Page 28 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

I meet Keegan’s eyes, which are wide and bright with humor as she waggles her eyebrows at me. I shake my head and look at Trace, but he’s not looking my way. No,he’s smirking in Bram’s direction, obviously watching the manwatch me.

A waitress materializes beside me and sets a beer in front of Trace before placing two margarita glasses on the table. Before she can hand it over, I snatch the pitcher of frozen goodness off her tray and slosh some into a glass. Keegan chuckles as I set the pitcher on the table and slide it toward her, and the waitress hums before hurrying away.

Picking up my glass, I hold it up in salute to my friends before upturning it, pouring the slush into my mouth. Tequila burns my throat as I swallow it down, and I groan as pain explodes in my skull.

“Brain freeze?” Keegan sing-songs, then takes a dainty sip of her own margarita.

“Shut up. Ugh,” I groan again, pressing my palms to my temples and my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

I’m convinced that particular remedy for brain freeze is a myth. And though it’s never worked for me, I continue to try every time it happens. Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? Hell, if I know.

All I know is it hurts.

Willow and Gavin arrive, taking their seats with greetings all around. The same waitress appears, eyeing me carefully as she sets a fresh glass in front of Willow and a beer in front of Gavin. They thank her before she flits away, then Willow starts chattering about something funny that happened at her shop today.

I try to listen, but her voice fades away as I focus onthe feel of Bram’s eyes on me. At this point, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, or not, but it feels real. It feels…hot.

Maybe I should’ve just worn a muumuu, or something.

No. This is stupid. He’s my friend. My roommate. Nothing more.

I force myself to focus on my friends, joining the conversation when I can while carefully sipping margarita after margarita to avoid another brain freeze situation. I’m not sure how many I’ve had or how many times we’ve received a fresh pitcher of tart, frosty goodness, but it doesn’t take long for me to relax, completely.

The girls bait me when I start slurring, but I don’t care. I just laugh along with them, finally enjoying the night. At one point, Gavin tries to get me to drink some water, but I pull the pitcher toward me with the argument that there’s water in the drink––it’s made with crushed ice, obviously.

“This is so much fun,” I cheer as I hold up my glass. “To good times with good friends.”

“Here, here,” Willow calls out, clinking her glass against mine and Keegan’s when she raises hers.

“Ditto,” she adds, then sips her drink before pinning me with a heavy stare. “You should probably think about slowing down, Press. We all know tequila is the devil, and you’re going to be hurting in the morning.”

“Nonsense,” I slur loudly. “Tequila is an angel sent down from heaven to make me happy and complete. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Keegan sighs, and theconversation steers away from me and my drunken state for a few minutes.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I find Bram’s gaze locked on me once again. But liquid courage is a real thing, so instead of looking away, I smile and hold my half-empty glass up in a toast to him and his yummy-sexy self. Bram shakes his head, but his lips lift up at the corners before he turns his attention to another customer at the bar.

I mentally undress him as I watch him work, my tongue darting out to lick my lips as I imagine what his skin must feel like. What it must taste like.

“Pressley. Hey,” Keegan says, snapping her fingers in my direction to get my attention.

“What?” I ask as I turn around, feeling grumpy at the interruption.

I was just getting to the good part of that particular daydream.

“You were eye-fucking Bram,” she hisses under her breath.

“I certainly wasnot,” I say with a flair of drama as I press a palm to my chest. “I was just looking at him and imagining… Oh. I guess I was eye-fucking him, wasn’t I?”

That strikes me as hilarious, and I start to giggle. As I teeter sideways in my chair, I cut the laughter off. Shit. I’m giggling. I must be drunk.

“Can someone get me some water?” I blurt out as I press my face to my crossed arms on top of the table.

“Here,” a deep voice murmurs, and I sit back up in a rush.

I look up to see the man of my dreams holding a glassof water in my direction. I take it as he slides into the empty chair next to me amidst greetings from the rest of the group.

“Bram,” I say, my drunken voice turning a bit dreamy, “I missed you.”

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