Best Friends Forever

“Chelsea Garten,” I growl, her name like acid on my tongue. How could I have been dumb enough to fall for her? I knew she was nothing but trouble, a good girl looking for a quick roll in the hay with a bad boy. But that’s all I am. The bad boy she fools around with. Not the guy she settles down with. Not the guy she goes public with. The dirty secret that she keeps hidden away.

Serge whistles lowly, his eyes going wide. “That girl you just made an album with? Bro.”

“I know,” I groan. You never shit where you eat. We both know that. “But she’s… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“Is that so?” he asks, an eyebrow arched, a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t give me that look. Yes, it’s over. As much as I wish it weren’t, she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me because if she did, I’d know it by now. It’s not like I’m hard to find.”

“And yet you’re still jumping for your phone every time it makes a noise.”

“Well, I did just finish an album.”

“Yeah, but you’re not waiting for a call from the label or your manager. You’re waiting for a call from her,” he says, green

eyes sparkling with laughter that he knows better than to let out if he doesn’t want to get punched.

“I can do both,” I mutter petulantly. It’s obvious he’s right though. He’s won. And he chuckles under his breath, earning a glare from me.

Serge puts up both hands in defense. “I’m sorry, man, but it’s just great to see you like this. I haven’t seen you this worked up about a girl in… well, maybe ever. Seems like she’s good for you.”

I roll my eyes, my fists clenching again. “Doesn’t really matter if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, does it?”

Before he answers, my phone rings from the other end of the couch and my eyes dart to it. It’s facedown, so I can’t see the caller ID without picking it up and turning it over, but I want to prove Serge wrong. If I just let this call go to voicemail, then I’ll prove that I’m not just waiting with bated breath for a word from Chelsea.

But the longer the phone rings, the more I’m itching to answer it. Serge just cocks a brow at me and grins big and I know he’s won this one too. I’m already leaping to the other side of the couch and hitting the answer button before I register that it’s Merrill showing up on the ID.

“Hey,” I say, not even bothering to sound upbeat or any of that bullshit.

Serge looks at me with a question in his eyes but I just shake my head and he frowns.

“Hey there, rockstar,” Merrill says brightly and I squeeze my eyes closed tight, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“What’s up, Mer?” I’m really not in the mood for pleasantries.

“I finally got word back from the label about the record…” he says, his tone not giving much away. I haven’t had much reason to hope this past week, but without my consent, a little spark flares to life, making me hold my breath as he continues.

But he doesn’t continue.

“And?” I say, my voice tight and harsh. Normally I might care about snapping at him like that, but not when he’s being an insufferable jerk. He doesn’t need to beat around the bush, but he likes drawing it out for the suspense or some nonsense.

“And they love it! They’re jumping on the tour; they’ve got the next three weeks lined up. Fourteen shows. All you need to do is show up at the airport in two days.”

I almost don’t believe it. I nearly drop the phone in shock and Serge is looking at me with concern like I might have just gotten news about the death of a relative, but I can’t even manage a smile to let him know it’s all right because I don’t fucking believe it. Good things never happen to me like this.

“Ian?” Merrill asks after I’m silent a full two minutes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there,” I say, still on autopilot. It’s not hard to just agree to something even if you don’t think it’s going to happen. Maybe especially if you don’t think it’s going to happen.

“Attaboy. Send you the details this afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” I say, still on autopilot. Merrill hangs up and I drop the phone to my lap, cold shock still working through my veins. Is this really happening? Am I really getting another shot?

I’m determined not to let her out of my grasp this time if I can help it.

“So… what was that?” Serge asks, his face still full of concern. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“They booked the tour,” I say, the words without meaning through the hazy whirlpool of my thoughts. There’s too many swirling through my brain right now to actually latch onto any of them, but the one pervasive message is Chelsea. I’ll get to see her again whether she likes it or not.