Page 115 of The Revenge Game
The realization hits me like Texas summer lightning—sudden, brilliant, and somehow inevitable.
I deserve to be honest about who I actually am.
When the song ends, I hand my microphone to an eager Pete.
Then, as Pete starts to belt out “Grandma Got Ran Over By a Reindeer,” I make my way across the room toward Drew.
My heart thunders against my ribs with each step. Drew’s half-smile turns into a full bloom as I approach.
“Hey,” he says. “Your singing was…enthusiastic.”
“What can I say? Nothing brings out my inner Mariah quite like competitive carol singing.”
“I think you just traumatized several Christmas carolers into early retirement.”
I laugh, and Drew’s focus skips to my lips, his gaze lingering on my mouth.
The air between us heats.
And when I glance up, it seems like the universe is sending me a message because we’re standing under a sprig of mistletoe.
Drew follows my gaze upward, his eyes widening slightly.
“Oh,” he says softly. “We don’t have to… I mean, I know you’re not?—”
I cut him off by cupping his face in my hands and kissing him.
The party noise fades, replaced by my heart pounding in my ears. Drew makes a surprised sound against my mouth before melting into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders.
When we break apart, the first thing I see is Drew’s face, his eyes wide.
Then I become aware of the sudden quiet, the weight of dozens of eyes on us.
A laugh bubbles up in my chest, hysteria mixed with relief. Because the world hasn’t ended.
And Bobby Ray’s voice has gone quiet.
Drew’s still staring at me like he can’t quite believe what just happened.
“Sorry,” I tell him, though I’m not sorry at all. “I’m just tired of pretending you’re not the best part of my day.”
Drew’s eyes go soft, but there’s still something in his expression I can’t interpret. He seems almost haunted, like he’s carrying some secret weight that’s threatening to pull him under.
“Yo, Justin,” Dave’s voice over the microphone shatters the bubble between us.
I turn to find the whole sales team still standing near the karaoke machine, staring at me with wide eyes. For a split second, I’m transported back to high school, that same feeling of being watched, judged.
But this time, it’s different. This time I’m choosing to be seen, choosing to be real, and the freedom of that choice makes me feel lighter than air.
“I really need to go talk to the sales guys for a second,” I say. “But I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Sure,” Drew says.
I feel oddly weightless as I cross the floor. Like I’m walking through one of those dreams where everything’s shifted sideways into something new and terrifying and wonderful all at once.
And while my stomach is churning at the prospect of the upcoming conversation, one part of me is oddly calm.
Because this is me. Like it or lump it.
