Chapter Three #3
That is the feeling. The click. The lock. The tiny rush when sound becomes exactly what I wanted it to be.
Not almost.
Exactly.
My phone buzzes on my desk but I ignore it.
The track keeps going, and I finally start moving with it.
My fingers slide over the knobs, easing the bass down, letting the vocal sit for a second before I bring the beat back in. Not too fast. Not too much.
That’s the trick.
You can’t throw everything at the crowd right away. New DJs do that shit all the time. They panic if people aren’t screaming in the first two minutes.
I learned better.
Attention is easy, but control is better.
You make the room curious first. Make them wait. Then, when the drop finally hits, they feel it everywhere.
That’s the part I love.
By the time I get the middle of the set right, my shoulders hurt, my coffee is watered down, and the mix finally has that bite I wanted.
Sexy.
A little mean and very me.
“Gracias a Dios,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair. “Finally.”
Then my phone buzzes.
Again, and I glance over. “Okay, damn.”
I grab it, expecting Revel, but instead it’s the group chat.
Echo: Beach later. No excuses.
Bexley: Fine, but someone else is in charge of snacks. I’m still traumatized by whatever Thorne brought last time.
Sayshen: Supposed to be a sick swell coming in too. We should hit the water.
Talon: Right before the first race of the season? Andre’s going to love that. You people need supervision.
Echo: Cece, did you finish your track?
Me: I’m working on it.
Bexley: You’ve been working on it all day. Come outside, Draculara. The sun misses you.
Me: Outside has men.
Echo: So does your phone, apparently.
Me: What does that even mean?
Echo: Revel’s been staring at his screen and grinning like an idiot all practice. Just assumed you were responsible.
Bexley: Wear the black bikini from last summer’s fashion project. The one from my Bitches & Beaches line.
Me: Why?
Echo: Because it’s hot, obviously.
Revel: I vote black bikini. Respectfully.
I stare at his name in the chat.
Of course.
Me: Revel, I will drown you.
Revel: Worth it if it gets you to the beach in that bikini, mama
Before I can answer, the group chat name changes.
Talon changed the group name to Demons Telenovela.
I roll my eyes so hard I almost see my own brain.
Me: You are not funny, Big Shaw.
Draygon: I dunno, I found it pretty funny.
Echo: Anyways. Cece, I can pick you up if you need a ride.
Revel: She’s good. I’ll have her car running by then.
I blink at the screen.
The fucking audacity.
The way he says it like it’s already handled, like he didn’t just invite himself further into my day and make it impossible for me to pretend that last night didn’t happen.
Me: Nobody asked you to be useful.
Revel: You didn’t ask if you could kiss me last night either, mama, but here we are ??
The second I see everyone start typing, panic hits first.
“Oh, fuck no.” I close the chat so fast my thumb almost slips. “Nope. Absolutely not. We are not doing this.”
My heart kicks like I just got caught doing something illegal, which is ridiculous because I didn’t do anything.
Except kiss Revel. Twice.
Puta madre.
I lock my phone and toss it onto the bed, mad at him, mad at them, and mad at myself.
Mostly mad that I’m still smiling.
Guacamole lifts his head.
I point at him. “Save it. He’s still annoying.”
I glance at the laundry basket.
Then at the hoodie.
Guacamole stretches one wrinkly leg into the air and starts cleaning himself.
“Disgusting, dude.”
I turn back to my laptop and shove my headphones over my ears before I get dumb enough to open the chat again.
Whatever they’re saying, I don’t need to know.
Revel is probably grinning at his phone like the cocky little shit he is right now.
He knows exactly what he did.
I restart the track from the middle and force myself to focus. The bass rolls in low and dirty, the vocal slipping under it smooth enough to make my shoulders loosen. I count the beat under my breath.
My fingers move over the controller, adjusting the bass, sharpening the percussion, dragging the tension out a little longer. The mix starts to shift into something hotter. Meaner. The kind of track that makes you move before you decide to.
Very inconveniently like last night.
His hands on my thighs and his mouth on my throat.
That stupid grin when I told him nothing happened.
I adjust the next drop harder than I planned, and it works.
The beat cuts out for one sharp second.
Then slams back in.
A slow smile pulls at my mouth. “Finally.”
Guacamole meows from the bed.
“Not you,” I tell him.
He settles back down, useless and loved.
I save the mix twice, then play it again from the top.
The group chat stays unopened.
My phone stays facedown, and Revel stays exactly where I do not want him.
In my head.
On my mouth and under my skin.
Ay, Dios mío.
I lean back in my chair, listening to the bass hit just right, and try not to think about the questions I’m going to get the second the girls see my face. I can already hear them giving me shit. And Revel? He better not say one damn word.
The drop hits again, filthy and perfect.
I close my eyes. “Liar,” I mutter.