Chapter Seventeen
The venue looks amazing—once I finally manage to get inside. The general-admission line is wrapped around the block, and concertgoers quickly recognized my friends as the band Post Humorous. I played photographer for a good twenty minutes before dragging them through the VIP door.
The space is fully decked out for Halloween, every column wrapped in gauzy fabric, with mummy hands and faces poking out between the gaps. Faux spiderwebs crisscross over the ceiling, the purple backlighting illuminating the giant spiders nestled in their webs.
Merch booths line the back wall, the venue floor split in half down the middle, the larger left side for general admission, the right side reserved for VIP. Along the right wall, under the overhang of the balcony, is a fully stocked, comped bar.
Some companies have holiday parties. AP has epic Halloween shows.
The VIP section is already filling up, my coworkers and tonight’s acts milling about.
I should be rubbing elbows with the bands and making connections, but I only care about my friends tonight.
I’ve been waiting for this since they joked about coming out after their New York show, and the joke quickly became a plan.
This wasn’t possible when I was in California, them popping over from Boston.
It’s like coming home to myself, the chaos of all six of us in my one-bedroom apartment, talking over each other and pushing each other’s buttons.
The general-admission doors open, and there’s a mad rush for the barricade. Everyone came dressed in their Halloween best, zombie brides, goth dolls, and vampires spilling onto the venue’s main floor.
I let Brooklyn pick my costume, and I should have known that was a mistake, but I was too caught up in work to pick one out for myself.
She looks fantastic in her angel costume.
Tiny wings protrude from her corset, and silver glitter dusts her cheekbones, matching her silver shorts.
A dainty halo hangs over her head, reflecting on her shiny mane of black hair.
Naturally, I’m her devil. Fortunately, the tight red dress is a comfortable cotton, but unfortunately, it rides up with every breath I take.
I tried putting opaque tights on underneath instead of fishnet, but Brooklyn insisted freezing your ass off in a slutty Halloween costume was a rite of passage I wasn’t allowed to disrespect.
The gold stars she scattered across my cheeks like freckles even made me like my bumpy, twice-broken nose.
The guys are all dressed as greasers, with thrifted leather jackets Brooklyn adorned with the T-Birds logo.
The six of us crowd into the photo booth along the back wall with effort, Brooklyn kneeling in front and toppling sideways in her stilettos every time we scramble to switch poses between shots.
I’m grateful I opted for my Docs instead of the heels she brought for me, not needing to be any taller—or uncoordinated—than I already am naturally.
As we wait for the machine to spit out the photo strips, Charlie leans in to whisper in my ear. “Final is here.”
My head whips to the side, watching as the five of them spill through the VIP door—and are immediately swarmed. Dax’s gaze scans the room, and I avert my attention to the photos in Drew’s hand, not seeing them. “Cool,” I say, sounding the opposite.
Brooklyn huffs, shoving one of the photo strips into the top of her corset. “C’mon.” Without waiting for my assent, she slides her hand into mine, steering me over to them.
“B,” I plead. “This is unnecessary.”
“You are profiling them,” she says sternly over her shoulder. “It’s weirder if you don’t say hi.”
I grumble under my breath. She’s right, of course.
I’m suddenly too aware of my body in the skintight dress.
Not of Dax seeing me in it—he’s seen me in far sexier and far less sexy—but of others seeing us next to each other.
Dax can’t kick everyone out of the room this time.
I’d planned to avoid him all night. My coworkers can’t get suspicious if they never see us together, but B has a point.
I can only hope the ruse that worked on John works on everyone else.
“Hi, guys!” Brooklyn says brightly, bounding into the circle of them like they’re old friends.
I suppose they are. She met them more than once that summer. Regardless of how well they know her, they all give her their undivided attention. Of course they do. She’s a hot girl in booty shorts and she’s also Brooklyn. She’s magnetic.
I hazard a glance up at Dax, whose gaze is slowly raking over me.
“Well,” he says as though from the bottom of a well. “I won’t have to pretend to hate you tonight.”
“What?” I huff, crossing my arms.
“Are you trying to torture me?” His face is a mask of haughty indifference, but his eyes tell a different story, his gaze intent upon mine. My blood turns to hot magma in my veins, obliterating everything in its wake.
