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“Which clearly you have.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“She’s a workaholic,” Henna interjects. I glance up to realize that Aaron and her are watching the interaction between us.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I disagree.
“She’s a workaholic,” she addresses Abel directly. “Though she probably wouldn’t focus so much on work if she hadotherthings going on in her life.”
Heat instantly creeps up my neck and across my cheeks. I have to forcefully resist the urge to kick Henna under the table.
I love my friend dearly, but sometimes she doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. I give her a look that tells her that, but her only response is a sweet smile as her gaze goes back to Abel.
“So, what about you, Abel? We know you play music. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“And you make a living doing that?”
“For the last decade anyway.” He nods, taking a pull from the beer bottle in front of him.
“Before he left for California, he was playing six or seven nights a week,” Aaron chimes in.
“I’ll get there again.” Abel takes another long drink.
“I’m sure you will,” Aaron agrees. “I know I used to give you hell about not getting arealjob,” —He makes quote marks with his fingers— “but after seeing you up on-stage last weekend, I don’t know, man. I feel like I finally get it.”
“Took you long enough.”
“I guess I can agree with that.” Aaron chuckles.
“We should totally go see him play again,” Henna tells Aaron. “Where are you playing next?”
“Mulligan’s on Thursday night.”
“Mulligan’s?” she asks Aaron, who nods, sliding an arm around her shoulder.
“Sounds good to me,” he confirms.
“What about you, Peyton? You in?” Henna pulls her bottom lip into her mouth to keep herself from smiling, as if I don’t know her game.
“I’m not sure. I have a lot going on next week.”
“Shut up.” Henna swipes her hand through the air in my direction. “You’ll come.”
“So I can play the third wheel?” I gesture between her and Aaron. “I think I’ll pass.” I drink the remainder of my wine, ignoring the feeling of Abel’s gaze hot on the side of my face.
The truth is, I want nothing more than to go. To see Abel up on that stage, to exist in his presence. Which are the exact reasons why I shouldn’t go.
“Mulligan’s is a pretty incredible place,” Aaron tells me.
“Just promise you’ll think about it,” Henna concedes when she realizes I’m not budging.
“I promise I’ll think about it.” But I only say it so she will shut up.
“You should come.” It’s the last thing I expect out of Abel and the one thing that has the power to melt my resolve in an instant. “Mulligan’s is a good time. You’d have fun.”
A clinking of glass grabs my attention, and I’ve never been more thankful for an interruption in my life. “Can I have everyone’s attention?” Sam’s dad stands at the head of the table, a wine glass in his hand.
