We talked. Easy stuff at first, Vegas traffic being a nightmare, the worst shows they'd ever played (some dive bar in Ohio where the power cut out mid-song), how he learned guitar from scratchy YouTube videos at fourteen, sitting in his room for hours until his fingers bled. Then it went deeper, natural like breathing. He asked about my job without judgment. I told him the truth: dancing at the club to pay bills, cleaning houses on the side, taking care of my brother full-time.
"He's autistic," I said, staring into my glass. "Thirteen. Loves trains more than people. He can watch videos of them for hours, memorizing routes and schedules like it's nothing."
Kei smiled slightly, warm. "Sounds like a good kid. Focused. I was like that with music…obsessed. It's a strength, you know?"
"He is. The best. Keeps me grounded."
I didn't realize how many drinks I'd had until the room tilted a little, the edges softening. My gin and tonic were gone. Another one appeared in my hand; someone must have ordered a round. Then shots, tequila, clear and sharp, someone yelling "To Vegas!" as we clinked glasses. It burned clean down my throat, warming my chest, loosening my tongue.
I laughed louder than I meant to at one of Kei's stories about a fan sneaking backstage dressed as a pizza delivery guy. He laughed with me, his eyes crinkling.
He was eventually dragged to dance floor by a random girl leaving me alone again.
Then Cal was there.
Sydney had dragged him to the dance floor earlier, her hand tugging his insistently. He'd come back alone now, dropping onto the couch on my other side. Close. Too close. His shoulder brushed mine, and he smelled like leather and whiskey and something smoky, dark.
"Hey," he said. Voice low. Rough, like gravel under tires.
"Hey."
"You're quiet."
"So are you."
He looked at me, really looked, his hazel eyes catching the purple light and holding it. "You like the show?"
"Loved it. Your voice... it's something else."
"Good."
His knee brushed mine. Stayed there, pressing lightly. I didn't move away. Didn't want to.
We talked. Or tried, our words slurring a little around the edges from the drinks. He asked about my brother out of nowhere because apparently, he heard Kei and I talk. I told him about Eli's straight lawn lines, how he'd mow the same patch over and over until it was perfect, no blade out of place.
He laughed, real laugh, surprised and low. "That's dedication. Wish I had that for songwriting sometimes."
"You're different," he said after a pause, his voice dropping.
"Different how?"
"Not screaming. Not grabbing. Just... real."
I shrugged, feeling the heat from his body next to mine. "Not my style. I don't chase."
He leaned closer. Breath warm on my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "I like that. A lot."
His fingers found my wrist. Light. Testing, tracing the pulse there. My skin didn't crawl like it usually did with strangers. It... warmed, sparked.
I didn't stop him. Couldn't, even if I'd wanted to.
We kissed.
Slow at first, tentative, his lips soft against mine. Then deeper, his tongue slipping in, tasting like whiskey and want. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. Mine pressed to his chest, feeling his heart slamming under my palm, fast and unsteady.
He pulled back just enough, his forehead against mine. "You're the prettiest girl here. In this whole damn city."
I laughed. Drunk. Stupid, the sound bubbling out. "You're drunk."
