Page 18 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“You’re totally going to fuck this up.”

“Probably.”

“She’s too good for you.”

“I’m aware.”

“But maybe she’s exactly what you need.”

Mylan doesn’t respond. Instead, he changes the subject.

“See any women you want to fuck?”

Ugh, why is he so crude? Why do I like it? I silently curse my heart for going wild every time he speaks. Not to mention how his voice and his presence are literally destroying my panties right now.

“Don’t be an asshole, asshole,” Eloise sighs but reluctantly answers his original question. “The waitress is fine as hell, but she keeps eyeing Bruno’s ugly ass.”

“That’s Lana’s friend, Ginger,” Mylan says the same time Bruno says, “She is?” with a sparkle of hope in his voice.

Okay, so Mylan’s assistant is a lesbian? Who has a crush on Ginger? And Ginger keeps checking out Bruno? I’ve been such a bad friend. She texted me nonstop to check on me, and I’ve yet to ask her about how she’s dealing with all this. She was Tyler’s friend too. It was the three of us in high school and college. People would rarely see us apart.

When Rebecca wrote the book, she’d reduced Ginger’s role in my and Tyler’s life, barely mentioning her throughout the story. Rebecca claimed she did that so it wouldn’t take away from our story of love and inspiration. Still, having a movie filming in our town about our dead best friend must be having an impact on her. How is she handling it?

“I recognize that look,” Ginger chuckles, bumping her hip against mine. “Why are you feeling guilty?”

I notice Mylan watching us like a hawk, listening, so I tug Ginger’s arm to pull us into the kitchen.

“Are you okay? With all this? The movie about Tyler? Freaking celebrities here in our small town?”

The concern in her face eases. “That’s what you’re worrying about? Honey, trust me. I’m okay. I have been for a while. Are you okay?”

My eyes burn with the grief I’m struggling to hold in. I’ve wasted too many tears on this part of my life, and I’m so, so tired.

“No. But I will be.”

Ginger pulls me into a hug. “Oh, Banana. I love you, and I’m here for you. You know that right?”

I let out a laugh and sob combination and pull away from my best friend. She sweeps her thumb over my cheek, wiping away an escaped tear.

“I can’t believe you said my nickname in front of Mylan Andrews.”

She grins, mischievously.

“You bitch. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

She tosses up five fingers.

“Hell no! You are not pleading the fifth on this.”

She zips her lips and tosses the key away and rushes out of the kitchen, me fast on her heels.

In the minutes we were away, the demand for booze and food grew. I rush in to help the bartenders on duty while Ginger assists the servers.

“What’s wrong?” Mylan asks the moment he spots me, a hint of panic in his voice.

“Nothing,” I say way too fast and turn to the wall of mirrors behind the bar. Shit. My eyes and nose are all red. Anytime I cry, or I’m on the verge of crying, my nose is the first thing to light up. I swing back around and shrug. “Allergies.”

He doesn’t buy it, and he might have pushed me further if it wasn’t for the ear-piercing squeal of a microphone.

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