Best Friends Forever

Instantly, we’re harmonizing perfectly like we’ve practiced this a million times. Her clear high melodies mesh perfectly with my deeper growliness, and there’s something building in the air. I think I might be going crazy, but after the first song, I finally look out over the audience and realize, no, they feel it too. Something special is happening here with the two of us. One of those rare moments of music magic.

She looks over at me positively beaming, her face flushed in a way that makes me want to drag her backstage and do terribly dirty things to her. But I can’t think about that right now. We’ve still got another song to sing before I can totally lose my shit over this girl I’m suddenly obsessed with. I tilt my head to the side and she nods, counting off the band to start in on the second song.

It seems impossible, but the second song goes even better than the first. We’re a little more comfortable with each other’s styles and manage to pull off some awesome improvisations. I already know I have to work with this girl again. More than work with her, but I’ve gotta start somewhere.

At the end of the song, Chelsea dips back into this adorable little curtsy and without thinking, I grab her hand and lift our arms up high.

The crowd’s on their feet, a standing ovation sweeping through in a blink. But I hardly notice that because Chelsea’s hand in mine is like a hot coal, and it’s lighting a fire in me that only more of her can quench.

Chapter 2

Chelsea

After our second song together, Ian walks off stage and I’m still shaking. What was that? It definitely felt like something. I wasn’t worried about the impromptu substitution into his lineup, but I didn’t have high hopes for an unrehearsed performance either. But damn, performing with Ian was something else.

My heart’s still hammering and I can’t seem to catch my breath, my eyes still drifting toward the wings hoping to catch a glimpse of the sexy rocker. But I’ve got my own show to put on. I had a later slot in the show before Julia Venn’s unfortunate accident on the way to the theater. When Rosa threw my hat in the ring to fill in during the duets, she also angled to get me a slot right after the headliner. She’s a pretty good manager like that.

Luckily for me, the standing ovation is still going on and it gives me time to compose myself. I conjure up memories of Mariah, the reason I’m at this event tonight. Remembering the way she always lit up when I’d sing for her, even when the chemo made her so sick she could barely stay awake… Well, that’s all the motivation to focus I need. Wish Givers helped my sister when she was at her weakest and most vulnerable, and even though she’s doing so much better these days, I’ll never forget how happy their program made her. If I can do that for even just one other sick kid here tonight, then by golly, I’m going to do it. Thoughts of Ian Monroe will just have to wait.

The band waits for my signal and I tumble into the first song, singing totally by rote. The moment I start singing, thoughts of Ian come crashing back in. The way the spotlight caressed his sharp cheekbones and chiseled jaw. The way his T-shirt clung to his sculpted chest and abs with the sweat of an energetic performance. It doesn’t seem fair for anyone to be that attractive. It doesn’t seem possible.

While I’m lost thinking about how much I’d like to spend more time with Ian, I manage to sing my first song, a peppy upbeat pop hybrid that was my first single to hit the top-forty charts. I could probably perform it while doing complicated math in my head, I know the lyrics and choreography so well.

For the second song, a stagehand brings out a stool and I sit in front of the mic, lowering it down to my level. The first guitar chord strums behind me and I close my eyes, grasping the microphone, trying not to think about the way Ian’s hand practically burned in mine and left it still tingling even now. The second song is as automatic as the first, and I’d feel bad, but I’m not sure anyone even notices. They’re having a great time and that’s what really matters.

Somehow, and I know it sounds crazy, the stage feels empty without Ian’s larger-than-life presence. I’m not sure how I’ve never noticed it was missing before, but now that I’ve performed with him, I feel this undeniable need to do it again.

The crowd’s cheering for me, but not as much as they cheered for us. I give them a quick bow, a big smile, and a wave as the emcee comes out and announces the next performer. The moment I’m backstage, before my eyes have even adjusted to the contrast from the bright stage lights, someone’s shoving something in my face and talking fast at me. Typical reporter move.

“I’m sorry, what?” I say over the crowd cheering for the next person on stage.

“What’s it been like working with Ian Monroe? Have you spent much time with him? Is he behaving as much as he says he is?” she fires the questions off so fast it nearly makes my head spin. I’m so caught off guard by it and I wasn’t expecting to be bombarded the moment I’m backstage. I look up over her shoulder, trying to find Rosa with my eyes. It’s her job to save me from people like this.

But I don’t spot her anywhere nearby and I know this reporter’s not going to leave me alone until I give her some kind of answer.

“You know, we haven’t spent much time together, but it’s been a joy working with him. I think the crowd really felt that tonight. Please excuse me,” I say, pushing past her as she shouts more questions at my back.

In the dressing room, I press against the door and take a deep breath. Why am I so shaken up? A good performance always leaves me a little lightheaded and dizzy, but I don’t think this is that. I think this is all Ian, and that’s freaking me out. A cute boy should not make my thoughts turn to Jell-O, and his warm hand in mine should not leave me tingling all over for this long. It had to just be the crazy nerves of the moment, of not knowing what to expect and being pleasantly surprised.

Yeah, that’s all it was. Had to be. It’s the only real explanation that makes any sense.

Relieved, I sink into the couch and start to undo the braid in my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders in soft waves.

The door opens and Rosa waltz

es in without knocking or hesitating. That’s just how she is. And she’s smiling so wide I think her face might break.

“What. A. Show! Am I right? You were perfect out there!”

I shrug. I know that’s not true. Maybe Ian and I were perfect together, but my solo set? No way. It was robotic and distracted at best.

“I didn’t know any reporters had backstage passes,” I snap, my tone harsh at the memory of that woman with her recorder shoved in my face. Is it so hard to say, “Miss Garten, can I ask you a few questions?” It just rubs me the wrong way.

Rosa frowns. I rarely go all pop-star diva on her, so if I’m complaining about something, she generally takes note. “There’s only one that I know of. But she’s writing a piece on Ian so I didn’t think… Oh, of course,” she says, shaking her head. “I should have realized she’d want to talk to you after we changed the lineup.”

“I don’t mind answering questions, but I didn’t appreciate the ambush,” I say, sounding almost petulant even to myself. Am I really mad about the reporter, or about the way my body reacted to Ian?

“I’ll talk to her,” Rosa says. “But don’t worry about that right now; the audience is clamoring for an encore! They want to see the two of you together again!”