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“I just want to wish you luck. I hope you make it on the project.” She smiles faking an innocence she’s probably never possessed.

I nod, “Thanks.”

I’m ready for her to leave, but she stays put. Her smile still displaying perfectly bleached teeth.

“I’ve heard that Blane’s assigning artists based on the highest reader count.” She leans forward, bending at the hips as if she’s sharing a secret.

“Where did you hear that?” I question her, skeptical.

She straightens up, shrugging. “Just gossip around the office.”

With that, she makes her way over to her desk, leaving me stressed and annoyed.

In any given week, the reader count varies between her and me.

Occasionally, you’ll have Marcy or Jake battling for top spot, but I only care where I fall in terms of Justina.

I just hope this week is one where I come out on top.

The mere idea of following Taylor Swift around on tour is heart stopping.

Besides being a diehard fan, I find her inspiring.

She is one of the few that try to stay true to herself by writing her own music. It’s admirable at the very least.

I shake off the nerves I feel when I see that Blane has accepted my calendar invite and try to finish my current article about Demi Lovato’s most recent declaration of pronouns, but it’s taking every ounce of focus I have.

Thankfully, I’m able to submit my piece before five o’clock and rush out of there. I need a drink.

I push through the front doors of the Kimpton Gray Hotel in the center of the Loop here in Chicago, the white marble in the lobby shining bright with the evening sun. The heels of my combat boots squeak against the floor as I make my way to Vol. 39, the bar my roommate works at.

It’s instantly darker, the vintage bar is cast in a soft yellow glow illuminating the liquor bottles lining the glass shelves behind the glossy, wooden counter. I wave to Issac, who’s pouring the only guest an aged scotch into a crystal tumbler that probably cost more than my entire outfit.

He nods his head and focuses on the man in his late fifties, who’s probably here escaping his wife back at home. I walk to the back of the bar and find my roommate, Sam, sitting on a brown leather couch between two black walls lined with books.

She smiles, the black cocktail straw still between her perfectly white teeth, as she motions for me to sit next to her. I plop down on the same couch we always sit on and drop my purse to the floor.

“I have so much to tell you!” I squeal.

Sam turns on the couch to face me, pulling her leg up to rest on the cushion. She holds her summer dress down between her thighs to make sure she’s not flashing anyone, but quickly stops caring when she realizes that it’s long enough to cover her.

“Spill!” She urges, her eyes wide with excitement.

As I begin to tell Sam everything that happened today at work, Issac comes over with my usual; lemon drop martini. It’s certainly more affordable to drink in the city when your best friend works at a bar.

“I’m going to do it.” I tell her. “I’ve already scheduled a meeting with Blane tomorrow.”

“This is your chance to stalk TSwift without being sent to jail.” She chuckles, taking the last sip of her vodka soda.

“Oh, shut up, you’d do it too. I think you forget that you memorized every single song on the Midnights album the day it came out.” I tease.

“Starin' at the ceilin' with you. Oh, you don't ever say too much, and you don't really read into my melancholia...” She starts singing Taylor Swift’s Lavender Haze .

Before I can start singing with her, she frowns. “Does this mean I need to find another roommate?”

“Of course not! I’ll only be gone for six months and don’t worry; I will still pay my half of the rent. I'm sure there’s a raise that comes with this project.” I assure her.

Issac comes back with another round of drinks, this time with one for himself .

“Why is there a weird vibe back here?” He asks, combing his hand through his black hair.

“Ash is leaving me.” Sam sighs dramatically, taking a long sip of her new drink.

I roll my eyes, “I’m signing up for this project at work that requires following an artist on tour for six months. I’ll be back before either of you even notice.”

“How wouldn’t I notice? You literally live with me! I rely on you to wake me up in the mornings and cook my breakfast!” Sam cries.

“You know what they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder.” Issac laughs.

“Ugh, for the last time, we are best friends, not lovers. You’d like that too much, creep.” I mutter.

“I mean, I’ve only ever seen you with Sam. You don’t date, at least not men. And you have no intentions of finding your person.”

“I don’t have time to date. Especially now that I’ll be on the road for six months. Maybe after I’ll start looking. I’m still young.”

“You won’t be young forever.” Issac reminds me.

A sadness washes over me, one I haven’t felt in a while. I haven’t been able to bring myself to date anyone or really feel for anyone on a deeper level. Not since...

I refocus, forcing myself to the present, refusing to go back to my past where I’ve lost myself time and time again. It’s a hole too deep to drag myself out of once I'm in.

Suddenly, our attention is brought to the stranger entering the bar, Issac’s cue to go back and greet them. He nods to us, downing the rest of his drink and goes back to work.

“I’ll miss you.” Sam says quietly.

“Miss me when I actually get a spot on this project.” I laugh lightly .

“You will. I have no doubt.” My friend beams at me, her light brown hair flowing over one shoulder and her eyes slightly glossy from the alcohol.

“Thanks.” I smile back at her.

We peel ourselves off the couch, our bare legs sticking to the leather, stinging once we stand.

We wave to Issac as we make our way back to our apartment a few blocks over.

It’s late now and I still want to write down all the reasons why I deserve a spot on this project.

I want to believe Sam is right, that I will absolutely get in, but Justina is that little devil on my shoulder that whispers doubt in my ear. We’ll just have to see.