Page 55 of Sing Your Secrets
sixteen
Miles
I’m gargling with mouthwash when the glaring ring of the doorbell sounds. Law and Sienna have one of those obnoxious doorbells that sing for a full minute. Every chime is like a mallet to my temple and it’s making me want to hurl all over again. It’s embarrassing I had to ask Reese to drive, but my blurry vision keeps accosting me and a car accident on the first date doesn’t sound all that romantic.
I still haven’t figured out how the hell I’m supposed to keep it together at a nightclub where I decided to take Reese dancing and then pull her on stage to sing to her. She doesn’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing yet, so I could technically switch up our plans. I wonder how she feels about sitting really still in a silent, dark room.
Trudging to the heavy, grand front door, I rip it open and for the briefest moment, all my pain and discomfort dissipates. There she stands, looking like a literal angel without wings. My jaw drops when I see Reese dolled up, head to toe. It should be a crime to look that fucking good.
“Goddamn,” I mumble.
Her blush shiny lips spread into a sly smile. “Exactly what I was going for,” she says as she winks. “But is this too much? You said we were going somewhere to dance…and it just now dawned on me that maybe I should’ve asked you what kind of dancing you meant.” She laughs, throwing her head back, and jostling her incredibly long, smoothed hair. It’s the first time I haven’t seen it curly. She must notice me staring because she suddenly runs her fingers through her hair, self-consciously. “I figured I’d fix my hair for you tonight. I usually don’t do much with it besides let it air dry.”
“Reese, you look so damn perfect, I don’t want to share you with any other eyes tonight. I don’t want to leave this house.” For multiple reasons. She beams at me. “And I think your hair is beautiful tonight, but I like it curly too.” I trace a long lock with my forefinger.
The sweet moment is fleeting, and the throbbing in my head returns, so strong, my vision goes black for a millisecond and I nearly keel over. I brace myself against the door.
“Whoa, there.” She grabs under my elbow as if her little self could steady me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Miles.” Her tone is stern. “What is wrong?”
“Come in,” I say, pulling her through the door frame. My fingers laced with hers, I guide her to the kitchen and onto a bar stool at the kitchen island, while I fetch two cold bottles of water. Reese is whipping her head around, left and right, taking in the grandeur of the kitchen.
“This place is impressive, right?” I only call it to attention because it’s not mine.
“Very—but…well, I don’t know how to say this without you taking it the wrong way,” she says, twisting the cap off the plastic bottle I just set in front of her, “but I’m used to it.”
“What?”
“Oddly enough, a lot of my friends are obnoxiously rich.”
“Really?” I try to arch one eyebrow but it hurts to move my face at the moment. “Are your friends our age?”
She nods. “Adler, the youngest of my friends just turned twenty-six. She wrote a bestseller which was released a couple of months ago. The advance her new publisher gave her for her next book—insane.”
“Impressive.”
“It still pales in comparison to what her fiancé makes. He’s big into investments and I’m pretty positive he had a feature in Forbes for up-and-coming venture capitalists.”
“Damn.”
Reese points to the door. “The fancy security system you have out front is Sabin Technology—the billion-dollar security company that my other close friend, Quinn, is the Chief Marketing Officer for. Her Dad, the CEO lives right down the street. It’s one of his seven or eight luxury properties in Colorado.”
I press my lips together, my intrigue slowly turning to obvious dismay.
“Last but not least, Noa, the only Mom in our friend group, just got engaged in December to Chase Ford. He’s a big-name Hollywood—”
“Oh, I know who Chase Ford is, Reese. I lived in L.A. His face is plastered on every other billboard down Hollywood Boulevard.”
“Ah, okay—well so his wealth is self-explanatory.”
“Do you have any normal friends? Because none of this is good for my ego at the moment.”
“There’s Mani,” she says with a nonchalant shrug. “She makes under seven figures. I mean barely, but—”
“Okay, yeah so, none of this is good for my ego, baby.” She pauses at my word choice, a peculiar smile touching her lips. “Sorry is ‘baby’ too much?”