Page 56 of Sing Your Secrets
“Not at all,” she says, “I like how it sounds coming off your lips.”
I smile wide, ignoring my previous discomfort. “So, you’re okay with introducing me to your very successful friends as a broke wannabe singer?”
“Come here,” she says beckoning me over. I sit next to her and she flattens her small palm on my mid-back, soothingly. “I only mentioned all that to let you know, I’m around money all the time, and I’m not impressed with it. In fact, all my rich friends don’t act like they are. They hardly think about money.”
“Easy to do when you have it.”
She laughs. “They still struggle. They wake up every morning and stress about their days. They have insecurities and goals they can’t just buy. They all have hurts, demons, trials, and tribulations like every other person.” I enjoy the warm comfort as she rubs her hand up and down my back. “What I’m trying to say is that money doesn’t mean anything to me. There are far more important things.”
“Being?”
Trailing her hand across my back, she presses it against my chest until she finds my heartbeat under her palm. “This,” she says and then giggles as she lets her fingers tiptoe to the waistband of my pants. “And this.”
I laugh lightly. “You’re like horny-romantic,” I say with a smile. “Which is my new favorite kind of romantic by the way.”
She laughs so hard she snorts but stops immediately when she notices me wince. The wooziness is building. Oh, please stop. I don’t want to be sick again.
“Miles, what the hell is wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I’m going to be sick,” I mutter before rising from the stool and making a beeline to the bathroom down the hall, which I pray is out of earshot. Sinking to my knees in front of the toilet bowl, I wretch dramatically, but there’s nothing in my stomach. I tossed the entire contents of my stomach right before Reese got here. I wait until the urge to dry heave passes. Fuck! This is not remotely sexy.
What’s worse is I feel a small pair of hands rubbing my shoulders, tenderly. I didn’t hear her come in.
“Your vision is blurry…you’re nauseous…does your head hurt?”
“Miserably,” I mumble.
“Miles, this is a migraine.”
“Is it? I’ve never had one before.”
“Seems like it,” she says.
I grunt and pull my head away from the bowl, resting my back against the bathroom wall. Reese grabs a hand towel and runs it under the faucet. Once it’s soaked, she wrings it out and folds it neatly. She hands it to me and I try to wipe my mouth.
“No,” she says, “on the back of your neck.” I do as she instructs and feel a bit of relief.
“Sorry.” I press the back of my hand against my lips. “I just need a minute and we can go.”
“Are you insane?” she squawks. “Whoops, sorry,” Reese adds, covering her mouth and speaking in a softer tone. “We need to get you into bed, and then I’m going to go.”
“I understand.” I hang my head, too weak to fight her on it. “I’m shitty company right now. I was really looking forward to tonight though. I’ll miss you.”
She rolls her eyes. “You goof, I’m leaving for the store. I need to go get a migraine cocktail.”
“A what?”
“My friend Mani gets chronic migraines. They are awful. After three years of living with her, we have perfected a very specific mix of OTC pain relievers, caffeine, and salty cracker snacks to tide her over until she can see her doctor.” Holding her hand out, she wiggles her fingers, asking for my hand to help me up. “I’m coming right back.”
The room is spinning, and I actually do need her help to get up. Securing my hand around hers, I ask, “You sure you got me?”
She plants her feet and tugs with all her might.
“Yeah, Miles. I got you.”