nodding as if we’re old pals.
He doesn’t wait for an answer,
and goes straight into?—
“You’re Neon Grey, right?
“I’m Nico. Big fan, bro.”
He sticks his hand out to Neon.
Neon licks his bottom lip.
Then takes Nico’s hand,
glancing back at me,
brow raised like—you know this guy?
“Nico’s the drummer for the band tonight.”
I don’t add anything else.
I don't know anything else.
“Wait—ya’ll know each other?” Nico says,
eyes widening.
Neon scratches his jaw—“She saved my ass on a track I couldn’t touch for six months.” His gaze cuts back to me. “Haven’t had a hit since.”
“Explains the silence,” I tease. “Guess not everyone can recover after peaking with a song touched by Taylor.”
Neon falls back a step, hand to his chest. “And another upper cut. Right to the fuckin’ pride.”
I wave him off. “Let’s be real. You haven’t held a mic in months. Try holding a pen and sign with Soundwave, for fuck’s sake. We’ll collab.” I shrug, hating how it came off a little desperate. “Not that you listen, but hey, free suggestion.”
Neon Grey's a name other artists respect.
Get him on paper,
and every indie will pay attention.
If I play this right,
Soundwave will matter again.
Neon lowers his head, shaking it.
“Be serious. I came for Corey’s daughter. Not that walking lawsuit you call a CEO.” He flicks a hand like Raymond’s dust. “Told you—hit me up when he’s gone, and I’ll be signin’ that deal with you sittin’ in my lap.”
Over Neon's shoulder,
I catch Andrew watching.
I toss him a sweet smile.
He tosses a sweet one back?—
