Chapter 19
nineteen
I can’t stop smiling, which I’m sure is weird for everyone because my resting face is famously the opposite of smiley.
All the gear and equipment are set up, so I take a minute to sit down at the bar and drink a bottle of water before the doors open in forty-five minutes. Slipping my phone from my back pocket, I check my DMs to make sure I didn’t miss Good Guy. Nothing yet.
To distract me, I open texts to update Lola on the new Good Guy development. It looks like I missed one she sent fifteen minutes ago.
Lola
Thicker Than Water’s Instagram is FIRE!
It was hot as balls in Birmingham last night, and the A/C wasn’t working. I documented it. I’m happy to be of service.
She responds immediately.
Lola
Any chance you could sabotage the HVAC every night? Because that last video is A CLIT TICKLER. HELLO Jesse. I’m so jealous.
Praise from Lola often comes creatively packaged. But when she’s right, she’s right.
Guess who’s coming to the show tonight?
Lola
The way your luck’s going lately? Taylor Swift. And Harry Styles.
Close. Good Guy.
Lola
SHUT UP!
He should be here any minute. He decided to take a road trip.
Lola
Selfies or it didn’t happen!
That’s not a bad idea. I need to start documenting this trip. I’ll never get this opportunity again.
I’ll make an exception for Good Guy.
Lola
That a girl!
Curious, I open Thicker Than Water’s account to check their follower count. And promptly spray every last drop of water in my mouth all over the bar top. As I’m hastily mopping it up with a stack of cocktail napkins, Ever drops on to the stool next to me.
His lopsided smile greets me, and the voice that invades my dreams says, “Either something really good or something really bad just happened. I’m trying to decide which one.”
I wipe my phone, slant the screen, and point to their follower count. It’s skyrocketed to 800k.
“Damn,” he whispers. “What brought that on?”
I tap on the video I took from side-stage and posted for them early this morning.
Jesse and Ever closed out their set with an acoustic cover of “Killing the Sun” by Rook.
Not only was the performance epic because the song is an anthem that’s been around for a decade and the entire crowd sang along, but by that point in the night, Jesse had abandoned his sweat-soaked T-shirt.
Women were ready to storm the stage. The heat, the song, the animal magnetism of the brothers, and the muscled torso were a pheromone.
Their confidence on stage is growing nightly, but last night they leveled up. Everyone in the place felt it.
I hit play and turn the volume up because it’s obvious by the look on his face he hasn’t seen it yet. I know he doesn’t look at their social media often, so it doesn’t surprise me.
He watches for a few seconds and then laughs softly. “What a dick.” It’s said lovingly, though. Brother-speak for, I love this guy.
I point at the number of views and his eyes widen. It’s been viewed 1.3 million times and shared 550k times in a little under twelve hours.
He shakes his head and says, “Let’s be real, that’s all due to Jess’s dedication to daily push-ups and crunches. And a classic fucking song.”
I shrug. “Objectively, that helps. My sister was more than happy to verify that fact in the text she just sent.”
“What did she say?”
I shake my head. “You don’t wanna know. Lola has no filter.”
He nods to the screen. “I’m related to this guy. You think anything shocks me?” It’s a logical argument.
I tap the video to stop it, fold my arms on the bar, and look at him like I’ve just accepted a dare. “She said the video was a clit tickler.” I say it with a straight face, but my God, my face is hot. Because speaking of clit tickler…
He holds my gaze for one second, two seconds, three seconds, before he nods stoically. “A clit tickler?”
I nod, still deadpan despite my traitorous blush. “On a scale of one to ten, clit tickler is an overzealous twelve.”
The smile that blooms into dimples appears, and everything in my body wants to climb into his lap and taste it.
Saved by the bell, his phone chimes in his pocket. While he responds to a text, I gather up the pile of soggy napkins and find a trash can behind the bar.
When I return to the stool, I check my DMs and Good Guy just messaged.
