Then I lean in voice low, “Hey, angel. Got a question for you.”
She looks up at me with those too-big eyes and a wicked smirk. “Oh? Are we picking colors for your dick piercing? I vote pink. Maybe the same shade as my nails?”
She holds up her hand, showing off her bubblegum pink tips.
The boys groan like they’re in actual pain.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam mutters.
Trey’s full-on gags. “He said gold earlier. Honestly, woman gets in a little car accident, loses her memories, and forgets the important things.”
Chace nearly chokes on his soda. My girls laughing so hard now, it turns into that snort-laugh she does sometimes—the one that makes me think she’s some dirty old man trapped in a goddess’s body. Good thing, too. Because if she so much as frowned, I’d be removing every one of Trey’s piercings with rusty pliers.
“You Bitch, I forgot that.” She says, still cackling.
I just laugh.
Because she’s perfect. Wild. Unfiltered. Mine.
I lean in again, my lips brushing her ear. “It’s a bigger question than that,” I murmur, voice low and serious. Not giving her the truth. Not yet.
She shivers.
She doesn’t know that the real questions tucked away in the side pocket of my guitar case. Waiting. Burning a hole through my soul every time I look at her like this.
And I always look at her like this.
Some people fall in love slow. But me? I crashed. Headfirst. No brakes. No doubts. Just her.
Mac leans her head on my shoulder, fingers slipping between mine. “Well, whenever you’re ready, Rockstar, we can find something that will look good in bubblegum pink…” she says with a smirk, “I’ll have my color wheel prepped.”
Trey snorts. “If that ain’t her new bedroom name by the end of Reverb—”
Sam cuffs him around the head.
“It’s gonna be yours if you don’t shut it, Baker.”
“Meh. Been nicknamed worse.”
We all laugh. Mac leans in and kisses my jaw. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear and press a kiss to her forehead.
And I swear to God, I’ve never been happier.
The sky’s that kind of moody October grey that makes the stage lights blaze brighter, sharper against the clouds. People are already crowding closer as we head toward the set, the buzz of anticipation humming through the air like static before a storm.
But for a second, it’s just us.
Mac slips her hand into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I pull her in close so her side’s pressed against me. The noise fades. The chaos quiets. Her scent—vanilla and something deeper, like warm sugar and fire—wraps around me, and I swear I could drown in it.
“Cold?” I murmur, tugging my hoodie sleeve down to cover her fingers.
She shakes her head, smiling softly. “Nope. You’re a pretty decent space heater.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Guess I’m good for something.”
She looks up at me with a raised brow. “You’re good at a lot of things.”
God, her voice does things to me. I smile, even though there’s a knot tightening in my chest. I want to stop time right here. Want to hold her in this moment forever. But forever’s not a thing you wish for—it’s something you make.
