my shows even happen. That knowledge was making me anxious.
“If you think that's scary,” I said in a low tone, “You'll piss yourself when we play in front of them all later.” Brushing past her, I made a beeline for the front door of the building. I didn't look back to see if my words had hurt Lola. I didn't care. I couldn't fucking care.
Dressed in a tight, dark jacket and matching leggings, I almost didn't see Brenda. She had arrived ahead of us, a security guard for the Griffin Bar and Grill at her side. “Drezden, hey!” Her arm snapped side to side.
I said, “Hey. Everything okay for us to go inside?”
“It was such short notice,” she groaned, juggling her phone up to her ear for emphasis. “Couldn't you just let me order you some catering and have it delivered to the bus?”
The familiarity of her exasperation brought a smile to my lips. It was comforting, a status quo returned in my recently turbulent emotions. “Sorry, we were all sick of stale pizza and sandwiches.”
“Whatever, whatever.” Her sigh was dramatic, her heavy-makeup coated lashes swishing at the guard. “Can you show them to the room in the back?”
Something bumped into me. For a second, I'd hoped it was Lola, but no; Porter had squeezed past, impatiently walking in front of the security guard. “Yeah! Show us. I'm starving, let's go.”
We formed a sloppy line through the restaurant. To our sides, I saw and heard the flashes from camera phones. We were probably the biggest stars the building had had in some time.
Wanting to see Lola's reaction, I glanced backwards. The young guitarist was walking next to Brenda, the two of them speaking with their heads close. My manager had swept her long arm around Lola's sharp shoulder blades like they were old friends.
If I knew Brenda, she was probably getting a kick out of feeling important, informing Lola about this or that as we moved through a sea of excited people. It was the ease in which they were touching and talking that was making my neck throb.
My attention stuck on Brenda's nails digging into Lola's side. I wanted to be the one bending my lips near her ear and making her grin. I ached to swallow Lola in my arms and smell her hair, to feel her shiver.
It took all my strength to rip my eyes away and look ahead.
The guard led us into a side room, a door blocking it off entirely from the restaurant. There was a game area attached with some pool tables and flat screen TVs. Along one wall was a series of tables that had been pushed end to end.
Porter dropped into a chair, snagging a menu from the middle. Someone, probably the owner, had placed a bottle of champagne in a bucket for us. The very-pink label winked at me as I got closer.
I didn't bite back my snort. “Who thought we'd drink this?”
“It's champagne,” Brenda said, sliding around and freeing Lola from her grasp. She touched the neck of the green bottle. “Fancy champagne, even. I'll keep it if it doesn't get touched.”
Colt slid the bucket away from her, sitting across from Porter with it in his grasp. “Oh no, I'll take it. It'll make a great dessert.”
“Or we could all share it," Porter said, snatching the champagne back. He ignored Colt's pout. “We've got an excuse to celebrate.”
I suppose we do, I thought silently. As a group, we all turned to watch Lola.
She shifted from one foot to the next. “What, because of me? Come on, don't make me blush.”
A chunk of me lurched forward at the simple idea of making her cheeks glow pink. It was close to the itch I got for tobacco when things were stressing me out. Striding forward, I pulled the bottle from Porter. In my other hand I snagged an empty champagne flute. “Everyone,” I said, “take a glass.”
Lola twitched as I approached. “I'm not technically allowed to drink," she said, laughing. "Maybe I should have said that sooner? Before all the beers?” The tilt of her lips at the corners sent electric pricks over my spine. She reacted to me so openly. Was that what was drawing me to her? How she projected her emotions on her lovely face?
“No one is going to say anything to you, not in this group,” Colt chuckled.
“Here, take this.” I pushed the glass at Lola until she took hold.
“Seriously,” she said, sourness dancing on her tongue, “We