The Comeback (BWWM Interracial Romance Book 7) Read Free Page B

Brenton reached into the jacket pocket of his sport coat and withdrew a copy of Amber’s first album—the one that had catapulted her to fame. It was, just as he’d said at the bar a few nights before, still in its plastic.
    Amber laughed, shaking her head. “That’s even the original release packaging! You weren’t lying.” They were led to a table and Amber looked at the CD for a long moment, smiling ruefully and shaking her head again. “You know, you could have sent it to my mom and she’d have given it to me to sign for you.”
    Brenton shook his head. “If I was going to get it signed, I was going to have it done in person. I mean—what’s the use in having it on display if I don’t have a great story to go with it?”
    Amber rolled her eyes, still grinning. “Oh, so it’s not good enough to say, ‘Oh yeah, she was my friend in high school, I’m still in touch with her mom’?”
    Brenton shook his head. “Nah. Saying, ‘I bought her lunch and we talked about old times together’ is way better.” Amber had to concede that he was right.
    They put in their orders: Brenton got the beans and rice with iced tea, Amber the gumbo and lemonade, and they decided to share a side of jalapeno cornbread. A lingering moment of silence persisted between them as Amber looked down at the CD again. It was hard to believe that it existed—she had sung the songs from that album so many times, she had heard herself on the radio, but the woman she had been when she’d recorded the album, when she’d promoted it, was a totally different person to who she was now.
    “God, I was just a baby,” she said, touching the picture of herself. She looked up at Brenton.
    Brenton smiled at her. “Yeah, but you don’t look any different. Well—maybe a little bit wiser. But you’re still just as beautiful, with those same sweet eyes.”
    Amber shrugged. “Black don’t crack, you know,” she said, thinking of the effort she put into her skincare routine. She took a deep breath. “Let’s get this baby opened up and I’ll show you right where I made you famous.” Amber peeled the plastic off of the case, shaking her head at how difficult it was. She crumpled up the film, stuffing it into her purse to throw away later, and withdrew the Sharpie that always lived in any bag she carried with her; in spite of being something of a has-been, she still got the occasional fan on the street asking her to sign something, and she liked to be prepared.
    Amber carefully slid the liner notes out of the case, flipping through the pages and smiling to herself. She had been so excited to put out her first album; she had been so full of hope, so full of belief in herself. She came to her own personal notes—the thank you and acknowledgements. “Ah—here we go. ‘Huge thanks and big props to Brenton Reed, who kept me out of trouble in Algebra 2, and who put up with my screeching voice on road trips.’ See? Totally made you famous, bud.” She turned the liner notes towards Brenton and he looked to where she pointed, laughing.
    “You did indeed. I wish I’d known about that when I was telling the boys in my unit I knew you—it’d be proof.”
    Amber’s eyes widened as she grinned. “They didn’t believe you knew me?”
    Brenton shook his head. “Not for a second. No matter how many pictures I showed them, they just said I was some stalker or something.”
    “I signed your yearbook! You could have shown them that!”
    Brenton shrugged. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t carrying my yearbook around with me. If only because my picture in there wasn’t nearly as perfect as yours was.”
    Amber winked and shrugged. “Some of us have always been image-conscious I guess.” She brought the liner notes back to the cleared spot on the table in front of her and uncapped her marker. “Well, now they will have to believe you, if you ever run into them again.” She closed the notes and tilted the packet. To my long-time friend Brent: if this