When the Lights Come On (Barflies Book 4)

by Katia Rose

I reach the edge of the couch and run my hand down her shin. She shivers when I start massaging her ankle. I need something to keep me busy for a minute here, or I’m going to be ripping those boy shorts off with my teeth and climbing on top of her.

  “Giving you a key to my apartment was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.”

  She smirks. “And you said it was so I could feed Sufjan when you work late.”

  “Or this.” I lower myself to my knees beside the couch and trail my knuckles all the way up her leg to her hip, where I start tracing the band of her underwear. “This works too. You should do this every day.”

  She’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the way her thighs are twitching for me.

  “If I did it every day, it wouldn’t be special, and today is supposed to be special.”

  “Mmm.” I lay my palm on her stomach. “Remind me why again? I’m having trouble remembering anything at the moment.”

  “Because...” Her voice gets more and more breathless as I start to trace a line under her breasts. “You play Luxe, and I play, you know, the pavilion outside Luxe—”

  “Paige.” I go still and cut her off when I hear the self-deprecation in her tone. “You’re playing a huge gig tonight, and tomorrow you leave to do a two week residency at one of the biggest clubs in New York fucking City. I can’t believe I get to date you.”

  She tries to hide her grin but fails miserably. “Okay, fair point.”

  I take the bottle out of her hand and set it down on the coffee table. She gasps when I lower my head and take one of her nipples in my mouth. I start teasing the other with my fingers, and she moans.

  I really can’t believe I get to date this girl. We made it official after we got back from LA, and I’ve been riding the high ever since. Being with her makes everything easier. I got some pushback and disappointment when I announced the changes to my career, but she was there through every minute of it, and I get to be there for her too. When she told me she’d been approached by a manager she was actually considering working with, I talked her through all her fears about it, and when the manager scored her the NYC residency, I made sure she knew we’d be just fine and that I’d support her career every step of the way.

  She’s going places. I have no doubt of that, and I can’t wait to watch her take over the world.

  “Hey, Paige.” I lift my head and look up at her. Her eyes spark with desire and need.

  “Hey, Youssef,” she says, still managing a mocking tone despite the state she’s in.

  “I just wanted to say I love you.”

  Her features soften. “You’re so fucking sappy, and I love you too.”

  I smile and slide my hand under her boy shorts without any warning. She gasps and writhes as my fingers trace her folds.

  “God,” I mutter, dropping my head to bury my face in her neck. “I love the way you feel.”

  I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just the way she likes, and she opens her legs even wider.

  “Oh my god, yes.”

  I keep going for another minute. Her breaths get faster and faster, and she grips the back of my neck with one hand. She’s finally completely splint and sling-free, and while her shoulder is still going to need a couple more weeks of physio, we’ve been taking full advantage of the improvements.

  “Youssef,” she says between pants.

  “Uh huh?”

  “I, uh, should probably tell you. You took longer at the studio than I thought, and I actually have to leave for Luxe in like twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes?” I repeat before taking her earlobe between my lips.

  “Y-yeah.”

  I start thrusting into her a little faster. “I can do a lot in fifteen minutes.”

  She hums. “Mmm, yes, I—I want you inside me, though.”

  I curse against her skin. “You do?”

  “Yes, like, now.”

  I’m already so hard it hurts, and I don’t need her to ask me again. I sprint to the bedroom to grab a condom and then yank my clothes off in record time before doing the same with her underwear.

  I could stare at her pussy for hours and be perfectly happy, but I snap myself out of the trance I go into when she spreads her legs and then I climb on top of her. It feels so good to have her skin on my skin. I kiss her fiercely, our tongues darting into each other’s mouths. She nips my bottom lip, and I groan.

  I slide my cock inside her as slow as I can, but when she grabs my hips to pull me in tighter, I can’t take it. I shift her around so her legs are hooked over my shoulders and start thrusting hard and deep.

