Page 42 of When It Reins
She smiles at me over her shoulder, and I squeeze her hand tighter. Fuck if I was going to be able to let go now.
19
juniper
There isno reason to be obsessing about each curl on my head, or how each eyelash looks on my eyes, or how wrinkly or not my dress is.
But here I am, standing in a green room backstage, my breath coming in panicked puffs as I stare at myself in the mirror. I’ve never been the type to stress over what I wore on stage. If I was good enough, they wouldn’t care what I was wearing.
We are set to go on in twenty minutes, and each agonizing second before that is killing my stomach.
A knock sounds from the door, and I turn just in time to see Felicity entering, her smile bright and excited.
“Almost time!” She comes to me, fixing stray hairs and taking a look at my clothes herself. “You are going to be amazing out there. Don’t let that inner demon tell you any different.”
“How’d you know there was a demon?” I ask, giving a false laugh to try to sound calm.
“Girl, I always have that demon.” She grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye. “It’s called impostor syndrome. Thelittle voice in your head saying you aren’t good enough, that someone else is better than you, or that you shouldn’t be here. But if that was true, you wouldn’t feel that pull here.” She taps my belly button. “And you wouldn’t be opening for such a huge concert either. People love you, and they’re going to love your music and your sound.”
“I’m only here because of you.”
Felicity frowns and almost looks offended. “What? No, you’re not. I merely showed a label your music. The rest was up to them.”
“What if they don’t like me after this?”
Felicity shrugs, her bright eyes imploring mine. “Then fuck ’em. Will that stop you from doing what you love?”
I think about singing at the bar—how I get to perform for my friends and family with no pressure, just for the fun of it—and shake my head.
“Then stop worrying. Go out there with that stud of yours and show them what you do best.”
I laugh, shaking my head and about to refute the wholemy studpart when he walks in the door. He is wearing jeans and a black button-up shirt, his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And if I’m not mistaken, there is some sort of hair gel in his hair.
He looks good enough to eat.
“Ready?” he asks, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re asking for us side stage.”
I take a breath, and Felicity wishes us good luck, leaving the room. Mitch watches me carefully, and I wish he would come over here and distract me.
I can’t ask him to do that, though.
Thinking back to last night, I remember the way we all danced in the nightclub. It was noticeable how uncomfortable a scene it was for Mitch. He wasn’t the type that went clubbing, but then I got bold, I got brave, and I danced my way over thereafter working up a sweat with Felicity and laughing our asses off. He smirked at me, watching my movements as he stood off to the side of the dance floor.
He was close enough to watch us, keeping an eye on everyone just like Felicity’s team of security was, but far enough away to be an outsider to our group.
But I don’t want him to feel like an outsider. I want him to feel a part of everything. I want him to know that he is cared for, that he is loved, that I, personally, want him to be by me.
So I boldly slid my arms up over his shoulders, plastering myself to his body. I’d probably had a little too much to drink, letting myself let loose for the first time in a long time.
Instead of pushing me away, though, he hooked his arms around the small of my back, his eyes smoldering with heat I rarely saw there, and he grinned down at me. From there, I pulled him onto the dance floor, letting our bodies move together as one and watched as he finally let loose again with me, relaxing into the movements.
After clubbing, we made a late-night run to a popular fast-food joint, all four of us ravenous after hours of drinking and dancing. Then Mitch and I laid on the bed, shoes kicked off and still in our going out clothes, each stealing bites of random food we had spread out around us.
It may seem silly and unsexy, but it was one of the best nights of my life, and I have a feeling it had everything to do with the man walking toward me.
“You okay, Starling?” He looks at me intently, his golden hazel eyes momentarily captivating me and keeping me from answering.
I blink, snapping out of it and smile at the nickname. “Nervous.”
