The fire door groans open down the corridor.
Footsteps. Two sets. One heavy and measured, one lighter and quicker.
Bells rounds the corner first.
She's flushed. Her choppy white hair is a disaster. Her lips are swollen and damp and there's a streak of dirt on her jeans that's shaped like?—
I look away.
Very quickly.
I accidentally make eye contact with Raf and he's the deepest shade of purple I've ever seen from fighting the laughter demons that are now threatening to explode out of him.
Because Bells has a dirt print on her leg the exact shape of her silicone dick, and Carmine is staring at it.
Rex joins Bells a moment later, and I realize they'reholding hands.She led him down the stairs by thefucking handand he let her. His jacket is slightly rumpled and there are dirt smudges all over it.
His mask is firmly in place, posture rigid, jaw tight, expression carefully controlled as if it isn't painfully obvious to even a stuffy exec like Carmine that Rex fucked her brains out up there.
Carmine's gaze flicks between them.
Overthem.
And I know that sharp industry brain is sorting every wrinkle and dick-shaped smudge into a folder markedpotential liability.
"Were you toking marijuana on the roof?" he asks.
The wordstokingandmarijuana.
Said with the full weight of a buttoned-up man who has never once called itweedin his entire fucking life before now.
Bells barks out a shocked laugh and her hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes go wide above her fingers and her shoulders shake with the effort of containment.
"Yes," she chokes out, composing herself somehow. "We were toking itso fucking hardup there."
I chomp down on the inside of my cheek.
Hard.
My face is doing something. I can feel it twisting like I sucked the juice out of a lemon.
Raf sees it.
His eyes lock onto my face and whatever he sees there hits him like a truck. He goes ramrod straight on the amp, his spine snapping to attention like someone shoved a steel rod up his ass. His bass nearly slides off his lap. He catches it, turns around completely—full one-eighty, back to the room—and starts fucking with his tuning pegs, shoulders shaking with silent laughter and ears a deep vibrant purple.
"What?" Carmine demands, looking between all four of us. "What is so funny?"
"Nothing," Bells manages, her voice strangled behind her palm.
"Allergies," I say. "We need. Uh. Mold mediators."
"Remediation," Raf says hoarsely, plucking a string.
"Let's just—" Bells drops her hand, visibly wrestling her face into submission. "Let's practice. The stunt. That's why we're here, right?"
Carmine narrows his eyes but lets it go. He gestures toward the small stage platform at the far end of the live room. "Whenever you're ready."
Rex hasn't said a word.