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loyal. In this town—the village inside Los Angeles that the world thought of as glamorous Beverly Hills but which Sam knew was a treacherous pit of fame-hungry vipers—loyalty counted for a lot. A hell of a lot. When push came to shove, when you had to fit your size-eight foot into your size-seven Manolo Blahniks, she knew she could count on Dee.
    Probably.

Quite Possibly a Virgin
    C ammie Sheppard was in love. Which just sucked so hard.
    In Cammie’s opinion, everything about love sucked, unless she was the object of someone else’s unrequited affections, in which case love could be mildly amusing. But to be the one in love? It gave Cammie an anxious, itchy feeling, like trying on a sweater at Target. At least with a Target sweater you could laugh at how ridiculous it was and take it off. But the jones she felt for Adam Flood was something she just couldn’t seem to control. When she allowed herself to think about it, she had to call it what it was.
    Love. Shit.
    Standing on the crowded dining deck of Geoffrey’s restaurant in Malibu, overlooking the jagged cliffs and the broad, white sand beach below, not to mention a glorious Pacific sunset off in the distance, Cammie ruminated on how she’d sunk to this sorry state. Here she was, at a Saturday night movie wrap party given by her father in honor of his client Kyle Raye, a hot young rock-’n’-roll star who’d just finished
Taster’s Choice,
with Mandy Moore and Beyoncé. There were gorgeous guys everywhere, all clad in some variation of hip. With her looks, body, and pedigree, Cammie knew she could get any of them. But she only had eyes for this high school boy who was quite possibly a virgin—a status Cammie hadn’t had even a winking acquaintance with since she was fifteen.
    Love with a virgin. Double shit.
    Adam Flood. He’d been in Beverly Hills for two years, having moved from Ann Arbor, Michigan, with his parents. More an alt type than a club kid, he played basketball on the school team and had a huge CD collection that he’d burned himself. He had a reputation for being one of the nicest guys at Beverly Hills High School. But Cammie never went for nice. That is, until several weeks ago, when she’d started to feel this
thing
for him. He was just so genuine. And he seemed to bring the extremely underdeveloped, very latent niceness out in her. They’d been hanging out since they’d shared a kiss on the beach at an after-game party. But it hadn’t gotten any further since then.
    “Here you go.” Adam edged through the boisterous crowd, sidled up next to her, and handed her a Coke. Cammie could bet there was no rum in it, because Adam didn’t have a fake ID. Nor was Adam the type of guy to slip a bartender a few twenties to get him to overlook the fact that he was seventeen. He was far too honest for that. In another guy, Cammie would have found such rectitude ridiculous. In Adam, she found it incredibly attractive.
    Triple shit.
    He offered Cammie her fitted white Italian leather DeMarco jacket. “I got this from coat check,” he explained. “I figured it might get chilly.”
    “Very thoughtful,” Cammie said. She meant it. With the sun going down, the temperature would drop quickly, so she slung the jacket over her arm.
    Adam gazed out at the horizon. “Fantastic sunset, huh?”
    Cammie nodded and turned to study his strong profile. The fading light of day brought out the orange highlights in his brown hair. She could see the tiny star tattoo behind his ear and fantasized about running her tongue around the edges. Then she decided it might freak him out. So she demurely sipped her Coke instead.
    “Hungry? I can get you something from the buffet. It’s killer.”
    Cammie shook her head. “I already ate.”
    That much was true. Breakfast. She’d skipped lunch because when she’d gotten on the digital scale after her early morning workout at the Century City Sports Club, she hadn’t been happy with the last digit. The one that came