Swoon: A Brother's Best Friend Standalone

“Oooh, how exciting!” Louise says.

But Kat is breathing fire. “No!” she shouts. “No! Don’t do that!”

I’m hyperventilating with excitement and anticipation. But Kat’s tone was too authoritative to ignore. “What do you mean no? Kat, I have to go!”

“Colin, you absolutely cannot hang up and call this poor woman to say you love her for the first time!” Kat says. “That ship has sailed. The price of admission has gone way up now.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“She’s saying you gotta grand gesture the fuck outta her, brah!” Keane shouts from the back.

“Language, Keaney,” Mrs. Morgan says, pointing at little Mia on Dax’s lap.

“I’ve heard Uncle Keaney say worse than that before,” Mia mutters, as Ryan is saying, “Keane’s right, dude.” Ryan grimaces. “Ach. I hate saying that, in any context. But Kat and Keane are both right—words won’t be enough anymore. I mean, you also need to say the words. And don’t scrimp on them. But at this point, you’re gonna need to ride in on your white horse before saying all the right words.”

“Sweep her off her feet, Colinoscopy!” Keane calls out.

“You need to do something that takes her breath away!” Kat agrees enthusiastically. “Something that shows her how much you’ve been listening to her. Something designed specifically for her.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “I mean, shoot. Sorry, Louise.”

“I’ve heard it all before,” Mia mutters.

I run my hand through my hair. “Okay, I hear what you’re saying. Any suggestions?”

“We don’t know the girl like you do,” Kat says. “What would make her feel like you’ve moved mountains to—"

“I’ve got it!” I blurt. “I know what to do!” I’m shaking from adrenaline. I leap up from my couch and pace around my living room, feeling electrified. “I’ve gotta go, guys! Thank you, Morgan Mafia! I love you the most!”

“Give us a hint!” Kat shouts.

“No time for that. Gotta go. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Go balls to the walls, Colinoscopyyyyy!” Keane yells.

“Roger!”

‘Rabbit,” the entire group responds, even Mia on Dax’s lap. Because that’s what any Morgan worth their salt always says after hearing the word “roger,” in any context.

I end the call with the Morgans and immediately place one to my brother in arms, my piscatorial best friend: Matthew Fishberger.

“Fish Tacoooo,” I say enthusiastically, after he picks up the call. “I need you and your guitar and your big ol’ songwriting brain, pronto.”

“Huh?”

“I need you to help me write a love song.”

“Wait, you want to write a love song?” Fish asks. I don’t blame him for being shocked. It’s the first time I’ve made this kind of request, in the history of our friendship.

“Yep. I’m going to write the most perfect, heartfelt love song in the history of the world for Amy—and we both know I’m gonna need a lot of help to pull that off.”

“Am I gonna be the one to sing this love song to Amy, or—”

“No, I’m gonna sing it to her, dumbass! Obviously. She’s my girlfriend!”

“Whoa.”

“Chop chop, Matthew! Get your ass over here. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“How long do we have?”

“We have to write it tonight, so I can sing it to her tomorrow. We’ll swing by the movie studio tomorrow before we head over to the Sing Your Heart Out taping.”

“I’m confused. I thought you were done shooting all your scenes for the movie.”

“I am. But Amy’s been ghosting me, and I have no idea where she’s been staying, so I’m gonna surprise her at work tomorrow. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna start work on the movie set tomorrow, now that I’m no longer there. So, we’re gonna show up and I’m gonna sweep her off her feet! Ka-bam!”

“Why has Amy been ghosting you?”

“Because I’m an idiot. I’ll tell you about it in person. Are you coming here or am I going there? Time’s a-ticking.”

“You’d better come here. I just smoked a huge bowl.”

I chuckle. “Okay, I’m on my way. Stay awake for me.”

“You’d better pack an overnight bag. Depending how long it takes us to pound out this ‘perfect’ love song, you might want to crash here tonight, so we can drive to the studio and the taping together tomorrow.”

“Good thinking. I’ll be there in twenty, Fish Head. Thanks.”

“Make it forty and grab me a pizza on your way. Ally’s having dinner at her mom’s tonight. I’m hungry.”

“There’s no time, Fish Head.”

“You want to exploit my songwriting skillz, then you need to feed me, Seymour.”

“Fine. One pizza coming up. Stay awake for me.”

“Make it two pizzas.” He snorts. “I smoked a lot of weed.”

Where does this lanky man put all the food he eats? “Fine,” I say, exasperated. “Two pizzas. Just don’t pass out on me before I get there.”

“Roger.”

“Rabbit. See you soon.”

Thirty

Colin

“Put a fire under your lanky ass, Matthew!” I shout at Fish, as he sloooowwwwly grabs his guitar case out of his car’s backseat.