Page 13 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

“Nothing, I guess,” I say.

“Good,” he says with a smirk. “Now, get your ass out of here so I can work. You should go buy new sheets for your guest bedroom. Maybe some flowers to brighten up the place.”

I narrow my eyes. “When did you become so concerned about things like new sheets and flowers?”

His mouth splits in a wide grin. “When I fell in love with an amazing woman who likes those kinds of things. Maybe you should try it.”

I shake my head and turn to go, calling out over my shoulder, “Not going to happen.”

And Trace’s laughter follows me out the door.

Chapter

Nine

Pressley

It’s moving day.

I’ve got all of my things packed, and Bram is waiting at his house for me to show up, but I’ve been stalling for the last fifteen minutes. While checking my toiletry bag for the third time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, I give myself a mental pep talk about how everything is going to be fine, and I’m making a mountain out of a mole hill.

“Hey. You almost packed?” Keegan asks as she walks into the room, and I look up at her with a shaky smile.

“I think I am.”

“Stop worrying,” she says, throwing her arms around me and pulling me into a warm, tight hug. “Everything is going to work out, and if it doesn’t, you’ll be back here with me in two weeks.”

She’s right. I know she is. And I also know that if thingsdogo well, I’ll have my friend back. This is a newbeginning for us, a chance for me to fix what’s broken between Bram and me.

Of course, even the thought of being friends with him again leaves me a little uneasy. As Keegan releases me from the hug and leans back to search my gaze, I realize why.

Some of the nerves I’m feeling are attributed to the fact that I don’t want to bejustfriends with Bram. I never have. I always hoped that things would progress between us and turn romantic, but I never wanted to push him. I let Bram set the pace, which was sloth-like in its momentum, and now that we’re back at square one, I don’t know if we’ll ever get to a place where he might want more from our relationship.

I don’t say any of this aloud, but Keegan’s softening expression tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking. We already went over it, and she’s convinced this living arrangement is going to be the start of something more.

“Let me know when you want to look at the silk pajamas and lace lingerie I found online for you,” she says with a grin, and a laugh bursts out of me, breaking the tension completely.

“That was for Pressley?” Trace asks with a frown as he walks into the room to grab my suitcase for me. “I saw it in the cart and ordered it, thinking it was for you.”

Keegan laughs. “You obviously didn’t look at the details. I picked Pressley’s size, and they’ll never fit over my big ass.”

“I love your ass,” he says, giving it a slap as he walks by with my luggage and leaves the room.

Keegan looks at me with an arched brow. “I guess it’ssettled, then. I’ll bring everything over when it gets delivered, and you can see it, then.”

I shake my head with a laugh. “I’m not wearing skimpy p.j.’s around the house to try to entice Bram.”

“We’ll see,” she says with a wink, then grabs my toiletry bag in one hand while wrapping the other around mine. Pulling me from the room, she adds, “Now, let’s get you out of here. Bram’s waiting.”

My mind scrollsthrough all of my questions and concerns as I drive over to Bram’s, and by the time I arrive, I’ve convinced myself nothing is ever going to happen between us. I just need to keep my head on straight, be a good roommate, and prove I’m a good friend to make this work.

This isn’t some romance novel. Living in forced proximity does not automatically guarantee feelings will change, sex will be had, or love will be found.

As soon as I pull into the drive, the negative thoughts scatter. I park and just stare at the house through my windshield, the sight of it awing me the way it always has. Bram’s house is a gorgeous modern log cabin with a wraparound porch that leads to a giant deck out back and big picture windows all the way around. I’ve always found its façade beautiful, and it’s finally hitting me that I get to live here.

The daze I’ve fallen into snaps when the front door opens, and the man, himself, steps out onto the porch. My heart starts to pound, and I forcibly pull myselftogether before stepping out of the car with what I hope is a passably believable smile.

“Hey,” he calls out as he jogs down the steps and strides toward me. “Let me get your bags for you.”

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