Page 165 of Make Me Laugh

I’m thirty and about to become a failed musician. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do outside of this. I majored in musical theater only to find out I didn’t want to play other characters on stage for the rest of my life.

I want to be Frankie, not who I’m told to be.

I love my current band. Like, a lot. We all vibe so well together, and the music we’re writing is really good.

I’m not just saying that because it’s mine either. I’m saying that because I know it is. I’m a musician now, but before I became one, I was a young girl who always had her headphones in and was known for making the best mixed CDs in middle school.

Our sound’s not mainstream right now, and that might kill us before we get the chance to live. I mean, fucking hell, we don’t even have a band name yet, and it’s been almost five months!

The manager we went to play for after Thanksgiving told us she thinks we’re very talented, but she doesn’t see a place for us with our current sound.

This night is about Jo and West… Don’t fuck it up!

I let out a long breath through thin lips, hoping to expel the imposter syndrome making a home inside my brain.

“What’s the sigh for?” Enzo asks, startling me enough that I jump, hand flying to my chest.

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on people like that!” For a massive guy, he’s entirely too quiet on his feet. Crossing my arms, I try to relax now that I know it’s just him beside me. I paint on a smile, hoping if I fake them long enough no one will be able to tell that I’m drowning in fear. “The sigh was because there’s nothing in life that makes me happier than getting to say I told you so.”

I can’t pay my rent. I’m about to lose my apartment. I’ll probably have to find a bartending job to make ends meet. Whatever it takes to not ask my parents for money… But hey! At least I get to say I told you so!

“Oh, believe me. I’m aware.” His accent is smooth, his voice deep with a songlike lilt that makes me want to listen to him speak for hours.

I don’t look over, not trusting myself not to stare at his lips. “And as usual, I was right. Actually, this.” I point at Jo and West. “Makes me right about a few different things.”

Enzo hums, and it draws my attention to the lips I’ve been avoiding since Philly. I’m met with his mischievous sideways smirk, my eyes jumping to his almost-black ones. “You know, that should be the band’s name.”

I raise a single brow, confused. “What should?”

“Told you so.” He says it, and I get the feeling I’ve been looking for. That OMG moment where it clicks and the name just feels right, like it’s been waiting there the whole time. “Because I guarantee that's what you’ll say when you accept your first Grammy.”