  “Youssef,” she murmurs. “Youssef, oh my god, that’s so good.”

  I press my lips to the side of her knee. She’s so soft and gorgeous and mine.

  She’s mine and I’m hers, and it’s been that way since the day I met her.

  The crowd at Luxe is ravenous. Sweat is dripping down my face and body as I work the decks harder than I ever have in my life. The air is thick with dry ice and the cloying ecstasy of a room full of people swept away by sound.

  I’m in the middle of a remix of the biggest single from my EP, adjusting and embellishing it to make it sound more mine and not like a generic summer hit. Everyone is screaming out the words as they jump to the beat. The audience is just one surging wave of faces and arms, and the energy rolling off them is a physical force I can feel crashing into me. This song is alive. It’s tangible. I could reach out and touch it, hold it in my hands, and hurl it back into the crowd.

  I’ve never played like this before.

  When I build to one final, epic drop, the collective anticipation almost becomes too much to take. I half-expect the spotlights above me to shatter when I let the tension break and the whole room explodes into screams and wild dancing.

  I tip my head back and laugh because I don’t know what other sound to make. I’m breathless, ageless, timeless, floating in a moment that lasts millennia before the world fills my lungs again.

  I know what I need to do now. I was worried about my plans for tonight working out, but all the nerves are gone, purged from my system. There’s only room for triumph.

  I fade the music out to just a dull thump of percussion and grab the microphone. I don’t talk much during my sets, and it takes me a second to flip the right switches to turn it on.

  “Hello, Luxe!” I shout once it’s working. I have to wait for the fresh round of screams to subside before I can continue. “Et bonsoir, Montréal!”

  Again, the cheers are so loud I have to stand there waiting for them to subside before anyone can hear me.

  “I have one more track for you guys tonight, and I’m hoping we can get someone special onstage. We just need a minute to set up, if that’s cool with you guys?”

  I take the raucous applause as an affirmative and push the volume up on the backing track before jogging offstage. Most of the stagehands already know what’s up, but my little crew of supporters standing in the wings are all staring at me in confusion.

  Nabil, his girlfriend, Mohammad, my parents, and Paige are all grouped together like a ragtag band misfits in the corner. My parents look especially out of place, dressed way too fancy for a dance club and glancing around at all the backstage chaos like they’re afraid something might explode.

  “Youssef!” Mohammad steps forward and claps me on the back. “Great set! Now what’s going on?”

  It took a few days of recovery after I dropped the bomb about Nautilus for Mohammad to stop acting like I’d mortally wounded him. Eventually I got him to see that he’d be way better off pursuing clients who actually want to be superstars, and most of the tension between us has faded.

  As he put it himself, we had a great run, and we’ll be calling in music industry favours from each other for years to come.

  “A surprise!” I shout, smiling so hard my face hurts. My ears are still ringing and my whole body is buzzing from the high of being onstage.

  A few stagehands are already me
ssing around out there behind me, getting the additional gear ready to go. It took a lot of string-pulling and organizing, but I managed to make sure they’d have access to it.

  A benefit of being the headliner: people are a lot less likely to tell you ‘no.’

  “Paige!” I step away from Mohammad, my whole range of vision zoning in on her.

  She looks incredible. I only had a chance to catch a bit of her set from really far away, but she killed it. Her hair is in some sort of Viking-style braid up-do, and her eye makeup is done with these sharp black lines that make her look fucking dangerous. She’s wearing black skinny jeans and a long, gauzy black t-shirt thing.

  It’s enough to have me stopping dead in my tracks just to stare at her. Then someone bumps into my shoulder on their way to the stage, and I remember where we are.

  “Paige.” I step closer and grab her hand. “I want you to come out and play your song.”

  Her jaw drops. “What?”

  “I got them to set your gear up so you can play ‘When the Lights Come On.’ Everything’s ready for you.”

  She shakes her head slowly from side to side. “N-no. I mean—what?”

