“That’s not fair. I’ve watched you with woman after woman. Do you think that’s been easy for—” I stopped myself from going further. This was the closest I had ever come to telling Garrett how I felt about him, and I could feel the truth flying too close to the sun. My eyes darkened, shifting me back to a place that couldn’t burn me—the storm. “You can’t just play it cool the one time you meet a guy I like?”
Garrett didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on mine.
“He’s not for you.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” I said forcefully, an inch from his face.
Garrett studied my expression, tears in my eyes, and all at once, his shoulders dropped. He inhaled and shook his head slightly, as if appalled by how we got here.
“You’re right. You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“You and I: we’re friends. Best friends.”
“I know,” he said.
“So don’t do this. Don’t do this when it’s convenient for you, and not for me. That’s not fair.”
We both knew what the this was. The this was one of us actually telling the other how we felt. The this was the elephant in the room of our friendship.
“You’re right. And I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole. It’s no excuse, I’m just having a rough couple months. I feel like I’m losing grip on—on the stuff I thought that would always be there. The music, and…” He trailed off, open palm in my direction. “It’s stupid, I—” His voice cracked, and he glanced up to the ceiling, begging vulnerability to stay inside his throat. Garrett swallowed his emotions whole and turned back to me with a smile shining through. “I’m fine. Go have fun.”
“Come here, you big idiot.”
I wrapped my arms around Garrett’s tall body. He didn’t move for a long moment, which made me squeeze him tighter. Finally, I felt his body exhale inside my grip, and his arms folded around me, hugging me back.
“I’m happy that you’re happy,” he said, genuinely.
“I know you hate him.”
“I don’t hate him,” he lied.
“He’s not forever, Garrett.”
“I know,” he whispered into my ear, without skipping a beat.
I tilted my head up at Garrett, stunned and slightly horrified. I had just admitted to the outside world, and to myself, that I wasn’t deeply in love with my boyfriend, and I never would be. And the kicker? Garrett already knew.
Garrett grinned, reading my wide eyes and folding a stray curl behind my ear. “I know, because I know you.” His grip loosened around me. “Go have fun, Maggie May.”
I gently stepped out of his hold. “Only if you come have fun with me.”
“Well, of course. I’m the essence of your fun.”
I elbowed him in the stomach as he laughed, and we walked back toward the bar’s main room.
“A little TJ’s action this Monday?” I asked.
“I was just thinking that I hadn’t made fun of your beer choices in four months.”
“Usual time?”
“Can we make it eight thirty? I don’t get out of the office until—”
“Say no more. For you, I will miss The Bachelor.”
“What a sacrifice.”
“I’m basically Mother Teresa.”
He smiled at me—a big one—and we entered the main room where, in the corner of the bar, Blaire, Summer, and Shira shared a laugh. I watched them with a head tilt.
“Are you really going to have a threesome?”
“Come on.” Garrett waved it off. “I’m not having a threesome. Two women? Naked? I’d come in like, five seconds.”
I countered his head shake with a knowing smirk. “You would totally have a threesome if the offer presented itself.”
A grin broke across his gorgeous face. “Totally,” he admitted.
I rolled my eyes at him and kept walking. He was a few steps behind me when I froze in place and turned around.
“Hey, Garrett?”
“Yeah?”
“If it happens, I don’t want to hear about it.”
He sucked in a grin, staring at me for a long moment, as if comforted by my request.
Across the room, I watched as Drew cut through the crowd with my beer in hand, frowning as he navigated a sea of people who refused to count personal space as a virtue. Garrett turned to see where my attention had gone to.
Garrett’s raised brow met mine—those ocean-blue eyes and half grin silently screaming what I already knew: I could do better. Better’s shoulder playfully bumped against mine, and all at once, the backs of our hands were touching in a dark room. Neither of us moved. I tugged my eyes away from Garrett, staring ahead, chest pounding, arms limp at my sides. My throat went dry as I felt his fingers curl around mine. We weren’t exactly holding hands, but we weren’t not holding hands, and we stayed like that, maybe holding hands, until the very second Drew outstretched a beer toward me.
It was just the back of his hand. No one should put this much hope inside something so small. But I did. I couldn’t unfeel him.
That night on the subway ride home, Garrett’s skin buzzing against mine played like a film reel behind my eyes, with one verse echoing in my head. It was as sweet as the maple-flavored beer on the back of my tongue, and I shifted my body away from Drew so I could text it to myself.
Hope’s always the last friend to leave
Garrett was back in my heart. Who was I kidding? He never left.
20
THIRTY-FIVE
THE FLOOR NUMBERS IN THE elevator climbed, and I held on to the guitar around my neck like it was a life raft, until PH lit up bright red. It wasn’t just the possible life-changing moment that had my sweaty palms clenching for solid ground, it was the fact that the elevator was going to open, Asher Reyes would smile at me, and I’d forget how to breathe—which wasn’t ideal when tasked with digging deep into my diaphragm to belt a folksy love ballad.
The elevator chimed, and I cleared my throat, reminding myself that I couldn’t let Asher melt me, because I was here to be a force of nature: a hurricane that he and his producer wouldn’t be able to look away from, not a puddle on the floor. I stepped into the airy industrial loft, with the smell of fresh roses and crisp lavender swirling in my lungs—thanks to the enormous vase of flowers on the marble kitchen island. All at once, Asher came into view, walking right by me, holding a steaming mug of tea as he crossed the living room.
“Hey,” I said.
He jumped, startled, spilling half the mug of tea on the front of his white linen button-down shirt.
“Shit.” I winced and ran to grab the hand towel hanging from the oven door.
I don’t know what possessed me to press the towel onto his hard, pounding chest, without thinking about the consequences. But I did. I could feel his heart thumping beneath me, and my breathing slowed as I dared my eyes upward. It was worse than I could have imagined. He was staring fixedly at me, and I watched him swallow hard, golden eyes locked on mine. I sucked in my reddening cheeks, slowly removing my trembling fingers from his body, handing him the towel and backing away.
“Sorry.”
He stared at me, unblinking, holding the towel to his shirt.