After four long hours of practicing, I head back to Carter’s carrying everything I own that actually matters to me, minus my guitar, which is already living at his place. When I get there, I’m hit with the smell of Italian food. Carter already has food on the table. It’s a little early, barely 5:30, but I’ll never complain about free food.
Carter greets me at the door, wraps his arms around me, and plants a wet kiss on my lips.
“I love you,” he says, like he’s addicted to the way it sounds.
I grin. “I could get used to that.”
Before he can respond, I pull him over to the couch. “Sit. I need to tell you what Mel and I talked about.”
I tell him everything: how she wants to invest in an open-mic cafe, how she opened up about her parents and the money they left her, and how she wants the three of us to work together on this thing. I leave out the part where she mentioned the article. It’s not the right time, and honestly, it’s not relevant to this conversation. I don’t want to ruin his mood.
Carter listens closely, but when I finish, he raises an eyebrow. “Okay, wait…so you’d accept her money, but not mine? Do you not want me to succeed in life?”
I laugh and nudge him. “Babe, no. I’ll take your money now, too.I don't want this to feel like a handout, but rather like a business deal. I just want to be treated equally and not like the broke person I am.”
He watches me quietly, still processing.
“I’ve got ideas,” I say. “But I think we should bring in a financial advisor or someone to help with accounting and planning. I want to be in charge of everything creative, including the aesthetic, the open-mic structure, the types of events we’llhost, and possibly even food and drinks. I know we probably can’t get a liquor license right away, but maybe we could go with a BYOB option? Or wine and beer?”
Carter folds his arms, but he’s smiling. “You really have all this under control? I gotta say, I’m impressed.”
I shrug with a smile. “Also, my staying here will help me save money. I’m still going to keep performing with Mel. Hopefully, I’ll be able to save up enough to invest in the business myself and pay you both back my portion. I want to earn my share and be a real part-owner.”
Carter looks at me with warmth. “Of course. No rush. You can consider yourself an owner already.”
I stare at him for a second, caught up in how easy he makes this. “How did I find you? You’re literally amazing. I fucking love you.”
He squeezes my hand, and we finally sit down to eat. Homemade chicken parm, which is Carter’s new go-to. It’s simple, with flour, eggs, breadcrumbs, cheese, and is nearly impossible to mess up. Probably took him twenty minutes, max. But it’s still amazing.
The rest of the evening is low-key. No sex, no drama, just hanging out, chatting, being home together.
***
I can’t believe it’s already Saturday. The Boom Lounge event is tonight. That’s wild. Time literally flies.
But I’m not freaking out. Not anymore. Mel and I practiced hard all week, and every night I came home to Carter cooking me meals or having takeout already delivered. I rewarded him a few times with a nice blowjob, which he obviously loved.
At roughly 8 p.m., Mel, Carter, and I arrive together at Boom Lounge. Quickly, we head to the stage area to tune our guitars, while Carter heads toward the seating area.
Mel and I prepare to walk onto the stage for our quick 8:30 set. The lights dim, and my heart starts beating loudly in my chest, not in a nervous way, but in that anticipatory excitement kind of way. Mel stands next to me, holding her guitar, wearing a sleek, emerald-green dress that somehow makes her look both badass and elegant. I glance down at my own outfit: black tailored suit, open collar, no tie. I feel good and confident, like I belong here.
We walk out onto the stage and into the slightly dimmed spotlight. I blink for a second, taken aback by the crowd. The room is packed with people in cocktail dresses, tailored tuxedos, and designer everything. I expected this, but it’s different when I actually witness the glam and wealth. Everyone is talking lightly, clearly acknowledging that I am on stage, ready to perform.
I scan the audience instinctively and look for Carter. I see him sitting at a small table in the back, with a man who looks vaguely familiar and a blonde-haired woman. Carter is looking sexy in a navy blue suit that hugs his frame in all the right places. His hair is neatly styled, and his eyes are locked on me, with a wide smile. It makes my chest go warm, in that unbearable, wonderful way.
Mel catches my eye and mouths, “Let’s do this.”
She strikes the first chord, and I follow her lead. The moment the music starts, the room settles. Everyone watches us with curiosity, like everyone suddenly remembers they’re not just here to be seen and that they’re here to listen.
As we move into the first verse, I notice a few people stop mid-conversation. A guy in a tux taps his partner and nods toward the stage. Someone pulls out their phone to take a video. And towards the back, a man in a shiny gray blazer closes hiseyes and sways to the beat. It feels like we are killing this performance.
By the time we hit the chorus, I can feel the energy increase, with the majority of guests moving to the beat. I catch Carter again, watching with a proud look that makes my stomach twist with happiness. He mouths, “You’re amazing,” and I nearly stumble over a lyric.
Mel steps forward and takes the next verse, and I let myself breathe, just for a second. She’s in her element, glowing under the soft lighting, and for a second, it hits me that we’re doing it. We’re really here. At Boom Lounge. In front of a group of at least one hundred high-class strangers, looking like we belong.
We move into the next song without missing a beat. Mel gives me a quick smirk as she transitions effortlessly between chords, and I pick up the first line. My voice feels steady and settled. The regular nervous jitters are replaced with momentum.
We play two, three, four songs, each one building on the last. The crowd is into it. Heads bob along, people sway in their seats, or whisper something to the person next to them while still keeping their eyes locked on us. Even the bartenders pause randomly to look up from their craft cocktails.