  I let out a crazy chuckle. I know how manic I sound, but I can’t calm down. This night is so full of energy and power. “I knew you’d say that. That’s why I didn’t tell you before. Please, Paige, I want you to play it.”

  She stares at me. “But why?”

  I grab her other hand and pull her in close, speaking right into her ear so no one can hear but her. “Because it’s time, Paige. Because when I look at you, I see everything you’re gonna be, and it’s time for the world to see it too. I had my moment out there, and now it’s time for you to have yours. This is it. This is when the lights come on.”

  She grips my t-shirt. “But I don’t...I’ve never played it live before. What if—”

  “This is your moment,” I repeat. “Challenge accepted?”

  I step back and look her in the eyes, and after a moment, her features harden into that stubborn determination I know so well.

  She nods. “Challenge accepted.”

  Twenty-Four

  Paige

  TOP-LINE: The lead vocal part in a track

  The screaming is so loud onstage it feels like my bones are shaking. Youssef slips a pair of headphones over my ears as the last stagehand makes a final adjustment to the wiring and then heads for the wings.

  They have all my stuff here. I don’t know how Youssef managed to make it happen, but they must have grabbed my gear out of the storage room I put it in after my set. I run a hand up the side of my Ableton Push, half-expecting it to be some kind of illusion, but it’s real.

  I raise my eyes and stare into the audience as Youssef starts speaking into the mic. I’ve never played for a crowd this big. There’s a whole ocean of faces stretched out in front of me.

  “This is Chanly!” Youssef shouts. “Remember that name!”

  And then he hands the mic to me.

  I shake my head and refuse to accept it. I don’t talk during my sets. I’m not one of those DJs who greets the audience or shares anecdotes between tracks. I let my music speak for me.

  Plus, I’m kind of terrified, and I don’t know if any words would come out even if I tried.

  Youssef flips a switch to shut the mic off for a second and pulls one side of my headphones away so he can speak into my ear. “You should sing it.”

  I gape at him. “What?”

  It’s too loud to hear his laugh, but I watch him do it.

  “I know you did the vocals,” he says into my ear again. “Paige, you have an amazing voice. This is your song. You should sing it.”

  I start analyzing the logistics before I can stop myself. It wouldn’t be that hard to remove the recorded vocals and do them through the mic instead. I’ve practiced it at home, actually. I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times. I know I can do it. I’ve dreamed of adding live vocals to my sets since I first started gigging.

  I also haven’t sung in front of anyone since the last audition I did as a teenager.

  I shudder as the memory rolls through me. Youssef squeezes my arm.

  “I’ll be right here.”

  I glance at him and hear his words from earlier.

  This is it. This is when the lights come on.

  This is when I stop living life on someone else’s terms. This is when I stop hiding. This is when I show the world—and myself—who I truly am and what I can do.

  I take the mic and fit it into the stand on top of the booth. Youssef whoops and flips the switch again.

  I hover my hands over the controls. I close my eyes. I breathe deep. I let the roar of the crowd fill my ears and flood my system. The rush of familiarity swoops through me, shooting up my spine until every nerve in my body feels so awake and alive it’s almost painful.

  And then I start to play. I build the track up, altering it a little, adding a few complexities and repetitions until it’s time for me to sing.

  The song bursts out of me with so much force I almost lose my balance. Before I even know what’s happening, I’m pouring everything I have into the words I wrote one night all alone in my tiny apartment bedroom.

  I’m singing for the scared little girl in the car on the way to another audition. I’m singing for the girl screaming at her mother and losing the only sister she’d ever known. I’m singing for the girl hurting so bad she didn’t know what to do except hide the pain in hoodies and headphones. I’m singing for the girl wrapped up in Youssef’s arms at a train station, listening to promises that would shatter far too soon. I’m singing for the girl who got a second chance and took it. I’m singing for the girl I am today: bold, free, and so fucking strong I know nothing can break me.

