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Summary
She’s drunk on the floor of Trinity and Whitaker’s living room, and they’re talking about nudes when she admits she’s taken them, but never built up the courage to send any. That it’s always felt awkward, that she’s never felt pretty or sexy or delicate enough, that it’s always felt cringe.
Trinity blinks at her in confusion. “But you’re hotter than the surface of the fucking sun. I’ve seen what’s under your scrubs, Samira. What do you fucking mean, not sexy enough?”
“Seriously, have you seen yourself?” Mel asks. “You could put anyone on their knees.”
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Samira Mohan turns thirty, decides to buy herself lingerie about it, and takes some nudes. And then she accidentally texts one of them to Jack Abbot.