Page 28 of Conflicting Lyrics
Maya groans, her hands covering her face as she leans forward on her knees. “I don’t even know if I should be surprised at this point in our friendship or not,” she mutters.
“You really shouldn’t. You know me enough by now that there’s nothing I won’t say or do. I have no shame. And if I think my girl needs to spice up her alone time, you damn well know I’m gonna be there for her. I knew you wouldn’t have come with me to get these or go by yourself, so I did it for you. I see you after your heats, you’re miserable. And after years of this shit, I’m not going to allow it anymore. You won’t pack up, that's fine. But my girl’s pussy needs better care.”
“Stop. Dear god, please, stop.” She laughs, shaking her head.
“I think the words you're looking for arethanks, Lulu. You're the best friend a girl can ever ask for.” I grin back, putting the toys into the bags and handing them to her. “You don’t have to use them, just know they’re there for you if you need them. Also, I wasn't kidding about that first toy. It looks intimidating as fuck, but boy does it blow your mind.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she mutters, taking the bags over to the closet by the door.
“You're not going to use them, are you?” I pout with a sigh, pulling my feet up onto the couch.
“No. But the thought is what counts. So, thank you.”
“You're welcome.” I beam. “Now, let's get to what I’m really here for.”
“Work?” Her eyes light up. I swear this girl is a workaholic.
“Yes, work.” I giggle, pulling my laptop out of its bag. “Girl, we have so much going on. I fucking love it.”
She rushes over to sit down next to me so she can get a look at my laptop.
Over the next hour, I show her all the videos I’ve made in the past few days that have gone viral. Her eyes widen and her lips part when I pull up her dashboard to see how much she earned just because of those videos.
Since becoming Maya’s full-time PA and social media manager, she’s given everything over to me. All she has to do is write the books, and I handle the rest.
Like her finances. She used to be obsessed, checking them every day, and when they dropped, she would stress out and work harder than she needed.
At the end of each month, we would sit down and I’d show her everything she’s made and we would go from there.
“Lulu…” She turns to me with wide eyes. “That’s a big number.”
“I know!” I squeal.
“No.” She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. That would mean… that I’ve made…”
“Three mother fucking million dollars this year, baby!” I cheer, dancing in my seat. I’m so damn proud of my girl. She works so hard, her books are phenomenal, and I’m thrilled that the world sees her talent.
“We have offers rolling in, you know.”
She shakes her head. “No. You know I won’t sign until a series is done.”
“I know. And I would never ask you to. I’m just letting you know that when you're ready, the world will be too.”
“Do I even need to?” she asks, looking at the screen again. “This is all while I’m an indie author, Lulu. Like… how?”
“Because you’re fucking amazing.” I bump her shoulder. “I know it. Your readers know it. The whole fucking world knows it.”
Her brown eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, you know that, right?”
“Stop it.” My own emotions bubble to the surface. “You totally would have.”
“No,” she insists. “You saw a broken, lonely girl and refused to give up until you made her your best friend. I would never have pushed myself to do the things you believed I could have. I wouldn’t be here without you by my side.”
“No, really, stop it.” Tears trickle down my cheeks, and my heart clenches. I shove at her shoulder, saying, “You know I hate to cry.”
“Sorry.” She giggles, but it turns into a sniffle. I let her pull me into a hug, and we sit like that for a moment, enjoying each other's embrace.
Being friends with Maya has been one of the greatest honors of my life. Since coming to Calling Wood and meeting her, everything changed. I became the girl I’ve always wanted to be, the girl I knew I was deep down. The one who was locked in a box, made to believe it was wrong. The one molded into someone else's image, or the idea of what I had to be, according to them.
