Page 1 of Forever More

ONE

Annie

The music is piped in softly overhead to the nearly empty bar. There are a few stragglers sitting here and there, grabbing a last drink before heading home for the holiday. It’s probably their last reprieve before they are forced to endure their great grandma’s burnt turkey or spending time with their sibling they can’t stand.

I smile bittersweetly into my drink because it would be such a nice problem to have. Family to annoy you and drive you crazy. A place to go to where you belong regardless.

The barstool squeaks beside me as someone sits down, but I don’t look their way. Rather, I wait with bated anticipation that builds with each passing second before I hear a velvety smooth voice ask, “Whiskey on the rocks, huh?”

“It’s been that kind of week,” I say after a sip, my smile automatic despite the response. Nerves dance with that anticipation. Both hum through my veins even though we’ve been here, done this many times before.

“Let me guess,” he says as he points to my drink to order the same when the bartender looks our way. “Holiday blues got you down. Your roommates, your friends, everyone is leaving to go home for the holiday except for you?”

“I think you messed up.” I look at the man beside me for the first time. I’m met with narrowed gray eyes and a smile that just won’t quit. His dimples are subtle but there, and everything in his expression makes my insides sag just a little.

Lyric Evermore.

Yes, that Lyric Evermore. Lead singer of Evermore. Notorious ladies’ man. And a guy currently with a furrow to his brow as he stares at me while running a hand through his hair so that the silver rings on his fingers glint against the dim light.

“I didn’t mess up. I know my lines.”

“Yes, you did.” I shrug and fight my full-on grin. “Face it. The always-perfect Lyric Evermore messed up.” His smile is dazzling. So are his dark gray eyes that take me in and dance with amusement. “You may be a rock star now who has women falling at his feet every second of every day, but you can still flub a line.”

“At least it’s a line with you instead of screwing up a lyric onstage,” he murmurs before giving a shake of his head and simply staring at me. For the briefest of moments, I wonder if he feels the same way I do about being here. About doing this for a fourth year in a row.

About me like I do him.

But then he emits a bark of a laugh before pulling me into one of his big bearhugs, and I know I’m just hoping for things that aren’t there. That I’m still holding on to hope that he might see me as anything more than a little sister.

This is Lyric after all, and why would he choose me when he can have anyone he wants?

Besides, if he was interested in me, wouldn’t he have already made a move?

I shove the thought away and the resolve I had to finally tell him how I feel fades as he pulls me against him and squeezes tight. He smells of sunshine and ocean, and I’m taken back to that first night we met.

4 years ago

“Whiskey on the rocks, huh?”

I jolt at the sound of the voice. There’s no use trying to hide my half full glass or the bottle of whiskey partially hidden by the leg of the table where I sit on the front porch outside my pretty crappy apartment.

And frankly, it’s been a rather shitty week so the last thing I want to do is talk to someone I don’t know. My misery is no one else’s business but my own.

“It’s been that kind of week.” It’s all I say as I take another sip and close my eyes as it burns its way down my throat. I fight back the urge to cough at its god-awful taste and make a fool of myself. But the whiskey was all my roommates had left behind before they left home for the holiday, and I’m too damn broke to buy something I actually like.

“Let me guess,” he murmurs while I try to place his familiar voice. And of course, he sits down in the chair beside me without an invitation to.

Can’t a girl just be left alone?

“Let’s not guess,” I mutter.

“Holiday blues got you down? Everyone left town to head home for Thanksgiving and you’ve got no one to go home to?”

His words make my throat burn more than the alcohol did. Tears threaten but I sniff them away.

I finally put two and two together. He’s the guy who lives across the way in Apartment 34C. The one who plays music all hours of the night and who sings loud enough for all to hear.

“Go away 34C,” I mutter.