Page 41 of Before Now

“You all saw it, boys,” he says. “I got her tongue first.”

I flip him off, which only earns me a wink. I drop the wedge and empty shot into my cup.

“You said what now about taking this show on the road?” Colton asks. “Because I remember this field trip having a singular destination.”

Felix brings a half-full bottle of rum to his mouth, taking a swig. “It’s not Halloween without a haunted house.” He waggles his brows and then marches off with four girls in tow. Dev smirks and follows with the last girl. The two mimes who’ve been hanging back trail after them both.

“Fuck.” Colton drains the last of his beer. “I’m not sure if it’s worse to stop them or go with them.”

Foster finishes his drink, too, and grabs all three of our cups—our fingers graze when he takes mine. Dev’s words repeat in my head, only about a guitarist rather than a bass player.

He sets them on a side table and slaps Colton on the back. “It’s Utah. Better to fuck around in the middle of nowhere. Otherwise, you’ll be buying photos off random people of an impromptu orgy in a Starbucks bathroom.”

He heads in the same direction as the others.

“Why do I think that’s happened before?” I ask.

With a look of resignation, Colton grasps my shoulders and points me toward the door. “Because you’ve spent more than a day with the band. They’re cavemen, remember?”

Dev proves it once we step outside, and he’s literally carrying one of the women over his shoulder.

It only takes three blocks before we reach our destination, walking while a mime follows with the van. Colton stops with his hands on his hips right in the middle of the street, and we stare up at the three-story Victorian together.

Felix immediately climbs the tire of the bulldozer parked on the dirt lawn and throws his arms out. “My fucking castle.”

“It’s not really haunted,” one of the angels says, walking toward us. “Daddy’s building condos. The owner of this dump finally died, so he’s rushing demo. I don’t even think they’ve cut the electricity yet.”

Colton sighs, his entire body relaxing. “I can work with this.”

By the time he finishes, Dev’s already dashing up the cracked concrete steps to the deteriorating porch. Felix dismounts the demo equipment, chasing him in while the bodyguards gather up the fan club.

I’m stuck on the exterior, though. The cracked and peeling white paint over wooden siding, each side a direct mirror of the other. Bay windows and dormers and an oculus window high up beneath a gable.

“A beautiful thing.” Foster steps beside me.

I nod, spellbound by the snapshot of time. “Art.”

We stand there even after a flood of giggles rushes up the stairs. But not the entire fan club, apparently. The angel comes back to join us after a minute. Only she has her eyes set on a different piece of artwork, stopping in front of Foster. “Gross, right?”

Foster half-smiles at the house and says, “Not even close,” before walking inside.

After he disappears through the door, Colton whistles and hooks his head from the porch. I step, and so does the angel.

“Are they really letting you bring that with you?” she asks with a point at my camera.

“What? Why?—”

“Remi.” Colton cuts me off once we reach the steps. The angel bats her lashes at him on her way up and goes with the mime detail into the house. He tips his head to maintain a view of her ass. “She already gave Adams the fuck-me eyes?”

“Oh, yeah.” His comment registers, and I look up at him. “You used his name.” And I remember, “You usedmyname.”

He shrugs. “Not much of a point after the NDAs. We still confiscated their phones, though. We haven’t fully made it past the orgy possibility of the night.”

I blink. “I need to remove Dev’s spy glasses.”

We head inside, and he does me the solid of snagging Dev’s glasses. Colton powers them down and hooks them in the collar of his torn shirt.

It takes about two seconds for me to hit record and pan around the gutted foyer. A dusty and precariously dangling pendant light above proves the angel right about power still being on. Toolboxes and broken pieces of plaster cover parts of the scratched hardwood. I pick my way around them to a stripped and partially torn-down wall. Through the hole, enough light shines in to see the massive brick fireplace. The mantel’s long gone in what seems to be a forgotten parlor.

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