The Arrangement - Jerica MacMillan Page 0,52

on my plate, having agreed to eat more today.

It’s hard, though. Normally I’m ravenous, and the amount of food I eat only takes the edge off. I could totally eat this amount of food on the regular and feel great.

But today? Colt’s nerves must’ve infected me, because I’m having a hard time getting it all down. That, or I’m just nervous in my own right. And who could blame me? I’m debuting a whole night of new material. I can’t use any of the songs that we sang as Golden Enigma even if I wanted to. I don’t have the rights anymore. The label could come after me unless I’d reached out to negotiate either a flat fee or giving them a portion of our take.

And since our take is impossible to predict, though early ticket sales have been surprisingly decent, with a short lead time, there’s no way to know how full the venue will end up being. I’m trying not to set my hopes on a sold-out show. But if we could pull that off, it would set us up for bigger and better venues, and a series of strong performances could attract the kind of attention I need right now.

I manage to eat all my food anyway, because that’s the deal I made with Colt. And instead of changing, he’s lounging next to me on the loveseat in all his shirtless-and-gray-sweatpants-clad glory, searching for a movie to eat up the next ninety minutes.

“What time should we head to the venue?” I ask as he scrolls through the available options.

“Our sound check is at five and the show starts at seven. So we should leave by three thirty or so to give us plenty of time to get there and get settled.” His pretty blue eyes meet mine. “Sound good?”

I nod, mute.

He drops a hand on my knee and gives it a squeeze, sending a delicious shiver racing through my body. “We’ll be fine,” he says and takes his hand away. Which is good. Because using him for stress release and to calm my nerves would be a bad idea. For all the reasons I’ve listed in my head over and over and over again.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Both?”

The movie’s over way too fast and also it drags on forever, even though it’s a rom-com I’ve seen before. Time is weird when you’re nervously anticipating your return to the stage. Because it’s been months since my last performance, and this will be my first one in ages without my band on stage with me. It’ll just be me, my guitar, and a mic. I haven’t done anything like this since I played open mic nights at the local coffee shop when I was a sophomore in high school.

At least these people are coming to see me. And Colt. Us. Plus Colt is a surprisingly steady source of comfort, even though he can barely sit still, alternating between jiggling his knee a million miles an hour or tapping his fingers on anything and everything.

At one point during the movie, I reach over and grab his hand just to get him to stop for a while because it’s driving me bonkers.

He gives me a rueful grin. “Sorry.”

I smile back. “It’s okay. I get it. But I’m just going to hold your hand for a bit so you don’t start up again, because I need a break from the tapping.”

With a nod and the remnant of that grin still turning up the corner of his mouth, he turns his attention back to the TV. But I don’t miss the way he turns his hand over beneath mine and holds my hand right back. It’s not the boyfriend/girlfriend fingers laced together kind of hand holding. It’s more platonic than that. But it’s the most consistent touching we’ve done in weeks.

And this plus that kiss yesterday … has my pre-show nerves combining with my what the fuck is going on? anxiety, and if I don’t get one or both under control soon, I’m going to explode.

Eventually I slide my hand away from his, adjusting my position as an excuse, and he doesn’t seem upset by my withdrawal, his attention one hundred percent focused on the movie. And as soon as it’s over, I head for the shower while Colt gets lunch together.

This will be our last real meal for the day, since neither of us want to perform on a full stomach. He’ll be making energy

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