Alice grabs my wrist and pulls my phone closer to her face. “Holy shit. Did you get a rock star’s number without trying?”
I glance at my phone and see his name and number. “Looks like it.” I shove my phone into my bra and bite my lip to keep myself from shrieking in joy. “Let’s go home.”
My best friend hooks her arm with mine as we walk toward our car. “And to think all this happened because of me.” She bumps her hip with mine. “The universe told me we had to be here. My Tarot cards are never wrong.”
“Yeah,” I say. Honestly, I’m still in shock. I open my photos and stare at Sully and me smiling on the screen. Alice’s voice and the radio turn into a low hum as I zoom in on Sully’s face. He’s leaning into me, and it’s like we’re friends or maybe something more.
Part of me wants to share the picture everywhere, to prove Sully can smile, and he did so for me. But then I want to keep it hidden. A secret treasure for my eyes only.
Do I have the nerve to speak to him? To say more words than, “Can I have a photo?”I have no idea. Sure, I’ve met famous people before, but it’s always in a quick blur. The problem is, whenever someone I’m crushing on gets too close, my nerves go haywire, and my tongue feels like a heavy, useless lump in my mouth.
And yet…I’d do almost anything for Sully to flash his grin at me one more time, to hear him say my name in that sexy German accent, to inhale his spicy scent again, just to make sure my brain remembers it correctly. Maybe earn another hug. But the memories of my messy, very public breakup still linger like an unwanted shadow, holding me back. I’m not ready to let anyone in—not yet. Still, how many times does your crush want to see you again before it becomes impossible to ignore? I bite my lip, staring at his number. The possibilities are endless, if only I could force myself to hit the message button.
4
Whenwereturnhome,I hang my signed setlist on my bedroom wall and snap a photo, sharing it on social media with a picture of Alice and me before the show, waiting in line. But I don’t post my picture with Sully. Not yet. As I type out a list of hashtags, Alice leans against my doorway, scrolling through her phone. “Emily’s back!” She smiles, texting her girlfriend. “I’m meeting her at The Rainbow Pony. You wanna come?”
My post is already gaining hearts and comments from jealous fellow fans. A smirk steals my lips. Some followers post it’s nice to see me not as a mermaid since my page is usually about my alter ego, Mermaid Veronica.
Alice flicks the back of my phone. “Did you hear me? Emily. The Rainbow Pony. You in?”
My gaze falls onto my comfy bed. “No. You haven’t seen her in two weeks. Go be with your girlfriend.”
She eyes my setlist and then gasps. “Are you going to sext Sully? Booty call him? I need to know.”
A blush burns its way up my neck. “What?”
She rubs the skull and rose tattoo above her elbow. A laugh slips out, and she coughs to disguise it. “Come on. I saw how he looked at you. Sully brushed everyone else off but you; he wanted to eat you with a spoon. He didn’t even look my way and I’m hot shit.” Her eyes blaze into me like she can see right through me.
“Not sure yet.” I don’t want to make a fool of myself. What if I freeze and go completely mute? What if I drop dead at his feet?
She bites her lip, gently tugging on her golden hoop earring. “Maybe it’s for the best. He flirted with you, and you acted like a weirdo. Tripping on saying your own name. You’re definitely out of practice.” She walks into my room and pushes open my closet door. “Now if we dress you in something sexy, maybe you won’t need words. And a steamy one-night stand would—”
“Stop.” I grab Alice’s arm and pull her away from my closet. “I’m not your Barbie and I’m not even sure I’ll message him.”
“Okay. I’m sorry for being so pushy. I only want the best for you and rock star sex sounds like what the doctor ordered. Especially after—”
“The incident…” I mumble, toeing the carpet.
“The best way to get over your shitty ex is to get under someone else. Food for thought. Text me if you change your mind.” Alice kisses my cheek and rushes into her bedroom to slip on her heels and grab her purse.
The apartment is too quiet in her absence.
After tying my hair into a tight ponytail, I pull my workout mat from under the couch and start setting up in the living room. Tonight’ssupposed to be my mermaid training session—building core strength, flexibility, endurance—but for a minute, I just stand there, twirling the hem of my workout tank between my fingers.
Am I seriously getting ready to stretch and swim-train after standing in the front row of the best concert of my life? I met Sully Graham—the freaking bass player of Scarlet Failure—and hegave me his number. He said things that made my skin burn and my heart race. It made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. And what am I doing? Rolling out a yoga mat instead of texting him.
My phone burns a hole in my back pocket, like it knows I’m being ridiculous.
Would Sully answer if I texted him? Would he notice if I don’t reach out? Then again, what if Sully’s waiting for me? I don’t want to disappoint him.
I exhale hard, the tension buzzing under my skin.
“Screw it,” I say, tossing the water bottle aside and kicking off my slides. I’m not ready to text him yet, but I’m sure as hell not going to waste this energy. A run around the apartment complex sounds better than sitting here overthinking. The night’s cool and quiet—the perfect backdrop to clear my head and maybe figure out what the hell I’m so scared of.
Ten minutes later, I find myself sitting in a lounge chair staring into the glittering water of the pool. My phone is a heavy brick in my hand.
The night air kisses my face as I pace the length of the pool to calm my racing heart. I glance at Sully’s number on my phone. One text won’t kill me. I can send it and wait. Or I can send it and throw my phone into the deep end.
