“I think you already did that in New York,” Eliza replied, one eyebrow raised.
“That we did.” I was pretty sure my cheeks were bright red. “But if she likes us together, we should be together when we’re around her.” But my throat constricted as I spoke.
“Agreed. We can be adults about this.” But now Eliza’s voice had gone husky. When she spoke the word ‘adults’, her gaze flicked to the bed, before snapping back to my face.
I nodded. “Absolutely. Sensible. Mature.”
But when I turned my head, I could see the same fire behind Eliza’s eyes that I felt in my very soul.
One weekend.
One bed.
One increasingly flimsy excuse to maintain the careful distance we’d been keeping since New York.
CHAPTER 19
The pre-show hospitality was way more full-on than I’d imagined. Roka had commandeered a chunk of backstage and turned it into her own personal cocktail party, with a proper bar and queer energy pulsing in the air.
“I thought she wasn’t high maintenance, but she’s got her own cocktail for her show,” I whispered to Eliza as a bartender mixed another Roka Rebellion which was apparently made of gin, vermouth, and something a horrible shade of lime green.
“Does it matter when it’s free?” Eliza accepted a glass from the bartender, who gave her a wink so sultry, I felt the force of it. And then, I wanted to jump the bar and scratch the woman’s eyes out.
Okay, interesting reaction.
Roka walked up to us wearing a black leather catsuit that practically purred. If I’d have tried the same outfit, I would have looked ridiculous. She swigged from a bottle of water, no lime-green concoction anywhere to be seen.
“You’ve got a cocktail, great.” She leaned in. “Just to be clear, the festival came up with the cocktails for all the headline acts, not me. I’m not that extra, and I never drink before a gig.” Shesqueezed my shoulder. Roka was very tactile this time around. “One thing: don’t get too wasted before my set because I might call you up on stage.”
I shook my head. “You don’t need to do that.” Panic took every stitch of its clothing off and streaked through me, screaming.
But she just grinned. “I know. But I might want to.”
Holy fucking shit.
When she winked and walked off, I turned to Eliza.
“We might need another drink.”
The act prior to Roka was an all-female guitar band who had great energy and songs to match. The crowd responded with gusto, and from our elevated position to the side of the stage, we saw Roka high-five them all as they came off.
I drank in the view as my eyes wandered the sea of people stretching far back, all watching the stage, waiting for the breakout star of the year. Roka’s music was the soundtrack to many adverts and film montages, as well as being great songs in their own right. She’d done so well, and I still couldn’t quite believe we were here as her guests. Flags fluttered in the warm evening breeze, and the crowd noise swelled every time a technician took to the stage.
“Look at all those people,” I said. “How is Roka not absolutely bricking it?” Because after what she said to us, I was.
Below, Roka was doing an elaborate stretching routine.
“Some people thrive on it. I don’t mind giving presentations, but getting up in front of this crowd is another level.” Eliza’s expression spelt freaked.
Twenty minutes later, a woman with a clipboard positioned us by the side of the stage. “Don’t move, because I’m not sure when she wants you. My guess is she’ll do three songs, then get you on.” She turned up her grin. “Try to enjoy it, ladies. This is a once in a lifetime moment.”
From our new vantage point, we could see everything from stage level. The crowd flexed and swayed, the lighting rig creaked overhead, and Roka paced behind the backdrop like the coolest lioness imaginable.
When she finally walked out, the noise was deafening. I’d been to plenty of gigs, but this was something else entirely: the kind of roar that seemed to come from the earth itself.
Roka owned that stage like she’d been born on it, prowling from one end to the other, stoking the crowd and giving them exactly what they wanted: hit after hit. Her voice cut through the festival noise, her guitarists were slick, and her drummer hit her drums like she meant it. By the third song, she had the crowd in the palm of her hand.
Sure enough, after song three, she quietened the crowd.
