what his personal life looks like at the moment and I don't want to intrude or—”

All the while she was blabbering, Sam was trying to get the bartender’s attention to order another drink.

A double this time. She was going to need it.

“I thought you said you guys were friends? Isn’t that the kind of stuff friends should know about each other?”

Shit.

Sam tried to drunkenly ramble herself out of this hole too:

“I mean yeah, but— I just never want to pry, you know how it is. It's one of-- Don’t get me wrong, he’s the best, I just noticed he— Actually it’s not my place to even make assumptions, who are we kidding. I just don’t— yeah, I just cant be sure what his intentions are for this season.”

She finished off her word vomit with a shrug, blowing a raspberry through her lips for god knows what reason. The awkwardness was followed by the yet again incredible timing of the bartender dropping off the drink she’d ordered.

“But he hasn’t said anything about having a girlfriend?” Lindsay clarified.

“No, not directly. Or at least not to me, anyway.” Sam defended with faux, innocent sincerity.

“Perfect, so you’ll ask about me? You know, drop some hints and see if he’s interested. Hell, even just tell him I’m interested.” Lindsay was grinning and Sam was too, except Sam was grinning to try and choke down the dread pooling in her stomach.

“I can try, I guess,” Sam responded with absolutely zero conviction. It was at this point in the night that she realized— first win or not— that she may have had a bit too much to drink. Because why had she agreed to that, and so easily? And when she didn’t want to?

“Well, it never hurts to try,” Lindsay grinned, ignoring whatever Sam had just attempted to say. “Pass the message along for me, will you?” The blonde shrieked in excitement, “I can’t wait!” And then she threw herself at Sam and wrapped her in a quick hug.

“Thanks wingwoman!” she yelled over the loud music and then disappeared into the club crowd.

What the fuck just happened?

Sam gave her an inch, and Lindsay took a mile.

She grabbed the beer bottle from the bar and wandered back over to her 3 friends.

Daniel grabbed his beer from Sam’s outstretched hand, his weak smile unable to hide the concern written on his features. “Jack went off to meet up with a couple of his pals. Everything alright? I was getting worried you were gone for so long.”

Sam translated that to:

“I saw you talking to the girl you have told me multiple times you do not get along with, and you were with her for a while, did something happen?”

Thoughts were running through her mind a millions miles an hour. She was still trying to process the end of that conversation; it felt like she’d dreamed the entire thing. It took her a second to shake the vacant stare from her eyes and meet the amber eyes of Daniel.

Mick and Molly were both looking at her with concerned looks as well. Their friend hadn’t been this quiet all night.

“Uhm,” Sam started, her eyes locked on the drink in her hands. She took a second to try and string together some form of sentence to explain what had transpired in her conversation with Lindsay, but she wrapped her head around it entirely.

“Well spit it out, sugar!” Molly screeched in anticipation.

The thrum of the bass echoed between the silence of the group. Sam exhaled and squeezed her eyes closed in drunken embarrassment.

“I think,” her voice cracked while she yelled over the music. Sam smacked her lips and tilted her head up to the ceiling with a grimace, “I think I just told Lindsay I’d set her up on a date with my boyfriend.”

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