Doesn’t mean I won’t keep an eye on her to try to keep her safe.
I down the last of my drink just as Ava appears, weaving through the crowd like a pro, holding a tray high above her head.“Shots delivery!” she yells over the thumping music, grinning wide as she slides the tray onto our table before she sits next to me. Tequila. The slices of lime kinda give it away.
“God, I love you,” Missy says, already grabbing one.
“Two rounds, honey, and stat,” Ava says. “We’ve got more dancing to do.”
Asher’s not here tonight. He stayed back on the bus as usual. Big clubs aren’t his thing. Too loud, too crowded. I get it. But that means it’s officially my job to keep the girls entertained, and safe, especially Ava. She’s like me—loves the music, lives for the beat, and could spend hours on the dance floor without ever needing a break.
I really fucking hope the DJ keeps playing like he does. Because tonight? I need tomove. To let it out. To leave every ounce of stress and shit from the last eight months right here on this floor, on this tour. Even if it’s only for a couple of hours more.
We knock back the first in one go. It burns hot and sharp, and is exactly what I need. Ava cheers, her bubblegum-pink curls bouncing as she throws her hands in the air like she just won something. Missy laughs as she slides off the armrest, nuzzling in against my side.
“You two bitches are stuck with me forever, you know that, right?” I say, grinning as I lean back and toss my arms around their shoulders, hugging them close.
“Pinky promise?” Missy says immediately, sticking out her manicured finger without hesitation. “That we’ll never let this shit get to our heads. No diva meltdowns and no dressing room tantrums. Just dressing room fucks,” she winks.
I snort a laugh and hook my pinky with hers, already starting to feel the warmth spread, the edges of everything going a little hazy. “Pinky promise it is. Too bad we can’t do a penis promise.”
Ava blinks at me. “Awhatnow?”
“Nothing important,” I say with a grin, nudging her. “Come on, babes. Give us the ceremonial Encore seal of eternal friendship or whatever the fuck this is.”
Ava rolls her eyes but grins wide, then wraps both her pinkies around ours. “One’s for Asher. Even if he’s not here, he’s still one of us.”
“Always.”
“Encore forever?”
“Encore forever,” we vow, soft and serious, before downing the second shot and sealing the deal.
Ava nudges me while I’m still shuddering from the tequila burn. “So… how’s lover boy doing?”
I smile down into my empty shot glass. “Counting down the days,” I say, voice a little quieter than before. “Just like me.”
“Aww, you’re so cute! And that pic from the other day with him and Lam? Ugh. My heart.”
I grin. I fucking loved the pic of Ty and Lam passed out on the couch that Tuck sent. Fast asleep, with Lam drooling on Ty’s head like a damn golden retriever. She’s right, it was fucking adorable.
Honestly, I love our friends for doing this. The constant stream of pictures. The never-ending texts. I love them for helping us through this, for keeping us connected with every ridiculous update.
Ever since Cardboard Ty showed up, there’s been this mutual group chat with the band and Ty’s crew. It started as a joke; just random snapshots of his cardboard doppelgänger on the road.
Cardboard Ty on the bus, serving as a wayward coat rack.
Cardboard Ty at soundcheck, front row like the VIP he is.
Cardboard Ty missing his head because someone thought it’d be hilarious to let him crowd surf.
That was the green light, apparently. It’s shifted into something more now. Like there’s this silent agreement betweenus all to document our lives apart for each other. It’s hilarious. It’s stupid. And it’s honestly been keeping me sane these last weeks.
Whenever the doom and gloom creeps in, I just open the thread. Just a couple minutes ago, Lamar sent a pic of Ty stretching in full gear—helmet on, delicious ass in the air, taunting me, all ready for tonight’s scrimmage. I know that means radio silence for the next few hours, but the little glimpses always help.
But what helps me even more is knowing that I’ll see him in less than a week.
“Oh shit, this is our song!” Ava shouts suddenly, and I lift my head, perk my ears before grinning like a fool the moment I hear my voice. The DJ’s got a dance remix going of one of our songs, and fuck, he’s owning it. That drop is nasty in thebestmotherfucking way.
I hop up from the booth and hold out my hands. My besties take them without hesitation, and we dive into the crowd, letting the beat carry us. I twirl Ava around as she shimmies her hips and yells that we seriously need to look into hiring this guy for future sets.
