Nixon
I was such a freaking idiot.
I should have known better than to goad Charlie into doing something stupid.
The girl had no shame. Of course she’d sing in order to dump me in it.
Every eye in the place landed on us as we climbed up onto the tiny stage. Rachel grabbed a spare mic and set it up next to the piano while I took a seat and started to sweat.
Rubbing my hands together, I lightly placed them on the keys, memories flooding back like a tidal wave—Charlie dancing around the music room, singing with abandon while I pounded the keys and harmonized with her.
My throat swelled as I tried to block them out.
I was still trying to figure out what her apology was for. Was it because she gave away a little jealousy when she talked about me getting back to my girlfriend?
Or was it something deeper?
She looked like she had something to say, her hazel eyes at war while she sat at the table staring at me.
Was she jealous? The thought was a lick of fire in the back of mind. I’d talked myself into believing that our Yosemite lovefest had been one-sided. Like I’d loved that tent utopia and she’d just put on a good show.
I could never make myself fully believe it though. I’d felt her fold in my arms. She’d given in to her desire with a passion that met mine strength for strength.
Being around her again made the memories so colorful and vibrant. Hanging out was the easiest thing in the world, like we’d only been apart for days not years.
I wanted to be mad at her for the rest of the trip home. Read my damn Kindle until I had no new books left.
Minimal contact. Keep things quiet and easy.
But she made that impossible.
Only Charlie Watson could somehow get me onto a stage like this.
Only Charlie Watson could keep me there with her nervous, excited grin.
Rachel introduced us. “Charlie and Nixon, folks. The travelin’ duo.”
A few confused cheers went up, then dead silence.
Expectant silence.
I glanced at Charlie, who was staring down at me. Worry flickered over her features before she winced.
I laughed at her cute expression, then started drumming the top of the piano, giving her a steady beat for “We Are Young.”
She picked it up without me having to say a thing and came in right on time.
It was a stinging reminder of how in sync we’d always been.
But it was also a thing of beauty.
I came in for the second part of the first verse, my fingers dancing on the keys like they could never forget, even if I wanted to.
Singing with Charlie had always sent a thrill right through my body. Goose bumps rippled over my skin while my chest expanded with a warm fuzz I hadn’t felt in a really long time. I loved how we sounded together, and the smile on her face as she sang.
And I wasn’t the only one.
By the second chorus, the entire bar was into it, bobbing their heads, pointing at us while they commented to their neighbor, smiling.
Rachel jumped up just before the bridge kicked in and started singing, “Carry me home…”
Charlie and I did backup vocals, and the three of us sounded freaking awesome because we were having a blast.
My best friend grinned at me while she sang her little solo. Then I leaned into the mic and came in, building up the song to the final chorus where she started waving her arms. She soon had a bunch of people doing the same.
As soon as I wrapped up the song, cheers erupted from the crowd.
Charlie laughed, the sound melodic and sweet. She took my hand and we bowed together.
My entire body was buzzing as we headed for our table, getting pats on the back and compliments along the way. When I sat down to take in the monster burger on my plate, I couldn’t do anything but shoot Charlie a wide grin and raise my glass.
“What are we toasting?” She raised her beer.
“I don’t know.” I laughed and tapped my glass against hers before gulping down half the beer.
It felt damn good.
It made me realize how impossible it was to stay mad at Charlie.
And how impossible it was not to feel alive when I was around her.