Page 62 of Love Medley
“Yes.” Her words are husky.
Could Lucy be feeling what I’m feeling? Could this sham of a relationship turn into something real?
Suddenly, my Lucy haze is shattered as a truculent voice shouts, “Get a fucking room or get back to the piano!”
It’s that asshole Weston, interrupting our moment.
But unfortunately, it’s enough for Lucy to pull away. Her eyelashes dip downwards. “I guess you’d better go.”
“Yeah,” I say, wishing things were different, and that she was actually coming over tonight.
But it’s not to be.
After performing several more numbers, we end with our usual duet of “American Pie,” closing out the show. My hands skate over the keys in a pattern they know by heart. I’m sweaty from all the exertion, but having Lucy in the front row is the biggest adrenaline rush.
Tonight the entire crowd has been wild and fun except for Weston, who has been a prick since he arrived, no surprise there. Even Lucy gets into it; I think maybe having a little alcohol in her system has allowed her to relax, even with fucking Weston here.
As the last chord echoes into the air, we receive a standing ovation from the cheering crowd, and then, the night is over. It’s midnight, and usually by now, I’m toast. But having Lucy here gives me a burst of energy. I can’t wait to make my way to her side.
“Andy, can you just total everything, and I’ll pick up my half of the tips next time I’m here?” I ask.
“Need to get back to yourgirlfriend, I see. You owe me some backstory later,” Andy says with a grin, his brown hair flopping over his eyes. “Sure thing. I’ll leave it with the boss man.”
“Thanks, bro,” I say, ignoring his nudge for more information as I leap off the stage in Lucy’s direction. When I appear in front of her, to my complete and utter delight, Lucy flings herself into my arms. I lift her into the air, crushing her to my chest, and the soft pressure of Lucy’s breasts against my T-shirt almost makes me lose my fucking mind. I’m tingling from the brush of her ebony hair against my cheek and her skin against my own. I never want to let her go.
But after a few long seconds, I do, even though every muscle in my body is begging me to hold onto her. I bask in the sensation of Lucy’s curves as she slides slowly down to the floor and flush at the thought that she must have noticed my rigid length against her belly. Even through the embarrassment, I still wish I could hold her again—I’m strangely bereft without her in my arms.
“You were amazing,” Lucy exclaims, her dark eyes luminous. “You are so, so talented!”
Moving her to arm’s length, I allow myself to drink her in. “I’m really glad you came.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” Lucy’s pupils seem to widen and darken, and I’m sinking into them. Before I know what’s happening, she’s fisting the front of my shirt while rising up on her tiptoes and pulling my head down for the most mind-blowing kiss I’ve ever had in my life. Her mouth tastes like strawberries, and every nerve in my body is buzzing. I lightly lick her soft lips as if in question; in the next second, she darts her tongue into my mouth. A groan escapes me—how can a simple kiss undo me like this? But nothing with Lucy Chang is simple.
A stream of expletives explode out of someone in my periphery, and I realize it’s Weston, stalking out.
And suddenly, Lucy pulls back, her hand to her mouth. “Do you think Weston saw that?”
Fuck. Does Lucy have any idea what she’s just done to me? She’s totally changed my world, and yet, just like Eponine sings inLes Mis, I’ve done nothing to change hers.
As a crushing disappointment slams down hard on my chest, I manage to say, “Pretty sure he did. He just stomped out of here, looking pretty furious.”
And then: “Oh my God, I didn’t think,” Lucy says frantically. “Sam. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.”
Wait, what? I can’t keep up.
“Hey, Luce, you coming?” It’s the tall Asian friend named Amelia.
“Yeah, coming!” Lucy says, wincing. “I’m sorry, Jake.” She rushes away with her friends, leaving me alone to flounder in my confusion.
Lucy Chang has just rocked my world off its axis, and now I’m realizing it’s too late to protect my heart.
After tossing and turning all night in bed, obsessing over that incredible kiss and its possible meaning, I finally give up sleeping around 5am.
As I head to the kitchen, my hand touches my lips. All of my feelings are jumbled and confused, and I don’t know what to think. Was last night all about getting rid of Weston?
If it was, then it was a success by those standards. Weston should be convinced we’re together. Ironically, now there’s no reason Lucy and I need to meet up again.
And that apology. God, it gutted me. After all this time we’ve spent together, how could Lucy still think Sam meant anything to me?
