Page 38 of The Duet

“Billie, I’m sorry,” I shout over a loud drumbeat. “But this—you and me—it’s not going to happen.” I look her in the eye so this can’t be misinterpreted. “I have feelings for someone else. Okay?”

Billie’s eyes grow wide. “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter who.”

“Someone on the tour?” She sips from her drink while keeping her gaze trained on me.

“I’m really not going to tell you.”

Billie nods as though she’s finally getting that I’m not interested in her. “I guess I’ll find out when and if things get serious.”

“Yeah.” Serious? Me and Lana? It seems too far-fetched, but who knows what will happen? Then Jess turns up behind Billie, bopping to the music, and I’m reminded of at least one reason things had better not get too serious between us.

“Friends?” Billie holds out her hand, suddenly looking rather geeky, instead of the slick guitarist of The Lady Kings.

“Friends.” I shake her hand. “Besides, have you seen all the eyes that are glued to your every move in here? All you have to do is snap your fingers, and you can have whomever you want.”

“That’s not quite true, though, is it?” Is that a hint of hurt in her voice? A smidgen of the old sting of rejection? “And, besides, those eyes you just mentioned—they’re all on you, babe. They’re all on you.” She tilts her head toward me. “You tell that person you have feelings for they are very lucky.”

I grin at her as I imagine me telling Lana how lucky she is. The mere thought of it is preposterous.

“I’m serious. Make sure they know,” Billie repeats.

“Hey.” Jess holds up three fresh beers. “I’ve got more drinks.”

At this rate, I’m never going to get out of here. But Lana’s waiting for me.

“Cheers, ladies.” Billie clinks her bottle against mine and Jess’s before disappearing into the crowd.

“Tim’s tearing up the dance floor, as usual. Shall we join?”

I can’t bring myself to tell Jess that I want to go back to the hotel, even though it means missing out on more time with Lana.

I follow Jess onto the dance floor and even though part of me would rather be with Lana and repeat all the glorious things we did last night, it’s not a hardship for me to dance with my friends, these three people that I love so dearly and have such amazing chemistry with—on and off stage.

The more we dance and drink, the more the thought of Lana dissolves, and the more I’m convinced that I’m meant to be here with Jess, Tim, and Daphne tonight, instead of with her. Because they’re my bandmates and, as my level of intoxication grows, my doubts about what Lana is to me—and what I am to her—grow ever bigger.

By the time I make it back to the hotel, I don’t even try to knock on Lana’s door. It’s deep into the night and I don’t want to disturb her. I crash into my own bed and only wake up when it’s almost time for lunch.

I check my phone, but there are no messages from Lana. There are a ton of Instagram posts about our bender last night and messages in the band’s WhatsApp group about how epic it was and the varying levels of headache everyone is experiencing.

I’m not sure if I should text Lana, but I should at least apologize because I said I would go by her room and I didn’t. If it had been the other way around, if I’d been waiting all night for Lana to show up and she didn’t, I imagine I’d be pretty upset. So I text her:

* * *

Sorry I didn’t make it last night. I couldn’t get away. Hope to see you soon. xo

* * *

I laze around in bed, checking email and replying to a few messages, but Lana doesn’t respond.

We have our soundcheck soon, so I get up and hit the shower, hoping that Lana will have sent me a message by the time I’m dressed, but she hasn’t. Maybe she’s done with me already. Maybe me going out clubbing made her see her error in judgement in sleeping with me, someone far younger than her. And then there’s the stuff with Jess.

According to the WhatsApp group, a bunch of people are at a diner across the street from the hotel. I need to eat something before we head to the concert venue, so I decide to join them instead of ordering room service and stewing in my own thoughts.

Tim and Daphne whoop when I walk into the diner.

“She’s alive,” Jess exclaims dramatically.

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