  “So who are you gonna be when the lights come on?” I ask the crowd, and they echo the words back to me.

  I already know my answer.

  Youssef has his arm around my shoulders. We’re in the Luxe green room. It’s filled with industry people and a few minor celebrities I vaguely recognize. My new manager, Shonda, is running around making as many connections as possible as everyone asks questions about me and Youssef, but I’m not really in business mode tonight.

  I still feel like I’m drugged, buzzing on the craziest of uppers that only comes from crushing a gig. Everything is blindingly bright and full of possibility.

  “Hey.” I tap Youssef on the chest. “I know Shonda will be mad at me, but do you, uh, want to get out of here?”

  He laughs and brushes his thumb along my collarbone. “What did you have in mind?”

  I sigh and lean into his touch. “Mmm. Your place? Or mine? I think I have it to myself tonight.”

  He starts tracing the neckline of my shirt. “Those sound like excellent options, but we do have one stop to make first.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s an after-party I promised to drop in at.”

  I must not do a great job of hiding my disappointment, because he laughs a second later. “I promise you’re going to like it.”

  He gets all weird and secretive about the details after we’ve snuck out of the green room, hiding his phone from me as he orders a ride.

  “What? Is it run by the mafia?” I prod. “Or is it just something you know I’m going to hate and refuse to go to?”

  He smirks. “I told you you’re gonna like it. Have patience, grasshopper.”

  I groan and keep bugging him, but he doesn’t give in the whole way out to the sidewalk and into the car. The outside of the club is still buzzing with people. Another DJ is playing the pavilion now, keeping people dancing on the pavement and reliving the thrill of the show.

  “What’s even open this late?” I ask as the car takes us up towards the Plateau.

  It’s already well past midnight on a Sunday night—or I guess Monday morning.

  “You’ll see,” Youssef sing-songs.

  We get all the way to Avenue Mont-Royal, and that’s when it starts to dawn o
n me.

  “You didn’t.”

  Youssef shrugs, trying to play innocent. “Didn’t what?”

  I get the answer when we stop in front of Taverne Toulouse. Most of the other bars on the street are closed or about to be, but I can hear the music from inside and the chatter of a crowd as soon as we step out of the car.

  I pause in front of the letter board on the side of the building.

  The Best Luxe After-Party In Town

  + Bon Voyage for Paige

  I turn to Youssef with my eyes wide. “You did this?”

  “I helped a little,” he admits. “Mostly it was Ingrid and DeeDee.”

  My throat starts to get thick, and I turn to blink away the burning in my eyes.

  I’ve never had friends like this before.

  “Hey.” He comes to stand beside me. “I’m sorry if it’s too much. I could just—”

  “It’s perfect.” I turn back around and smile at him. “It’s so perfect.”

  I lead the way to the door and pull it open. I just have time to register the crowd milling around inside before someone screams, “SHE’S HERE!”

  DeeDee’s by my side in an instant, dragging me up to the bar as everyone claps and cheers. The faces around me are mostly a blur, but I spot Zach, Ingrid, her whole band, and pretty much all of the Taverne Toulouse staff.

  My eyes sting as I look at them. It’s cheesy, but what the staff say about this place is true: Taverne Toulouse really is a family.

  DeeDee deposits me onto a barstool that’s been decorated with streamers and runs behind the bar. I already kind of hate all of the attention, but I let it wash over me anyway, the moment filling me up with something I don’t have a name for. I glance over my shoulders for Youssef, but the face I see instead makes me do a double-take and then start screaming.

  “Isabella! Holy shit! You’re here!”

  My sister beams at me and takes a few timid steps forward. “Hey, Paige. I, um, I saw your show. You were so great.”

  She lifts her arms like she doesn’t know if she should hug me or not. I get up off my stool and pull her in close. Even then, I can’t quite believe she’s here. I mentioned the show to her but was too worried to formally invite her. I didn’t want to push things between us when they’re still so new.