Good Guy
I’m here. The line is crazy out front. Meet me around back?
I pocket my phone without responding, and when I stand, Ever is looking at me curiously.
I’m one of those people who gets so excited I feel like I’m going to burst on the inside, but it doesn’t usually manifest outwardly.
Right now is an exception, because the smile I’m wearing is so big it shouldn’t be physically possible.
I probably look deranged. “My friend decided to surprise me. He’s out back. ”
He continues to stare at me for a second before he says so softly I almost can’t hear him, “You look so happy, Soph. Fucking incandescent,” with the sweetest smile on his face.
My smile relaxes into something that’s only for him. I reach out and tug on his forearm. “Come on. This good guy should meet that good guy.”
Stepping out into the heat of early evening Memphis, the humidity curls around me. We’re in an alley. It’s shaded, due to the proximity of the multi-story building that backs up to it, and smells faintly of hot, sour garbage from the dumpster not far away.
There’s no one out here. It’s empty. Well, except for the smell. And the cloying, damp air that I’ll never get used to.
I venture to the opening of the alley where the sun is bearing down and look both ways up and down the sidewalk. There are a few people milling around, but no one appears to be actively searching for me.
Walking back into the cooler alley, I pull my phone out of my pocket and type,
I’m outside. Where are you?
I hear a ding not far away.
His response is immediate.
Good Guy
I’m standing right in front of you.
I nearly give myself whiplash when my head jerks up.
And my eyes land on the man only steps away.
Tucking his phone in his front pocket.
He tilts his head, and his face falls a little as he takes in my expression.
“Hi,” he whispers, apprehensively.
So many emotions are bombarding me at once, but confusion seems to be winning, because all I can say is, “How?”
Ever shrugs. “Insta friendship turned into actual friendship.”
I close the gap between us, and when I look at him, it’s almost like I’ve never seen him before. Like a layer’s been peeled back and every ounce of vulnerability is exposed.
“You’re Good Guy?” I don’t know why I ask it like a question when I already know the answer.
He nods, and I hate that he looks scared. “I am.”
“All this time.” This time it’s not a question. I’m trying to process.
“All this time,” he echoes.
I turn around, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
“I know this is a lot, Soph. Please tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.
Normally, I would compartmentalize, or deflect, or avoid, because I don’t care enough.
Or I care too much. A part of me wants to do that, but a bigger part wants to get messy and step on the damn land mine.
The words spill out in a torrent. “My first instinct is to walk away because I feel,” I pause, “I don’t even know…
betrayed?” I shake my head. “That’s not the right word.
I mean, I want to hug you so damn hard because you’re him.
And you’re you. And I’m not a yeller, but I want to yell because this feels overwhelming and out of control and, shit…
How is it possible that it makes no fucking sense and perfect sense at the same damn time? ”
“So, yell,” he says, calmly. “Turn around, look at me, and get it out. Just please don’t walk away.” When I don’t move, he prompts, “Please, Soph.”
Slowly, I turn and look at his chest for a few seconds before he ducks to catch my eye.
“Don’t keep it in. Believe me, it does no good.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“Louder,” he says, and the look on his face nearly breaks me; it’s so sincere.
I hesitate, because I keep emotion bottled up where it roils and gnashes and slowly devours me from the inside.
I do not let it out where it draws attention and scrutiny because that’s when negative labels that always begin with “Too” get attached.
And I fucking hate those because when someone tells you you’re too much, they take your power. And you don’t get it back.
“Soph,” he pleads.
I raise my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Louder.” He’s begging.
“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” I roar.
The question is directed at him, but more than that, it’s directed at every person from my past whom I desperately wanted an answer to that question from, but I wasn’t brave enough to ask.
Bending over, I put my hands on my knees and focus on the calm that’s inexplicably replacing confusion.
I tilt my head to look up at him from the corner of my eye.
