have looked even more disheveled.
Colt swung into the room, a cup pressed to his lips. The sound of Porter's grumbling followed him into the room. “I don't care if it was the last of the coffee,” the drummer said. “You had three fucking cups, I deserve one—” He halted, spotting me where I stood.
Oh, shit.
Licking my lips slowly, I searched for the ability to speak. I knew I looked conspicuous with my glittering eyes, red cheeks and heavy breathing. Firm nipples cut into my bra, blessedly hidden.
“Lola,” Colt said carefully, “You alright?”
I didn't answer in time. Porter bumped into the drummer, the two stumbling as coffee splashed onto their clothes and floor. “Dammit, Colt! Why would you stand right behind the curtain?”
“Why would you walk into me!” he shouted back, wiping at his shirt.
In the fray, I freed myself from the wall that I'd been glued to. I hoped no one touched it; the surface had to feel like lava from my body heat. Threading around the edge of the room, I burst through the curtain and escaped before anyone dared to stop me.
Drezden's green eyes followed me; I saw them in my brief glance. They marked me like they were carving a tattoo into my skin. I need air, I just need air. In the aisle, I was alone. Brenda had joined up with the crew in their own van after we'd picked up the pizza.
The driver had slid a flimsy plastic sheet between the front seats of the bus, giving himself some privacy as he played the radio.
Taking a seat next to the plastic, I cracked one of the tinted windows. Crisp air poured in, stinging my face wonderfully. The world outside flew by like a painting on rails; mountains, cerulean skies and clouds so thick you could have held them.
We'd crossed into Colorado.
That means we'll be arriving at the venue by... I dug my phone out, looking at the time. Was it already six in the evening? Tomorrow morning. I can't believe it. Everything with Drezden was fading in the wake of my reality.
Soon, I was going to see the place I'd be playing my first show. My first very real, very actual show. Holding my phone close, I started to type a message to Sean. He's the only person I can talk to about this. He'd understand the elation and sickness burrowing deep into my flesh.
'Hey,' I typed to him. 'We'll be arriving soon. I might piss myself.'
Pressing the button to send it, I waited impatiently. My heart beat once, twice, then fifteen times before the device buzzed. Sean's words displayed themselves on my blinking screen.
'Get used to that feeling.'
Smiling helplessly, I tucked my phone away. I liked to think he was right. I wanted him to be. Could this really be happening? Me, Lola Cooper, going to play on stage for thousands of people.
Drezden's face entered my head. He was in my heart, too; that smile and how pained he'd sounded when we'd talked. He wants me to take a risk and hook up with him—to give in to the primal ache haunting us both. But...
Not every risk can be worth it.
Watching the beautiful landscape roll by wasn't enough to erase my shame. Drezden had grown something inside of me. A piece that throbbed and cried and begged for him. A piece that wanted me to take the fucking risk he'd asked me to.
My hand traced the shape of my phone.
How could he ask me to risk everything when I'd barely gotten a taste of it?
- Chapter Eleven -
Drezden
The sky outside was pale blue, but I'd been awake since it had been a melting tie-dye of sherbet orange. Sleeping was harder than ever. Lola plagued the sparse dreams when I managed to find them. In them, she'd always dangle out of my reach. Then I'd grab for her, only to wake up in a sweaty mess.
We'd driven through the night. I'd abandoned my bed hours ago, dressing for the day in broken-in jeans and a long sleeved white sweater. Now, I was settled on a bus seat and just... watching. Denver trickled by in all its glory.
I'd never played in Colorado before. Once, when I was younger, I saw the Wingless Harpies play at the Fillmore. I'd gone with my father, back when he'd been drinking himself to death but before he'd started using me as a target for his impotent rage.
I cupped my lower back, phantom pain burning.
Now I'm here again. This time, I'm