To anyone else, we’d look like two people bickering. I shift my weight onto one foot, running my tongue over my teeth to hide the smile threatening to surface. “Is it working?” I ask with an irritated quirk of my head.
“Immensely,” he purrs.
We glare at each other for a long moment, the mischievous glint in our eyes a secret only for each other. I like this new game.
He breaks our glaredown, his attention darting to the waist cincher B laced me into, and I swear the air around us heats an extra ten degrees.
“Don’t even think about it,” I hiss. I know where that look leads—my legs thrown over his shoulders, his face between them.
“Too late,” he groans, tortured. “Way too late.” He takes a half step closer, hovering over me so I have to tilt my face back to continue glaring at him disapprovingly.
“Dax.” His name comes out like a laugh, my grip on our ruse slipping for half a breath. “Don’t. Start.”
He hums contradictorily. “I never stopped,” he confesses under his breath. “Not for one fucking minute, baby.”
He tugs gently on one of the corset’s ties, and I feel that tug zing through my body like a pinball before pooling in my gut, hot and heady. I’m so heated my clothes may very well melt off of me.
“Okay!” Brooklyn calls, voice pitched high. “So good to see you again,” she calls to the guys, simultaneously wrapping her hand around my biceps. “Let’s separate these two before they start fighting.”
I blink to clear the haze at the edge of my vision, having forgotten where we are, that we’re not the only two people in the room—a problem that I have too often where Dax is concerned.
“Fighting to get their clothes off,” she adds under her breath as she frog-marches me away.
“Sorry. And thank you,” I breathe, all the heat in my bones exiting my body by way of a full-body blush.
Brooklyn’s laugh twinkles out of her like wind chimes. “I honestly couldn’t tell if you were about to fight or fuck.”
I shake my head as we rejoin the guys by the bar. I accept a can of cheap beer from Charlie, pressing it to my neck. “We may have led everyone to believe we hate each other as a cover.”
“Makes sense,” Tyler says reasonably. I wait, because he never speaks unless he can be funny. “What’s to like? He’s just… hideous.” He sighs wistfully.
Brooklyn titters under her breath, hiding her traitorous face behind her beer.
“So overrated, too,” Reid chimes in.
“Biggest metal band in the scene? Never heard of them,” Drew says, flinging an arm around my shoulders and tucking me into his side with an affectionate jostle.
“She hates us all,” Charlie says before I can.
I give him a squinched smile.
It’s an effort to keep my eyes off Dax for the rest of the night. I sigh in relief when he and the guys disappear into the rented trailers out back, the venue’s greenroom not big enough for this many bands.
The VIP section grows uncomfortably full as the night progresses, the air thick from so many people.
Before the Undead Kings set, Charlie, Drew, and I slip out from the bar wing and onto the VIP section of the main floor.
Without a balcony overhead, the air is much cooler out here.
We position ourselves in front of the sound booth.
Undead Kings are dressed—fittingly—as zombie royalty. After their set, I do my best impression of a professional journalist and not an unapologetic Undead Kings fan as I exchange contact info with their front-of-house manager.
It’s been a long night, the AP Halloween show less a show and more like a minifestival. The crowd would have every excuse to be waning four bands in, but as the roadies flip the stage, Undead Kings’ backdrop coming down to reveal the Final Revelations logo, the crowd roars louder than ever.
I rock backward into Drew as the force of it hits me like a physical blow. Drew’s laughter is swallowed up by the crowd, but it rumbles against my back as he steadies me, his arms coming around me in a viselike hug.
I’m relieved I’m not backstage right now.
I know Final Revelations’ preshow routine like the back of my hand.
My heart pangs uncomfortably, knowing I’m no longer a part of it.
Dax’s mouth won’t find mine in the dark before he takes to the stage, his hand won’t slide into my back pocket, squeezing my ass as he grins cheekily against my lips.
Brooklyn sneaks over to us, interrupting my morose trip down memory lane, and I hug her to my front, creating a three-person prom pose. It’s more comfortable than it has any right to be, and I don’t want to ever let go.
The lights flash, announcing the start of the next set, and a cheer goes up, the crowd pressing toward the stage in anticipation.
Red lighting descends upon the stage, Jonah, Marcus, and Cain strolling out, looping a guitar riff from one of their most popular songs.