Page 36 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

Or maybe it’s because I can’t. Stop. Smiling. Even for a minute.

This morning was…perfect. And earlier this afternoon? Well, this afternoon somehow trumped that perfection and was too amazing to be measured or described by a simple word.

I knew Pressley and I had chemistry. We always have, even from the very beginning when we tacitly decided to be just friends. And that connection we’ve built made the sex indescribably great. Weknoweach other. She trusts me, and despite my previous anger over the whole video thing, I trust her.

I stayed in bed, just holding her, until I had to get up and come to work, and I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling the entire time. Hence, the pain in my face.

The door opens, and I force my mouth to relax into a normal smile of greeting as Trace and Gavin walk in. The tavern isn’t crowded this time of day as it’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but they ignore the empty tables and take seats at the bar in front of me.

We exchange greetings and fist bumps, and they each order a beer and cheese fries. They watch me as I grab the bottles from the cooler and pop the tops off, and by the time I slide the drinks in front of them Trace is staring me down with narrowed eyes and a thoughtful expression.

“Something’s happened,” he says without preamble as he picks up his beer.

“Lots of things have happened,” I say, keeping my own expression flat. “The kitchen staff ran out of onion rings. Old Chuck came in for a late lunch, then left with a grunt when his waiter informed him we were out, and Miss Penelope––who was eating the last of them––held one up and cackled at him like a hyena as he stomped past her. Oh! And I heard from John Wickham that Jonas Hill is getting a new gas station that’ll have a fried chicken restaurant inside.”

“Stop,” Trace barks before I can go on.

And I can’t help it. My mouth pops back up into the wide grin I’ve been sporting all day, making my cheeks ache all over again. Trace and Gavin stare at me for a long moment, then Gavin’s mouth curls up into a grin that matches mine.

“Finally,” he murmurs, and Trace looks over at him with a frown.

“Finally, what?”

Gavin jerks his head in my direction. “He slept with Pressley.”

Trace’s gaze snaps to mine, and he arches a single brow. “You did?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” I say, but somehow my smile expands even more, and I think it might end up stuck like this forever.

“Well, shit,” Trace says, his expression softening. “I feel like I should congratulate you, or something.”

“So, are you guys officially together, now? Or is it some kind of friends-with-benefits thing?” Gavin asks, and I’m saved from answering when a waitress appears with their food.

It’s a good thing, too, because I don’t really know how to answer the question. Pressley and I didn’t talk about it. I move to the opposite end of the bar when a new customer arrives, and my mind reels with questions, distracting me while I mix his drink.

Are we together? I know what I want, and I think Pressley wants the same thing. I have no interest in having meaningless sex with her. I have no interest in having meaninglessanythingwith her. It all means something to me, and I need to tell her so and get her take on the situation, or I’ll never make it through my shift.

Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I open my texting app and shoot her a message.

Me:We need to talk.

Shit. That sounds bad, doesn’t it? I quickly tap out another text.

Me:Sorry, that came out wrong. I don’t mean it like it sounded. I do want to talk to you, though. Can you come by the tavern?

Pressley:Sure. What time do you go on break?

Something in my chest relaxes as I respond.

Me:In about an hour.

Pressley:See you then.

Me:Looking forward to it.

I manage to get through the rest of the conversation with Trace and Gavin without giving too many details about my new relationship status with Pressley. After they leave, the bar is empty, and I have nothing to distract me from the anticipation of talking to her. I’m on pins and needles the whole time, and the anxiety doesn’t settle until she walks into the tavern.

The second my gaze lands on her, the tension inside me disappears. I smile and wave as she walks in my direction, and while she returns the smile, hers is laced with anxiety. She’s nervous and unsure about what I have to say. Like she thinks I’m going to tell her I regret what happened between us earlier.

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