She bit her lip. “And you can’t get mad at me.”
My shoulders dropped. “Jane…”
God love my best friend, but she was one of those people who lived by the old adage “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.” It should be her life motto, and I know her parents would agree wholeheartedly.
Jane downed her drink with one final swallow and set her eyes on me. “Do you remember Vinny?”
Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Your Uncle Vinny?”
“Yeah.”
“The Uncle Vinny that you and I spent spring break with three years in a row?”
“Yeah.”
“The Uncle Vinny that sent us care packages all throughout college?”
“Yeah, him.”
I finally looked at her like she had lost her mind. “Oh, no. Sorry. I don’t remember him.” Jane’s hand stung my arm as she smacked me. “Obviously I remember him, Jane. Quit being weird and just spit it out.”
She blew air out of her mouth and turned her attention away from me. “Well… I kind of told him about you and your writing.”
My ears burned.
My heart stilled.
And just like that, my entire body went numb.
“You… what?”
She closed her eyes. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad!!”
I shook my head, although she couldn’t see me through her closed, shimmery eyelids. “I did not promise I wouldn’t get mad. Why did you do that?! You know that’s… off limits. I don’t talk about that stuff with anyone except you and Cara, and even that’s rare.”
“I know, I know. But just hear me out before you clam up.”
I stayed silent, picking at the soggy napkin my water was sitting on. I was a little angry and maybe a little hurt. I didn’t like people knowing I had this far-fetched dream buried inside of me that I continued to push away because I was a big, fat scaredy-cat. I didn’t like it one bit.
“So, I was at Vinny’s a few weeks ago, and he was talking about work. You do remember where he works, right?”
Only at the biggest record label in the entire music industry, which is how Jane created all these kick-ass relationships with all the famous people that I never got to meet because I wasn’t about that extroverted life. Hence, why I taught tiny humans for a living. They were easy. Adults—especially famous ones—were not my thing.
Meeting Ed Sheeran? That would be pretty freaking cool.
Did I take her up on the opportunity to do so months ago when she had an exclusive interview with him here in town?
Negative.
Even the thought of being in the same city as him made my palms sweat.
“Yeah, I remember,” I said, my voice on the verge of snapping.
“Well, he kept going on and on about how one of his clients was having a really rough time writing his new album. Like, even Vinny’s bosses were breathing down his neck because they expected him to have at least given them a single by now.”
“Okay. And…” I signaled for the bartender. I needed to order my food so I had something to do with my hands other than clenching them tightly together in my lap.
“And he was stressed. They were at a total loss. They had no idea what to do with him. He’s one of those artists that’s known for their own songs, you know? Like, that’s his appeal. He writes his own shit. Everyone wants a piece of him because they think they truly know him from his music.”