Page 36 of From Drummer to Gamer

Heaven.

That was what it was.

Pure, golden heaven.

I don’t think I have ever had another caramel latte that tasted like this, and I don’t think I ever would. What magic did she put in here?

“It’s really good, Sierra. Thank you,” I said, rolling down the seat on her left.

She beamed that wide smile once again, her dimple curling in her cheek.

So fucking adorable.

“Try the muffin too. We’ll get started.” She pointed toward the wall. “So I have quite a few options, as you can see. I divided the names into six different categories. You can pick one out of each or combine both. How does that sound?” Her eager eyes waited, full of anticipation.

An inhale caught in my throat. “It sounds good.”

“Perfect.” She clapped.

In thirty minutes, I was spoiled. Too spoiled that I was full of sugar and brimming with energy for something that used to be torture.

Suddenly, I wanted this to last longer.

I wanted to pick names with her more.

Sierra was like science fiction today, eyes filled with an array of emotions glimmering as she made animated gestures, her hands flying around as she explained everything.

Underneath all that sass and sunshine, she was something more.

She was smarter than she put on, her mind worked like a chess game, analyzing the peculiar details and drawing unconventional solutions. In the end, no matter the obstacle, she had a way to grasp around it.

“Okay, here you go. These are the ones we nailed down.” She handed me all the yellow and orange sticky notes.

I thanked her as I scarfed down my fifth muffin like a hungry bear. I lost all control when I popped the first one in my mouth. They were green apples and caramel, and I was a goner by the time I even finished it. I promised an extra hour in the gym because I wasn’t giving these up for any fucking rules.

My eyes roamed over the names written in a delicate cursive. We narrowed them down to two categories, concluding it was best if we mixed two words rather than kept one. One would be something random or cool (according to her), and the other would be music-related.

“What about Real Symphony?” I mumbled.

“That sounds like something Abuela would listen to on her way to bingo.”

“Fine.”

“Phoenix Song records?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Sounds too mythical.”

“But Phoenix is fun. From the ashes and all.”

“Yo, what’s going on here?” slurred a groggy voice.

We both snapped our heads to the door to watch Raphael enter the kitchen, rubbing his nose with the back of his T-shirt.

“We’re picking names for Matty’s label.”

“What!” Raphael shrieked. “You haven’t picked a name yet?”

I sighed. “Did you even read the contract?”