Her grin widens. “Nice to meet you too, Michael.”
He looks personally betrayed. No one ever calls him by his full name. Hayden snorts. Luc mutters something about popcorn. Dean chuckles beside me. “This is gonna be fun.”
Quinn’s eyes flick immediately between me and Dean, specifically the tiny space between us that clearly isn’t as big as we think it is. She corners me the moment she can.
“Tell me everything,” she demands in a low, knowing voice.
I inhale. “We’re figuring things out.”
“Figuring things out?” She clutches her chest. “You mean you finally let yourself climb that tattooed tree?”
“Please lower your voice,” I hiss.
“Absolutely not.” She giggles, but then becomes more serious. “I’m proud of you. He looks at you like he’d fight an army to get to you.”
The truth lands warm in my chest. Dean calls my name across the garage. Just a simple, “Sadie,” but it hits me low and deep.
Quinn leans in, whispering, “Yep. That man is gone for you. I think I’ll have some fun with that drummer. See if I can make him a little crazy.”
“What?” I twist my head in her direction, my eyes wide.
She smirks. “Just wait. You’ll see.”
The show that night is electric, but it is New York City. The show is sold out, the fans are screaming, the energy pulsing like a frantic heartbeat. My camera drinks in every second. But afterward, in the backstage lounge, is when things really get interesting.
Quinn wanders in wearing an oversized hoodie she absolutely stole from our bus. Mikey sees her and nearly chokes on his Gatorade. “Wait? Isn’t that my-” He sputters, pointing at her. “That’s swallowing you! You’re going to trip on it!”
She smiles coyly. “It’s cozy.”
“It’s too big. It’s- it’s inappropriate!” He continues to argue with her. “It’s practically lingerie!” He directs his stare to her bare legs.
“Michael, it’s literally a sweatshirt.” She’s practically cooing she’s having so much fun torturing him. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“Well, it’s mine,” he huffs out, like she’s wearing his prom tuxedo or something just as important. She snorts and sits beside him on the couch like she owns the place. Mikey goes rigid, staring straight ahead like she’s a wild animal he’s afraid to startle.
“Relax.” She giggles. “I don’t bite.”
He squeaks. Actually squeaks.
Dean appears at my side and whispers, “This is going to be the highlight of the tour.”
Quinn leans closer to Mikey. “So, tell me all about why you love drumming.”
He visibly panics. “I, uh, like to bang things.”
She laughs so loud her head falls back on her shoulders, and when Mikey realizes the double meaning of what he just said, his face turns a shade of crimson that matches an apple, and looks like he might faint.
They don’t know it yet. But something just flipped in both of them. I know it. Dean knows it. Hell, the room knows it. And standing beside Dean, feeling his fingers brush mine in secret as we both watch these two combust just by being near each other, I realize something big; we’re not the only story happening here. Not the only spark. Not the only beginning.
And for the first time in a long time, that feels like hope.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dean
Is This Love
Whitesnake
