Dean extends his hand to show me his phone. He taps the screen and a video of me starts to play. “You taped me singing?” I try to steal his cell from him, but he’s too fast. “Yep,” he says and holds it close to his chest. He starts typing. “I’m sending it to everyone we know riiiiiiiight …” He draws out the word as his thumbs fly over the screen. “Now.” He sets his phone down with a smirk. I roll my eyes. “Here we are.” Our smiling waitress appears. We’re seated at a high top table at a loud bar near the arena. She sets down four shots of Fireball, then hands out our other drinks. “I’ll be back to check on y’all in a few minutes.” Drew and Paul waste no time reaching for the shots and passing them out. “To Jen!” Drew announces with his glass in the air. “On her first solo performance!” “Hear, hear!” Dean and Paul chime in. “You guys are dorks,” I say, but raise my glass just the same. We down the shots and slam the glasses on the table.
