Chapter 34 Annalise
Annalise
I wake up the next morning feeling foggy, out of sorts, and marginally hungover. Considering I only downed half a beer last night, I’m confident the feeling is a post-performance crash.
My brain clicks back on, and the prior evening soars to the surface in ripples of strobe lights, high notes, breakdowns, and a zealous, wide-eyed crowd.
Oh my God.
We did it. And we crushed it.
My heart rate jumps, doing some kind of tango or double reverse spin beneath my ribcage.
There’s a gnawing ache between my legs. A pressure that wants out.
I clamp my thighs together with shame, my thoughts spiraling back to hours ago when Chase had me shoved up against a wall, his mouth an inch away from mine, his massive body pressing into me at every angle.
I felt it—the huge, hard bulge digging into my inner thigh.
Tingles race through me, plummeting south.
My legs squeeze tighter. This feeling is both an angry black cloud and a hot day under a smoldering sun.
I’m weeping and burning at the same time.
My body reacts, and my mind rejects, all while my heart teeter-totters a tightrope, a thread ready to snap. I’m exhausted. Sunk and sapped.
The faucet squeals as Alex leans over the sink in the bathroom, spitting toothpaste into the basin. “Can you please stop squeezing the tube from the middle?” he mutters, holding it up from the threshold. “It’s not hard. From. The. End.”
I blink at him. “I’ll…try to remember.”
“You’ve been saying that for years.” He slams the cabinet shut. “Also, it’s a damn freezer in here.”
I glance toward the thermostat, still set to sixty-eight. “I thought you liked it cold.”
“Not arctic-tundra cold.” He rubs his arms. “Jesus. You’re the only person I know who goes to bed and thinks, ‘Let’s sleep in a meat locker.’”
My face sours as I inch up the mattress and tame my bedhead, reality creeping its way back to the edges of my mind. “Sorry.”
Sauntering out of the bathroom, he pulls a hoodie over his head. “Want some eggs?”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
“Cool.”
He disappears into the kitchen.
With a long sigh, I stare up at the popcorn ceiling as a light breeze shimmies in through the cracked window.
It’s a beautiful autumn morning after the best night of my entire life, and I have to be at the diner in an hour, shlepping hot plates of food around all day.
The notion is equally depressing and soul-crushing.
All I want to do is write. Sing. Perform. And now I’ve had a taste of it.
All I can think about is heading to Tag’s garage and creating more magic. Setting up shows. Reliving it all over again. New cities, new crowds, new opportunities twinkling with the stage lights. My eyes close, and I imagine just that.
For a little while. For a few blissful minutes.
Until Alex hollers from the kitchen, “Want any bacon?”
Another sigh falls out. Back to the grind.
“Sure!” I call back.
Groggy and defeated, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. A dozen text messages light up the face. Mostly from Kenna. Two from Mom. Some from people I haven’t talked to in years.
I frown, swiping my thumb across the screen as my vision settles.
My eyes skim the string of texts.
Did you see this?!
Annalise. Wake up.
Look!!!
YOU’RE FAMOUS
Hello, viral! Congrats girl!
I shoot up in bed, throwing off the covers because it’s suddenly a sauna in the bedroom. My heartbeat thumps against my ribs. My brain spins. My pulse skitters out of control.
I open the attachments—it’s a video.
Of us.
Of Chase.
My song booming through the crowd.
His guitar lighting up the stage.
And 2.3 million views.