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Lyndsey curls up on the chair and presses her hands flat on the vanity as Priya shakes the cobalt blue nail polish bottle and unscrews the top. Lyndsey talks to Priya in a low, soothing voice. I can sense that she’s an excellent person to have in a crisis, steady and calm.
By the time we finally go on, it’s 11:30. The fans are ravenous.
They howl in ecstasy as Priya walks out onstage; the boys and I follow as Priya gives her best pageant wave. We rip through the first song, and it’s thrilling to be on stage, feeling utterly alive with the people I love, with the humidity bristling against my skin.
When we’re done, we take generous gulps of water and let the applause wash over us like rain. It feels good in a way that reminds me why I put my body through hell to sleep in a moving coffin.
We play the first three songs without so much of a glitch in our monitors. But just as we’re about to start our fourth song, the sky opens. A torrent of sideways rain unleashes upon us and our gear. Priya freezes mid-stomp, and her eyes dart around frantically. My first instinct is to protect my guitar and amp and unplug the hundreds of electrical wires surrounding us.
I look around desperately for a tarp when Lyndsey sprints onstage and passes me a large, blue tarp. I use it to cover my amp first. Then I scrounge around and find a second one. Lyndsey’s passing out tarps to everyone. She runs up to the platform where Henry sits with his drums and helps him disassemble the cymbals before he can ask. I run up to the platform and drape a tarp over the kick drum while Lyndsey takes apart the second cymbal.
“How’d you get here so fast?” I ask.
“I dunno! Adrenaline! Unplug Priya’s mic for me, will you?”
“Got it,” I say.
Lyndsey is a paragon of efficiency and speed. While everyone else panics around her, she hops over wires and unplugs pedal boards without as much of a shiver as the rain pours down around us.
Finally, everything is covered, and we take refuge backstage.
Lyndsey leans back against the concrete wall that separates the seats from the stage, panting.
“That was incredible,” I say, breathless.
Priya, Apollo, and Henry are on the other side of the tunnel, trying to dry off, but I’m drawn to Lyndsey’s frantic energy.
“Thanks,” she pants.
“Seriously, I could kiss you right now,” I joke.
I’m absorbed in her eyes, the droplets of rain hanging off her lashes. Lyndsey smiles, and I notice the gap in her teeth. Then, time stops as she slips her hand around my neck and wrenches me close, kissing me fiercely. I almost stumble backward from shock. I’m paralyzed by pleasure.
Unlike our kiss at the will-call counter, this one’s real. I can feel the passion radiating off Lyndsey in waves. Lyndsey’s lips are soft and pillowy. She slips her tongue into my mouth, and I slip mine into hers. I lean forward, pressing my palms against the wall as I shift my body toward her. She groans and tilts her pelvis forward, grabbing the belt loops of my pants.
Briefly, I pull away, and she tilts her head up. I kiss the soft skin of her throat as she cups my ass. It’s hot and frantic. Part of me thinks I’m dreaming. Lyndsey kisses me once more and then pulls apart with a smile. “I hate to say it, but I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
“Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Chapter 5
Lyndsey
Atlanta, GA
In the days following the kiss, the bus transforms into a haunted house where the jump-scares are the consequences of my actions.
Vince is everywhere: strands of his hair coat the bus’s minuscule shower, and the refrigerator is littered with half-empty kombucha bottles. I can’t look at a box of red hots without thinking of him and then immediately thinking I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up.
I fucked up, and it felt good.
Kissing Vince was revelatory. He tasted like Marlboro reds, and his lips were warm and soft, tinged with rainwater.
Blame the venue layout, but when he shoved me up against the wall, it was hot. More than hot, it was sizzling, electric, and erotic. Every dumb adjective that’s volleyed around in pop songs to describe tonsil hockey suddenly became inadequate.
I wanted to kiss Vince forever. I wanted to throw my life away so we could fuck in the green room, which is exactly why we can never happen.
Thankfully, Vince is still sleeping as I confirm the guest list for Atlanta. Apollo’s wife is coming. His daughter opted to go to a different show with her college roommate. Either way, I’m grateful for the distraction.
