Now she knows.
And oddly, now I feel like I can breathe for the first time all week.
“Lyric.” She says as if she just heard my name. Shock and excitement etch the lines of her face. “We need to celebrate. Tacos and tequila and everything in between.”
So we celebrate. With food that’s beyond our budgets and with margaritas that are stronger than hell. We get tipsy. More than tipsy. We make up pipe dreams about how I’ll perform in Madison Square Garden one day, and how she’ll be on the side of the stage rocking out with me. We laugh till our sides hurt and talk like we only have tonight.
And later, when the drinks are had and the mood has chilled and we’re dancing around her vacant (and still crummy) apartment laughing like loons, I lean forward and press my lips to hers.
There are a few moments of freefall.
The kind where we stutter for a second at the shock of what I did, and then where we fall into the kiss. Where my only thought is the next taste on her tongue, the next feel of her lips, the next sparks that will fly from our connection.
The kiss is fast and furious and fueled with alcohol.
And just as quickly as it happens—my hands cradling her face, my lips branding hers—it ends when I break to draw in a ragged breath.
Realization hits.
Oh. Shit.
I’m kissing Annie.
I kissed Annie.
The girl who’s become my closest friend. The one I depend on to pick up the phone when I’m having a rough day. The one who’s not one of my throwaways who’s hoping to get into my pants on the off chance I become a superstar.
“Oh my god.” They’re the first words that pass over my lips. Did I just fuck this up? She knows I’m a player, does she think I just played her? Did— “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I—it’s the alcohol.”
Annie stares at me with eyes and mouth shocked open wide and I hate that I can’t read her expression. “It’s—it’s okay. It’s—”
But she kissed me back.
Didn’t she?
Or am I too drunk to know the difference?
Motherfucker.
Think Lyric.
Think.
Fix this.
“You’re my best friend.” Her face falls and the sight of it guts me. I feel like a floundering teenager here. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t want to ruin this. Us. Who we are.” I fall face down onto the couch, my last sentence muffled.
But I hear her chuckle as I opt to stay where I am—face planted in the cushion—now that the room is spinning.
It’s not till later when I wake up staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to her soft snores from her open bedroom door, that I realize the entire night was about me. That Annie let me have a moment to shine and live in it. I’ve never had that before, and of course, I went and ruined it by kissing her.
By taking the one thing I’ve wanted from her for over a year, when she’s showed no outward interest at all in me.
Leave it to me to fuck things up.
* * *
The memory hits me hard and fast as I stare at her from across the table. I’ve relived that kiss more times than I care to count over the years. Hell, I may have even tried to find one to rival it in the many women I’ve kissed since then . . . but nothing has touched it.
Maybe it was the moment and the celebration that made it so special.
Then again, maybe it was her.
“So tell me, does your partner have you working on any exciting cases or are you still just doing the day-to-day stuff?” I ask, wanting to know what I’ve missed out on.
“Just the day-to-day. But Justin said—”
“Justin?” I ask, more than aware that it was Mr. Jenson last time I spoke to her and now it’s Justin.
“Yes.” She gives me an odd look. “The other associate lawyer I’ve told you about. Justin.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I was thinking of Mr. Jensen. My bad.”
And so Annie McIntyre fills me on the details of her life. The details I want to hear despite knowing if that were my life, I’d slit my wrists from the boredom. But this is Annie. Steady-eddy, Annie, who loves routine and discipline, and everything in between.
My polar opposite.
And I wouldn’t want her any other way.
“Should we head over to the restaurant? I made reservations so we’d have a table.”
“Of course, you did.” I smile and just stare at her, lost in whatever this pressure in my chest is.
“C’mon. Let’s go. I made sure we’re in the back room so that no one bugs us for autographs or pictures from the rock star.”
“Rock star sex god. Get it straight,” I joke.
“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes. “Good to see your ego is still small and humble.”
“Never.” I laugh. “And that’s just how you like me.”
I throw some cash on the bar, wrap my arm around her shoulders, and head toward the chilly world beyond this cozy hole in the wall bar.
3
Annie
There is a slow hum to the restaurant. We’re seated in the back room, empty except for us. The light is dim, the atmosphere low key, and the food is killer.
Lyric caught the eye of a few people while walking our way over here. No doubt, that means that there will be paparazzi sitting outside waiting to take a picture of rock’s newest ‘it’ boy when we leave.
Good for him. He deserves everything great that is happening to him.
But there’s a weird tension between us that I can’t pinpoint. An awkwardness that has never been between us before. Maybe it’s the curious way he keeps looking at me while we talk about every non-important thing under the sun that has my overthinking going into overdrive. The new single of Evermore’s that has gone platinum. A weird co-worker of mine and his odd quirks. His upcoming tour that he is headlining for the first time. My new place down the street that I’ve promised to show him.
Little snippets of our very different lives.
But something is different about Lyric tonight.
Something . . . I don’t know, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s quiet when he’s normally loud. He’s a bit distant instead of being in my face. On top of that, I keep catching him staring at me in a way that says he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to say it.
This is the last time we’ll be able to do this, Annie. I’m too busy. The rumors in the press about Cassandra Miller and me are true.
Those are the words I’ve made up in my own head. Words I’ve stewed over and a relationship I’ve basically conjured up after seeing an US Weekly article about him and the model. One that I’ve been too afraid to ask about yet.
* * *
Two Years Ago
The bar is loud and the whiskey I sip has a deep, rich flavor. It’s something I’ve learned to appreciate over the last few years. More like, it’s something that Lyric and I have promised ourselves we’d learn to appreciate.
I’m still not sure if I one hundred percent like this shit, but Lyric is coming soon, and I have to at least pretend to like it.