Everyone deflates in disappointment. “Bummer,” Kristy says, patting my shoulder like she’s mourning a dream.
Luke hands each of us a bottle of flavored water. “You girls were on fire tonight. And with Mercs’ lighting? Easily your best show yet. Especially after the Staples Center drama. Really proud of you.”
I down half my berry water in one go, relishing the tart sweetness.
“So…” Andi says, stretching. “New guy’s a keeper. Tonight was a win. Now I need weed, booze, and a chance to let loose.”
“You don’t have any hair to let down,” Casey retorts.
We all laugh as Andi punches her arm.
Casey yelps and rubs the spot, but she is still grinning. “Ouch, you bitch. Is that how you treat your favorite cousin?”
“You’re only a cousin by blood. In my head, you’re just the band freak,” Andi teases.
Casey gasps, clutching her chest. “Ohhh, burn. That hurt. The pain... I’m dying!” She staggers dramatically, then breaks into a huge smile.
Andi walks off, smirking over her shoulder. “I hate you, Casey.”
“I love you too, Andi!” Casey yells after her.
Andi throws up her hand and flips her the bird. “Love you too, bitch.”
“After-party?” Kristy asks, glancing at us all.
“Hell yeah!” Casey jumps up and down, then darts after Andi like she’s been set loose.
Alana and Kristy start walking off, and I pause, glancing over my shoulder toward the back of the stage and up to the rafters. I imagine Mercs is up there, packing down the lighting rig or checking equipment.
I wonder if he’ll come to the after-party.
I hope so.
“You coming, Effa?” Alana calls in her sweet voice. When I glance over, her long blonde waves fall perfectly around her face, like something out of a shampoo ad.
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
I take one last look up, but Mercs is nowhere to be seen. So with a deep breath, I turn and head toward the green room with the others.
The hallway buzzes with energy. The crew is still hustling, people chatting, laughter bouncing off the walls. The high from the show lingers in the air, electric and heady.
Inside the green room, Andi’s already sprawled on the sofa, shirt off, lighting up a joint like it’s her job. Her short, red-dyed hair is damp with sweat, clinging to her neck.
I roll my eyes.
This woman never wastes time.
Alana’s raiding the buffet, piling food on a plate. She always eats like she’s starving post-show and somehow never gains a single ounce. With her girl-next-door charm, you’d think she belonged in a country band instead of our chaotic rock world.
Casey’s at the refrigerator, grabbing her signature vodka. Her long black hair is out of its ponytail now, spilling over her pale shoulders. With her Snow White looks—dark hair, fair skin, and bold red lips—she stands out no matter what room she’s in.
Kristy’s tucked in the corner, glued to her phone. Probably checking social media, scouting our tags and mentions from tonight’s performance. It’s her thing. None of us is really into socials, so we leave it all to her.
Luke’s across from Andi, also on his phone, likely working, because he never stops.
“I’ve got your after-party booked in the VIP room at a nearby club,” he says, eyes still on his screen. “Security’s set. We can head over whenever you’re ready.”
Andi takes a long drag while Casey pops the cap off her bottle and takes a swig.
