Page 27 of Burn the Script

“Looking for me?” Miguel appeared from the kitchen and smiled at Tatum. “Love the house, dear. Great layout. Mind if I check out the upstairs too?”

“Go for it,” she said.

Miguel’s feet faltered when he caught sight of Maisy. Mouth gaping, he took in all five feet of her, from the curly hair with blue tips to the orange corset top and boots with neon laces. “Pictures don’t do you enough justice. You’re like an adorable, edgy sprite.”

“And you’re a walking dress-code violation.” Her disapproving scowl deepened while she examined his braided sandals, green pants, and a paisley shirt.

I held my breath. Miguel was sensitive underneath his witty, sarcastic armor. And people who didn’t know Maisy could never tell when she was teasing, thanks to her dry humor and monotone voice. The moment could’ve ended in disaster, but Miguel hit me with a huge, dimpled smile.

“Dibs. This one’s mine.” Linking their arms, he dragged her up the stairs. “Lead the way, angel.”

Tatum fanned her face with both hands. “What a cutie. And those dimples!”

“I know, right? He’s also really smart and funny without trying to be.”

“What’s under the fancy clothes?” Her eyebrows danced on her forehead. Their light shade of brown matched her natural hair color, which I’d only seen in photos.

“A tender heart, but don’t tell him I said so. He’ll deny it.” I threw an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the staircase. “We better get up there before Maisy shows him your messy closet. We’re trying to make a good impression.”

“He barely acknowledged me,” she whispered.

When her bottom lip jutted out, I tossed my head back and laughed. She was used to people fawning over her.

“It takes a lot more than fame to impress Miguel. He makes everything a challenge.”

“Sounds like you’ve found your perfect prince.”

Kissing the top of her head, I said, “I’m pretty sure I have.”

We followed the voices coming from her bedroom. Maisy and Miguel were lying in similar positions on the king-size bed, feet crossed at the ankles and arms folded over their stomachs. They must’ve cut the house tour short.

“People who dig in the popcorn bowl for a ridiculously long time,” he said.

Maisy scoffed. “Twelve out of ten. Grab some fucking popcorn already. It’s not a treasure hunt.”

“What are we doing?” Tatum asked, picking up the guitar that was leaning against the wall.

“Rating all the things we find annoying,” Miguel replied.

She looked at me and mouthed, “Oh my god. There’s two of them,” then giggled while finding space on the mattress.

As the rating game continued, I snapped dozens of photos with my phone while Tatum strummed a new melody. Our trio had become a quartet. I should’ve known better than to worry. Miguel fit right in.

After we heard all the wild tales from the tour, he excused himself to use the restroom. Maisy shot to a sitting position while keeping an eye on the door.

“He’s cute, and you’ve kept him from us. No pictures or anything,” she said.

“We’ve been getting to know each other.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Fully clothed or…”

The eager expressions on both women had me shaking my head. “No comment, except to say the past three months have been the best of my life.”

Maisy pointed at my mouth. “Shit. You love him. That sappy, disgusting smile is a dead giveaway.”

The smile she was referring to had become a permanent fixture on my face, and it grew even wider. “He’s the one. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like I’m wide awake and experiencing all the things poets write about. I think he feels the same, but he’s holding back.”

“Maybe it’s because you have a girlfriend.” Tatum’s eyes glistened. It was hard to tell if they were happy tears or sympathetic ones because everything made her cry. “How does Miguel feel about our situation?”