“About five times now.”

“What’s one more time, though, right?”

Before I could ask him not to insult my ears for the sixth time, he dived right into it, giving me every horrible detail about his experience with this third-nipple girl. Halfway in, an arm went around my shoulders, and I turned my head to Rome, who was shaking his head at me.

“Since when do you come to the table?” he asked me quietly, with a knowing smile.

“Just checking in on you guys,” I answered. I was so lame. Rome already knew somehow. The guy was a mind reader.

“Drop the arm, Rome,” Carter then said firmly, cutting Jared’s story off.

Rome dropped his arm, but he gave me a big fat kiss on the side of the head, whispering in my ear, “That should piss him right off, beautiful.”

Great, because what I needed right now was a pissed off Carter. I looked at him and, sure enough, he was glaring at Rome with the frostiest look ever. I thought I felt an arctic chill sweep through the room just then.

“Ladies,” Rome then said, motioning to me, “this sweetheart here is the creator of Fatal Rebellion. Without her, we never would have been born into this magnificent world of music and –”

“And tits with three nipples,” Jared cut in, taking a huge swig of his drink.

The girls laughed, but it sounded contrived. The blonde girl I aptly named Big Tits stared levelly at me and asked in a slur, “So, who are you exactly?”

“Just a waitress,” I muttered absently, shrugging off my existence because it was a pretty dismal one at the moment.

“Fuck off,” Rome countered in dismay. “Just a waitress? Bitch, please. This stunning babe here is Leah Miller, one of the best chicks to ever walk into all our lives. Right, guys?”

Jared and Leo nodded vaguely, mumbling their yeahs, while Carter just stared at us with an intense look.

“Isn’t that true, Carter?” Rome then asked him, giving him a pointed look that put him on the spot. “She’s your…?”

Tensed and pissed, Carter ran his teeth over his bottom lip, answering in a hard voice, “She’s my best friend.”

I stared at him in disbelief. That’s it? I was his… best friend?

The world fell away. I swear, it did. The background was all black and empty as I looked to him with hopeless eyes, wondering why he wasn’t calling me something else.

How long was it going to take for him to open his eyes and see what I truly was? I was a fool for expecting more. I suppose I hoped being around him with other girls would make him realize he was technically taken.

Rome’s hand suddenly squeezed mine, and I wanted to smack him just then for putting Carter on the spot like that. What was his problem? It was almost like he’d done it on purpose, knowing exactly what to say and…

I sighed. Fucking Melanie. She’d put him up to this, hadn’t she? They’d been spending a lot of time together. I should’ve known.

I tried to play it off with a fake smile. I shouldn’t be surprised. Not at all. Carter had never hinted that he would ever call me his girlfriend. It was silly to be here and “insert” myself like she told me to do. I turned away after that, telling them I had to get back to work, when really, I felt like a complete moron.

Minutes later, the band set up on stage. I nursed my broken ego, ignoring Mel’s questionable looks as I resumed giving people their orders. I wouldn’t let it get to me. Carter was kissing me at the end of every night, so who cares what he called me in front of everybody, right?

The twisted feeling in my chest said otherwise.

At the corner of my eye, I watched the guys prepare to perform. Carter wasn’t big about speaking on the mic. That was something Rome did from behind the drums. It should have ruined him somehow, but it gave him the complete opposite reaction. The girls thought he was mysterious, and I tended to roll my eyes when I heard some of the things they’d say.

“He’s just so deep of a guy.”

“He’s serious. Serious men are the most soulful.”

“I bet you he’s the most philosophical guy, like, ever.”

Puhlease.

They didn’t see him the way I did. Up every morning with just his briefs on, singing stupid songs on the spot as I walked around. This morning it was about me standing in the kitchen making toast. He rhymed toast and roast in a line that made no sense, and it was far, far from soulful.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I’d told him.

He played some cheap tune on his guitar again and sang, “If it doesn’t make sense then Leah you’re” – pause – “tense.”

Ugh. That earned him a smack on the arm, but the memory made me smile.

See? I was stressing over nothing. We had something special, so I couldn’t understand exactly why tonight’s incident was getting to me the way it was.

I took a break sometime later, and with my back leaning against the wall beside the bar, I watched him get lost in his words, singing a song about sad memories. Sometimes he’d drop little things here and there, about a woman with curls and sad blue eyes. I had a feeling it was his mother he was singing about, and I wished he would open up to me about his past.

He’d come a long way since the very start. I remembered how nervous he was the first night he was due to go onstage. He’d been pacing the suite for hours while I got ready for my shift. After finding two other guitarists to form the band – Jared and Leo – they’d practiced for weeks in the garage. I thought that would have helped him get over his nerves, but actually being on a stage in front of strangers was different.

I tried to comfort him, only there was really nothing I could do. But then he came to me right before Rome drove us there and said, “If I asked you to stand where I could see you while I’m up there, would you do it?”

“Of course,” I told him. “You don’t even need to ask.”

He seemed extremely relieved by that, resting his forehead against mine. “Good. I need you, that’s all. If you’re there, I can just look at you and pretend it’s just us, you know?”

I’ll never forget how choked up that made me. I simply smiled at him in response because I was sure he’d hear the break in my voice if I spoke. And when the time came for him to sing that night, I stood where he could see me and he stared at me the entire time he sang. It was just us, at the creek, him unloading his soul to me, and me listening with bated breath.