Chapter 5 : That's What Friends Are For

*Ophelia*

After dropping some plates in the kitchen sink, I grab a towel to wipe my hands, growling at what I saw once again. Fuck! Every time my brain wanders for a second, I see Camila entering the tavern. And then hearing the quarterback talk about how much he loves her voice?

“What the hell was that?” I hear from the entrance to the kitchen. Skylar storms in, grabbing me by my wrist. “Are you absolutely insane?”

I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”

Skylar waves her arms emphatically in the air. “Um? Hello? The sexy football quarterback that's sitting out there? Asher Slater?! The one that just asked you out?”

“What about him?” I question, pulling my wrist back from her grasp.

“He's sexy as fuck! Every woman in the world with half a brain can see what a catch Asher is. And he was talking to you, smiling at you! I saw him, you can't hide that, O.”

I shrug. I can't tell Skylar the truth. So instead, I end up mumbling, “He's just some playboy jock.”

“Do I need to remind you he smiled at you?”

He wants Camila. When she spoke to him, he looked like a lovesick puppy. It was hard to ignore the conversation, listening to her boldly ask him out.

“It's like I said,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “He's a playboy. A notoriously famous playboy.”

“Then why haven't I heard of this?” Skylar questions me. “Just because he's slept around doesn't make him incapable of change.”

“Did you not know about his public breakup?” I ask, annoyed. She shakes her head. “Asher was with that social media guru, Courtney Roberts?”

“Shut up. Courtney Roberts? How didn't I know this? I thought I was caught up on the latest gossip.”

I shrug. “I don't know. I only know because he's an Ozark. The Shoremen hate his team.”

“Oh my God, rival teams and a sexy playboy? Whose fanfiction have we landed in?” She squeals.

I roll my eyes. “He broke up with Courtney. Publicly. He destroyed her heart one day and just ended things with a huge crowd of people around them. It was so messy.”

I remember feeling bad for Courtney. No one deserves to have their heartbroken, but even less so to be dumped in front of this huge group of people and embarrassed.

Asher? He was marked a playboy. There were tons of different stories claiming he'd cheated, slept around, and wanted threesomes with Courtney and another woman. But I don't care what the truth is. Once a playboy, always a playboy.

“So it's not a fanfiction that we're in, Sky. It's life. There's nothing I want from him anyway. Besides, he's interested in someone else. I wouldn't be caught dead going on a date with an Ozark any day of the week.”

Skylar giggles. “Go, Shoremen!” she jests. “You know they lost last night?” Sky asks, grabbing some menus that need to be cleaned.

I groan. “Yeah. To the Ozarks. And all because of that playboy quarterback out there.”

Later, when I've finally finished my shift, I start packing my bags. My feet are aching from running around all day, but I'm not done yet. I always feel the rush of excitement at this time of night, knowing I'll be performing soon. I have the best spot out on one of the busiest streets. The foot traffic can be anywhere between four thousand an hour to as high as ten thousand. It's not only a good way to make just a little more money but also the chance to actually sing.

Street singing is so different from the singing I do for Camila, and it's a perfect way for me to relieve my stress. For even a few hours, I can forget that no one else has my voice. It's mine, and I get to use it how I want.

Just as I finish counting out the checks to ensure the money is correct, one busser comes in the back. “Hey, Ophelia, some chick is looking for you. She was kind of mean and insistent. I tried to tell her you weren't here, but she threatened to get me fired and…” he trails off.

I can see the anxiety on his face, so I smile. “Thanks for trying, Peter. I'll go deal with her.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, running off to find more work to do.

I don't know who's looking for me, but I leave my work for my boss to see, grab my tips apron and my backpack, and head out the kitchen door. I freeze when I realize who Peter is talking about.

Camila.

My throat tightens, and I'm unsure of what she wants. She stands there, arms crossed, wearing a beautiful red dress that stops at her thighs and a heavy face of her usual makeup.

She’s talking to my coworkers about me. I hear mention of my mother and my blood boils.

