“Okay, boys.” Clara clapped her hands, commanding the room without even trying. “We’ve got two hours until you’re on. I want everyone ready and dressed in ninety minutes so we can get backstage.” She pointed at Thump. “You’re first. We need to cover the landmark on your neck, and if you’re in the chair, you’re less likely to run off somewhere and fornicate.”
Thump groaned and approached the folding chair like a condemned man heading to the gallows. Ghost pulled on his Bose headphones. Riff started plucking at his guitar. Mick settled back with his e-reader.
And then there was Bodhi.
Perched on the edge of an armchair, elbows braced on his knees, staring down at the water bottle in his hands. Except he wasn’t seeing it. I’d found him like that a few times back at the Willow—in the far corner of the library, on our favourite bench in the garden—folded in on himself and lost so deep in his head it was like he’d forgotten the world around him.
Everyone else knew what they needed to do to get ready for a show. Bodhi clearly didn’t. Before rehab, his pre-show ritual probably looked different. A drink. A line. Something to smooth the edges. Now all of that was gone, and he looked... untethered. Like his hands didn’t know where to go without the wrong thing in them.
When it came to doing their makeup, I hoped Clara didn’t leave him until last. He needed something to do. Something to keep his mind from going to dark places.
Thump flopped into the chair with a melodramatic sigh, flashing me a cheeky grin. “Hey, hot stuff,” he purred.
Ah. So he was the resident flirt. It made sense. Shortest guy in the band, bright blond hair, and a face wholesome enough to be in a Milky Bar ad. He clearly overcompensated by fucking his way through the tour. I wasn’t sure who in the band was queer and who wasn’t, but based on the look Thump was giving me, alive, breathing, and of legal age summed up his sexuality.
“Alright, little drummer boy,” I said. “What am I doing with you today?”
Thump slung an arm over the back of the chair, legs spread wide. “Anything you want, baby. I’m an equal opportunity lover.”
And there it was. Confirmation. Not that I needed it.
A packet of crisps whipped through the air and cracked him across the side of the head. He squawked and glared around the room. Bodhi stared back, unimpressed. “Stop harassing him.”
“I wasn’t harassing him!” Thump protested, chucking the packet back, where it landed on the floor between Bodhi’s feet.
“You were a step away from pulling your dick out just in case your flirting wasn’t obvious enough,” Mick said without looking up from his e-reader.
I caught Thump’s chin between my fingers and gently turnedhis face towards me, giving him my sweetest, most saccharine smile. “As flattering as your offer might be—and trust me, you weren’t subtle—I’m not interested in sleeping with a colleague.”
His eyes went comically wide. “O-okay.”
The others snickered. When I stole a glance at Bodhi, he had that soft, barely there grin I’d become addicted to pulling out of him.
“Tick tock, love,” I said, letting go of Thump. “Either tell me what you want, or I’m making you look like an extra member of KISS for funsies.”
“Just eyeliner,” he blurted. “And Clara says this needs covering.” He pointed at the massive purple bruise on his throat.
“Yeah, that’s gotta go.” I leaned in, examining the monstrosity. “How’d they get it to look like Texas?”
Someone snorted, and Bodhi muttered, “That’s what I said.”
It took twenty minutes to finish with Thump. Five for a few dashes of concealer and some artfully messy eyeliner, and fifteen to deal with the hickey without making it look like I’d just painted over it with tempera—though Clara claimed anything was better than the “hack job” she’d done last night. Her words, not mine.
“Okay, and...” I wiped away a stray smudge of black “You’re done.”
Thump leapt from the chair and strode towards Ghost. He yanked off his bandmate’s headphones, whispered something, and the two disappeared together.
“Who’s next?” I asked no one in particular.
“Me.”
I nearly levitated out of my skin. Bodhi stood behind me, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted, smirking.
“Christ,” I hissed, swatting his shoulder. “Warn a guy when you’re planning to sneak up on him.”
“But then it wouldn’t be sneaking, would it?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t tease me, Just Bodhi. Sit.”
