Page 4 of Forever More

That means I matter. That this matters.

“Ok. Yes. This is our thing.” A ghost of a smile graces her lips followed by a resolute nod of her head. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her smile widens a little bit more.

“Me too.” I clink my glass against hers again. “Now I’ve got something I’ve been waiting to tell you in person.”

“What?” Her head startles, eyes growing big.

I fight the grin on my face but it’s useless. “I did it, Annie.”

“No way.” She squeals and claps her hands together and wiggles in her seat before jumping up and throwing her arms around me. “You’re serious?” She pushes against my chest and looks up at me. I love that she knows what I’m talking about without me having to say another word. “You are serious. Oh my god. It’s really happening, isn’t it?” Tears fill her eyes this time but out of pure happiness.

“It is.” My own eyes burn with tears I push away. “I signed a recording contract last week. It’s with a smaller company but they have a great vision and plan for me and Evermore and—”

“Don’t you dare make any kind of excuses, Lyric.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “You did it. You really fucking did it, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

When she meets my eyes again, it’s hard to swallow over the emotion lodged in my throat. I didn’t realize until just now how I wanted her to be the first person to know my good news. Hell, I didn’t even realize how much I looked forward to this—her, tacos, a tradition—until I walked in here tonight and saw her sitting by herself.

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.