I knew this was coming. I’ve been waiting for it. Hell, part of me wanted it.
So I lean back in the booth, slouch casual, picture of couldn’t-give-a-fuck cool I’ve been perfecting since high school. My eyebrow ring catches the light when I raise it. “A magician never reveals his tricks.”
Her brows rise, amused. “So you’re not denying it?”
“Wouldn’t be any fun if I did, would it?” I flick my gaze to the recorder, then back to her. “Let’s just say inspiration comes where it comes. And when it does, you don’t question it. You bleed it out and pray it hits as hard onstage as it did in your chest.”
Drew snorts into his coffee, soft but loud enough for me to catch it. He knows me too well. Knows I’m hiding something real behind the swagger. Knows my lyrics stopped being generic months ago, when Ollie and his dark eyes and unintentional blushes barged into every rhyme I’ve put down.
“Love-heart eyes,” Eli called it once, half mocking, half sincere. He wasn’t wrong. Our sound’s been sharpening itself on love songs I never thought I’d write.
The interviewer leans in. “So, what should people expect in Vegas?”
This time I grin wide, letting the smirk melt into something hungrier. “Expect noise. Sweat. Expect us to play like we’ve got nothing to lose. Because we don’t. Vegas is just the start.”
The recorder blinks red between us. My heart drums double time. Five days. Five fucking days until we find out if we can make the industry hear us. Five days until I might be in thesame city as him, each of us standing under lights, carrying every ounce of expectation our worlds have piled on our shoulders.
The interviewer flips a page in her notebook, pen tapping the margin. “One more thing.” Her gaze lands on me again—direct, curious. “There’s speculation online. About who your songs are about. Some people think… ahe.”
The air at the table shifts just a fraction, like a snare tightening. Eli’s grin gets sharper. Drew cocks his head, amused. Miles just waits—steady, unblinking—like he’s ready to step in if he has to.
“Was there a question there?” I ask, lazy drawl in place, even as my pulse kicks.
Her lips curve. “Your songs—these love songs—are they about women or men?”
I should’ve seen it coming. Hell, I did. But it’s one thing to expect it, another to have it laid out like a chord you can’t dodge.
Eli jumps in before I can answer, laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, come on. You think Rafe’s ever been picky about who he lets wreck him? Please.”
The whole table cracks up. Even Miles’s mouth tips, which is practically a standing ovation from him.
I flip Eli off, smirk glued to my face. “Fuck you.”
“You wish,” he fires back, grinning wide.
The interviewer laughs, too, but she’s watching me. Waiting for me to actually answer.
So I let the smirk soften, just a little. “Yeah,” I say finally. “I’m an equal opportunist and write from experience. All kinds of experience. If a song’s about someone, it’s because they lit a fire under my skin, and I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about the specifics.”
Drew claps me on the back, his voice low but audible. “Translation: Yes, he’s bi, and no, you don’t get names.”
“See, Drew gets it,” I say, leaning into the casual pose again.
The interviewer’s grin turns sly, like she knows she just got something more than I wanted to give. She tucks her pen behind her ear, clicks the recorder off, and says, “That’s going to get people talking.”
“Good,” I say. “Talking’s half the game.”
She packs up, thanks us for our time, promises the piece will be up before Vegas. And then she’s gone, leaving just the four of us and the mess of empty cups and guitar cases crammed into the booth.
Eli whistles low. “Well, shit. That went better than I thought.”
Drew smirks. “Yeah, until Rafe here decided to flirt with the entire internet.”
Miles, calm as ever, just shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. It’s true. Better to say it yourself than let other people say it for you.”
The words land heavier than I expect. I meet his gaze, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t joke. Just waits until I nod once, small but real.
And for a beat, there’s quiet. The kind that says they’ve got my back, that whatever comes out of this, it won’t be me alone.
