Tripping Over Themselves

[brian_campo]

The moment the final note of music faded from the sound system, Brian tugged his earphones off his head and dropped them carelessly on the synthesizer. For once, he was grateful that his band wasn’t popular enough for an encore. On many nights, he had gotten the short end of the stick when one of his band mates ditched after the show and left Brian to pack up their gear. Time to turn the tables. In fact, it was long overdue. “Mads...” He pulled a mic off its stand, swung it by the cord, and sent it sailing in an arc toward the brunette’s personal space.

She caught it. “Watch it!”

“Later, I’m out.”

‘Wait, what--?’

Too late, Brian thought. He shouldered past Seth like a shoplifter making a break for it and hit the ramp at a jog. Thump, thump, thump. He nudged through a throng of other musicians and regulars to creep up behind the petite blonde with the incredible body. He snaked his arms around her waist and raised her off the ground. “Hey, beautiful,” was muffled against her neck, and they were turning, turning, the room going ‘round and ‘round, the lights streaking purple and blue and neon orange. Brian’s shirt was drenched in sweat. He felt as rubbery and loose as a piece of stretched taffy.

Criminal Conversation

[tiny_dancer81]

Old habits died hard.

As much as Theresa was thinking about giving up the life, backsliding had probably been inevitable. She'd left The Dive the night before, having missed Maddy backstage, and she'd slept most of the day, waking up just before sundown. Having no job meant she had nothing to do but fart around her apartment, and she flipped channels for two hours while it got later, then clicked off the set because she was restless and bored.

It wasn't that she'd intended to go on the stroll, but she found herself having a margarita in a lounge on the Strip, and a man in an Armani suit and too much product in his hair sat down on the stool next to her. The man had an accent, something kinda-sorta European. Theresa, being from California, realized he didn't speak English very well. She did, however, understand it when he offered her five hundred dollars to join him in his suite at the Skylark.

Yeah, old habits died really hard.

Afterwards, he said she could stay in the suite while he went downstairs to meet someone. He'd been on the phone beforehand, talking rapid-fire in his native language, switching to English every now and then. Theresa was too busy envying the fact that the bathroom was nearly the size of her tiny apartment to pay attention. When he left, she called room service and ordered a pitcher of margaritas, then settled into an overstuffed chair to watch cable.

A Nautical Tour

[st_clare]

Julianna liked the water.

In London, she used to walk down by the Thames, even in the dead of winter when the weather was frigid. It was not frigid in Nevada, even though October was more than half over, but it was only in the upper seventies today, which made it pleasant. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. She had a room booked for the rest of the weekend so she could work on a paper. It wasn't precisely the same thing as visiting the countryside, but it was quieter than the city and the rates were reasonable. It might even be a good place for a tryst.

The day's outing had been planned by the teaching staff at UNLV, and Julianna had decided to go after some deliberation. It might be easier for her to socialize on the deck of a boat than at an event at the school where she was tacitly expected to be in costume. So far, she'd succeeded in making idle conversation, even without a drink in her hand.

The Watcher drifted away from the knot of people she'd been conversing with, stepped towards the helm of the boat. In the summer, the temperatures would soar again. She would walk down by the water's edge when the sun went down, once everyone else was gone. It would remind her vaguely of home.