“I mean, who lets their medical bills get that high to begin with?” Camila says with a malicious laugh. “I swear her father probably left because of all the debt. I mean, who wants to be responsible for all that?

My body goes cold. I’ve never once told Camila about my father. She has no idea that he passed away from a car accident when I was a kid. But of course, here she is spreading rumors like wildfire just for the hell of it.

I clear my throat, making my presence known. My coworkers scatter.

“There you are. God, took long enough,” Camila snaps.

“What was that?” I ask.

“What was what?” she answers sweetly.

"Don't play dumb with me, Camila. You were talking about me to my coworkers. Talking about my private life. How dare you come here and–"

“What are you going to do about it, Ophelia?” Camila leans closer, her breath hot against my face. "You think you can threaten me?" she whispers, her words sending a chill down my spine. “Remember who is helping pay your mother’s medical bills. What happens when that money stops rolling in, hmm? Do they pull the plug?”

My skin turns pale as I stare at her in shock.

I’ve had enough of this, especially after the long day I’ve had. She won’t get away with threatening my mother.

“Or I’ll tell everyone our secret,” I say firmly. I mean it and she can see it in my eyes.

She falters and I take the opportunity to continue.

“If you ever speak about my mother to anyone again, the whole city will know it isn’t really you singing on stage. Now, what did you come here for?”

Camila glares at me. “I've been invited to perform on a bigger stage—bigger than that pathetic honky-tonk,” Camila snaps. “And there's going to be many record label agents attending.”

There's the Camila knot in my stomach again. “That's great, Camila; everything's going great for you,” I say sarcastically.

She scoffs. “Of course it is.” She then points at me. “You better not fuck this up for me.”

I consider slapping her hand away from me but remain silent this time.

“Write new songs for the performance. I need something fresh to show off my talent.”

“Fine,” I respond, wanting this conversation to be over.

She lowers her hand, taking in my appearance before giving a curt laugh. “Good. Now, I have a date. Run along and do whatever it is you do. Better have my songs ready for me before the performance.”

She does her signature hair flip before she walks past me, bumping my shoulder.

I don't give myself time to stress about Camila's demands. Instead, I check my watch to see that I'm running late.

Shit!

I grab my stuff and run out of the tavern, hoping I didn't lose my spot. It's been my prime real estate, and I don't want to lose it.

I jog down the street, trying not to look desperate or collide with anyone. Once I turn the only corner I need to get through, I manage to stop at my spot, but not before I almost take another person out on the sidewalk.

I recognize the guy already busking in my spot. He's got an acoustic guitar in his hands, strumming through a fun song. I can't help but bob my head along with his music, his brown, shaggy hair moving with the two of us. I don't stop him; instead, I let him continue being lost in the chords and vocals.

He's GOOD. I already knew this, but hearing him again for the first time in a while, I watch Jake Thompson finish his song.

I start clapping and cheering rather than being rude or kicking him from my corner.

Jake looks up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. His toothy smile makes me shake my head with disbelief as I clap.

“Well damn.” I laugh. “Of all the people to come around and steal my spot, it's Jake Thompson.”

His toothy grin grows. “Ophelia, long time no see.”

I shrug. “Been busy. But you're busking in my spot, sir. How could you do such a thing?”

He looks at the ground and back up at me, waggling his eyebrows. “Oh, I'm SO sorry. I guess I missed the sign indicating no one else can perform here.”

“Listen, if the city would just listen when I tell them I need a special sign signifying that finders' keepers, then you'd see my name in bright lights out here.” I cross my arms, unable to take the smile off my face. “Now I've gotta camp around and find another spot.”

“Or,” he starts, putting his guitar pick in between his fingers as he scratches the back of his head. “You could stay. I mean, two talented performers on a busy street? Maybe we can double our earnings instead of struggling separately.”

I stick my tongue into my cheek. “Oh?”

Jake gestures to the sidewalk next to him. “I'll even let you stand next to me.”

“Oh, Jake, how kind of you!” I gush, and the two of us laugh.

“Come on. Let's make some people's night.”