Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)

Chapterish 4

PIZZA PAPARAZZI

We finish our poke bowls and pack up everything from the rooftop. I love the way you can walk right over the skylight; the floor is completely see-through, and you can see the displays on the ground floor. Miranda and Florence arrive just as we get back downstairs. Miles and Cece collect them through the side door.

"Hi Brooks," Miranda says, removing the camera from around her neck.

"Hi Randa," I say, laughing at her eyeroll. She hates when I call her Randa, my own personal nickname/form of torture for her.

"Hi guys," Florence addresses everyone.

"Hi," I respond.

I met Randa about two weeks after I started dating Cece. They're as close to inseparable as two girlfriends can be. Cece is all spotlight and Randa is more behind the scenes –a nice combo that I think works to their friendships' advantage.

Florence is newer to the mini quasi-famous group they've cultivated for themselves. She's an indie singer who debuted her first album last fall; Randa took the cover photo for her album –a black and white closeup that showed off Florence's pale skin, hooded eyes, and dark as night hair. One single did manage to place on the Top 100.

"Just wanted to pop in and say hey," Randa says. "We've got to hit the studio and then shower before we go out. Oh, that reminds me," Randa says, turning to Cece. "Did you see that screenshot Pez sent? Oh, my SHIT. I couldn't believe–"

I low key tune them out as I fall into step beside Miles, who is just ogling Florence.

"Damn, your girl has got the hottest friends," he groans.

"Ya think?" I ask, casual.

Randa is cute and good-looking in a sort of everyday kind of way. Her hair is always down and straight and she barely wears make up. It all works for her. Right down to the fancy way-too-big for her camera that she always wears as a necklace.

Florence is certainly striking. Her thick black hair and dark hooded eyes are quite pleasant features on her. Still, I always joke with Cece that I've never met anyone who is more her opposite than Florence. Right down to Florence's somber disposition compared to Cece's sunshining outlook on life.

"Babe. Babe? Hello!" Cece shouts from across the room, flipping her honey-colored hair over her shoulder.

"I'm going to head out with them. Meet you back at your place like 5 ish?"

"Sounds good," I nod.

"Miss you. Kiss you." Cece blows me a kiss from across the room.

...

11:37 PM

Oh, good old fucking Hollywood.

I walk down the brightly lit street, staring at palm tree silhouettes, with Cece's arm snaked around mine. We walk straight into a cloud of cherry vape excess from the person a block in front of us.

"Babe, I didn't know it was going to be a bust," Cece pouts, leaning her whole weight into me. "I didn't know people were going to swarm us."

"I know. It's cool. Loved waiting 40 minutes for a drink and paying $67 for two we didn't even get," I tease her. "Really, it's okay."

"I hate when I'm recognized. It ruins everything," she says, whining at her own stardom.

"You're always recognized," I remind her, bemused at how she pretends to hate her fabulous life.

"Not always," she says. "Still can't believe Pez and Banko ditched."

Pez and Banko are two majorly hipster DJ bestie bros, who I am 100% not surprised ditched the glamorous opening of the organic-only West Hollywood bar.