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I turn on the stool, tapping a few more keys to fill the silence. “Honestly?” I look down at the tattoo one more time, wondering what she might pull out of me if she asks about the others. Of course, she picked the heaviest one first. Some of them are absolute bullshit–just messing around with friends. My gaze slides in her direction. “I was more concerned about hiding his weird, fucking anime porn from my mom when it happened.”
The cackle she releases breaks the weird heaviness in the room, and for that, I’m thankful.
“So, what song are you thinking about writing?” I ask. “It’s your bucket list, after all. Should we rewrite the lyrics toHappy Birthday?”
She laughs again. “Oh, come on Finn. We can do better than that.”
Ellis stands up, hovering over me as she taps a few keys on her own, the notes playing in the room as she raises a brow. “Let’s write a cheesy wedding song for our dear friends, Angie and Luke.” She taps another key, and my eyes track the movement before meeting her gaze once more. Her scent invades my lungs.She smells like fresh flowers in spring, and I decide that I’ve found the cure for seasonal depression.
It’s Ellis.
Something spikes in my blood, but I keep it contained. “It’s only right,” I offer.
She nods once, a false seriousness overtaking her expression. “After stealing their champagne? You’re absolutely correct.”
Twelve
Ellis
The only thing scarier than crashing a wedding with a complete stranger was having a fancy-looking microphone shoved in my face and being expected to repeat whatevermadness we had crafted in the forty-five minutes we spent writing our song.
Finn started out with the keyboard, pressing a few keys and slowly working into something that sounded like real music. I had sat listening to him play, and while I didn’t want to admit that I had some of those feelings I joked about, I did.
Slowly, the song transformed into something else, and a melody broke through–the lyrics following. And while I’d never written a song before, I would be lying if I said I didn’t think it was good.
I click the lock button on my phone, glancing at the floor where it sits next to the beanbag and reading four a.m. on the screen. Sometime after I finished singing my heart out, somewhat hesitant at first, I walked back into the other room to grab my backpack and fished out my sketchbook and charcoal pencils–everything I needed to pass the time while Griffin picked up different instruments, working quietly as he pieced together thisthingwe had created together.
I look at the sketch, brushing away stray eraser pieces. I had drawn Finn, sitting on his stool with a water bottle on the floor, the sleeves of his sweatshirt pulled down, and his hood up with headphones on as he stared at a monitor.
Griffin pulls one side of the headphones back so he can hear and turns on the stool, swiveling in my direction. “You’ve been working on that for a while,” he states. “What are you drawing?”
“Ha.” I snap the sketchbook shut. “Top secret stuff. Spy work, actually. I lied about my job.”
His eyes sparkle in the dim light of the lamp, and I wonder how we are both still awake. “I knew it.” He pulls the headphones off fully, wrapping them around the back of his neck. “You aren’t passionate about marketing.”
I tilt my head to the side and shrug. “Guilty.” Placing the sketchbook and pencil on the floor near my feet, I look up again. “How much longer until we have a real-life song?”
“A few more hours.” He swivels back and forth on the chair, stretching his arms up before pulling his hood down and placing his hands on the back of his head. A small sliver of skin flashes above his basketball shorts, and I glance away. That little sliver of stomach is kryptonite to all women everywhere. Especially when it’s Griffin’s.
“It has to be perfect,” he finishes.
I clear my throat, fighting the insecurity that rises in me. “My voice is that bad, huh?”
To throw him off my scent and make him believe I’mnotnervous about the whole singing thing, I offer him a casual smile.
“Not your voice.” His smirk tells me everything I need to know as he sways back and forth on the stool. His eyes linger on me and my heart beats like a kick drum–keeping time with the music we’ve created.
My phone vibrates from the floor, and I watch as Lennon’s name pops up for a Facetime call.
“Do you care if I answer this?” I ask.
“Go ahead.”
When I click the green button, her face fills the screen, red hair piled in a messy bun on her head. “I was just getting up to let my parents' dog out,” she says by way of greeting. “You never texted me at all! Are you alive, bitch?” Her brows furrow, the pause loaded with tons of realization. “Wait.” Lennon’s eyes widen. “Whose shirt is that? Where are you? Oh my god, Ellie!”
I shush her as Finn’s deep chuckle sounds from where he’s still sitting. He puts his headphones back on, and turns toward the monitor, giving us privacy, I suppose.
“You’re still with him!”