He’s unmoving, but instead of looking disappointed like I feared, he looks steady. Like he’s ready to put his power in my pocket, and all I have to do is ask.
Tentatively, he closes the gap between us, never taking his eyes off mine as I straighten up.
When he presses his forehead to mine, I lean into the contact. I don’t know what’s allowed after an outburst like that, but I need to touch him. His eyelids flutter closed as his nose brushes mine.
“I haven’t been able to trust anyone for a long time.
But friendship with you felt instant, and necessary, and freeing, and easy, and,” he sighs, and when his breath ghosts over my lips, they part, “fuck, I like you so much. I kind of thought real connection with another person wasn’t possible for me, like maybe what I’d been through had broken me.
Turns out I wasn’t broken; I just hadn’t met you yet. ”
My heart’s still pounding, but I don’t know if it’s from yelling or his words. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I tell him the truth. “I felt the same way.”
“Felt?” he asks.
“Feel,” I whisper the correction.
The next words come out of him in a rush.
“And then you walked through the door in Atlanta, and I’m so fucking attracted to you I can’t see straight.
Realizing you’re falling for your closest friend, who’s also supposed to be off-limits, is messing with my head, Soph. I know I should’ve told you, but…”
He stops talking when my hands find his waist and run a path up to rest between his shoulder blades. His shirt is damp with sweat, and his muscles are tight beneath it.
“Soph,” he whispers, as his hands thread into the hair at the nape of my neck. “Fuck, I wanna kiss you.” The words are faint.
My entire body is tingling, and I can’t tell if it’s from the words he’s saying, or his touch, or the way he looks at me like the world could burn down around us, and I’m the only thing he’d save.
I match his volume. “Contracts have just overtaken root canals as number one on my most hated list.”
We both know we can’t, even if we want nothing more.
He tips his head back and exhales, long and loud. “Contracts are fuckin’ shit!” he yells at the sky, before he drops his chin and smiles softly, resigned to our fate for now.
“Am I here because Good Guy pulled some strings?” I ask, as realization hits.
He shakes his head. “I shared your photos with the right people, but you’re here because your talent speaks for itself. They lost their minds when they saw your account and knew they couldn’t pass up the chance to work with you.”
I’m a grown woman and shouldn’t crave this kind of validation, but knowing I’m here because I bring something unique to the project and not because he insisted on it boosts my confidence in ways I can’t explain. Now I’m smiling too as I ask, “Did your mom really love the song ‘Iris’?”
He nods slightly as his thumbs brush back and forth over my earlobes. “Still does. She made me listen to the Goo Goo Dolls’ greatest hits on the drive from Pennsylvania to Kentucky last week.”
“And your uncle has a rooster named Steve?” With each question, it’s like he comes into sharper focus. Ever morphs into Good Guy. And Good Guy morphs into Ever.
“He’s an impressive cock. And a huge dick.”
I can’t help but crack a smile at that and feel him relax a little too. Taking a small step back, I point at his legs. “Tan lines?”
Bending over, he pulls down a sock.
I sigh. “Well, hell, it’s even sexier in person.”
He snorts out a laugh as he stands to his full height, but then glances down at my legs and says, “I could say the same about you,” as he pulls me back into a hug. “Though that photo you sent me does make for killer lock screen wallpaper.”
I laugh in surprise. “Great minds. Your legs have been my phone wallpaper since about thirty seconds after you sent the photo.”
He squeezes me tighter and whispers, “Slacker. It only took me twenty.”
“Would it be weird if we took a selfie? Lola wants to see Good Guy.”
“I think it would be weirder if we didn’t,” he says.
I spin in his embrace and take my cell from my pocket. “Do you mind? Your arms are longer.”
He holds the phone slightly above us, and I lean my head back against his collarbone and look up at the screen. He dips his chin, and it rests against my temple. Seeing us together on the small screen does something to my heart, and I can’t help but smile.
I text it to Lola with,
I think you were right, he’s not here for the kidney.