Chapter 1: After the Drop
The bass from the main room was a fading heartbeat through the wall, a dull throb in time with the pulse in Josh’s temples. The green room air hung thick with the ghost of their set, a mix of sweat, cheap citrus disinfectant, and the electric ozone of spent amplifiers. A single, flickering disco ball spun lazily above the stained pool table, scattering jagged shards of light over crushed cans and the shimmering confetti dust caught in T Lex’s hair.
He had her pinned against the faded poster of some forgotten band, his forearm braced beside her head, his body caging hers. They were both still breathing hard, chests heaving in the semi-darkness. Her stage glitter was smudged under her eyes, and a thin sheen of sweat made her dusky skin glow under the neon EXIT sign.
“We fucking destroyed that,” he breathed, his voice ragged.
“You dropped a bar in the second verse,” she shot back, but her eyes were dancing, her lips curving into a smirk. Her hands were fisted in the damp fabric of his tank top.
“Liar. You sped up the bridge on ‘Neon Graves’ to throw me off.”
“You kept up.”
She smelled like vanilla and salt and the specific, clean heat of her gear. It cut through the room’s stale beer stench. Josh felt the adrenaline curdle into something else, something hotter and more focused. He dipped his head, his nose skimming the line of her jaw. She didn’t pull away. She tilted her chin up, a challenge.
“Lex,” he started, but the words dissolved.
Her mouth found his. It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision, all teeth and pent-up energy, tasting of cherry lip balm and the Red Bull she’d slammed before they went on. A sound escaped her, half-groan, half-relief, and her hands came up to fist in his hair. He kissed her back like he was trying to win the last word in a battle, his body pressing hers into the wall. The plaster felt cool through his shirt.
She wrapped one leg around his waist, pulling him closer, the heel of her boot digging into the small of his back. The move knocked the air from his lungs. He broke the kiss, gasping, forehead resting against hers. Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes feathering against her skin. The crowd’s roar was a distant ocean now.
“They’re still chanting your name out there,” she murmured, her lips moving against his cheek.
“Let ‘em chant.”
He caught her mouth again, slower this time, exploring. His hands slid down from the wall to her hips, gripping the leather of her shorts. She melted into him, the fierce DJ persona evaporating, leaving just this: a woman clinging to him in a dirty back room, all her sharp edges gone soft.
A heavy fist pounded on the door, making them both jump.
“Shots! You decent?” Marcus’s voice boomed through the cheap plywood. “Meet and greet in ten. The label guys are circling like vultures.”
Josh didn’t move. He kept his eyes locked on T Lex’s. Her chest was rising and falling fast, her lips swollen and dark.
“Tell them five,” Josh called back, his voice surprisingly steady.
A beat of silence. Then a low chuckle. “Five. Don’t make me come in there and pour cold water on you.”
His footsteps receded. The moment stretched, fragile now. The spell wasn’t broken, but it had been named. They had five minutes.
T Lex unwound her leg and slid down the wall until her feet were flat on the floor. She reached up and wiped a thumb at the corner of his mouth, cleaning off a smudge of her glitter. Her touch was unexpectedly tender.
“Marcus is gonna give me that look,” she said, her voice quieter.
“What look?”
“The ‘I-told-you-so’ look. The ‘this-complicates-everything’ look.” She looked away, focusing on a tear in the poster behind him. “He’s not wrong.”
Josh caught her chin, gently turning her face back to his. “What’s it complicating?”
“The tour. The dynamics. You. Me.” She exhaled, a shaky laugh. “I don’t do this. I don’t… mess around with the talent.”
“I’m not the talent. You’re the talent. I’m just the guy with the words.”
She finally smiled, a real one that reached her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
They stood there, in the quiet hum. The noise from the venue was a muffled backdrop. He traced the line of her multiple ear piercings with his gaze, the silver and obsidium studs catching the light. He saw the faint, pale line of a scar through her eyebrow, a story he didn’t know.
“That thing you did with the filters during the last track,” he said. “Where the whole beat just… inverted. I almost lost my place.”
“I know.” A flash of her old cockiness returned. “I saw you blink. It was cute.”
“Cute?” He feigned offense, leaning in again.
She placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. Not pushing away. Just pausing. Her expression turned serious. “Josh. This can’t be a green room thing. A post-adrenaline thing. If we… if this is something, it can’t live in here.” She gestured at the messy, transient space.
He covered her hand with his own, feeling the cool metal of her rings. “Where should it live?”
“I don’t know.” She looked genuinely uncertain, and that vulnerability was more disarming than any kiss. “Somewhere that doesn’t smell like spilled whiskey and regret.”
From the main room, a new wave of cheering erupted. Their time was up. Josh leaned in, pressed one last, soft kiss to the space between her pierced eyebrow and her temple. He let go of her hand.
“Okay,” he said, simply.
He turned and grabbed his discarded hoodie from the arm of a battered sofa, shrugging it on. He tossed her the snapback she’d worn on stage. She caught it one-handed, her eyes never leaving him.
“Okay?” she echoed.
“Yeah.” He walked to the door, hand on the knob. He looked back at her, a figure composed of shadows and disco-ball light, putting her walls back up piece by piece. “We’ll figure out the where.”
He opened the door. The roar of the club and the bright hallway lights crashed in, a wave of reality. He stepped through it without looking back, the taste of her still on his lips and the shape of her a new, urgent rhythm in his head, one that had nothing to do with the beat still pounding through the walls.