"Are you sure you're not up for it?" Seira asks.

        Lauren drags her finger along the dusty blue comforter of Seira's bed, rubbing her nose briefly before lowering her hand. A pile of used tissues sits crumpled beneath her on the floor.

        "I'm sure," she laughs, biting back another sniffle. "Have fun, though."

        Maver is in the living room, chomping on a bag of chips loudly enough I can hear him. My impression of the French has been ruined since getting to know him.

        Neither of us is heartless enough to disinvite Maver, so we decided earlier to suck it up. If we're lucky, we end up running into someone Maver knows and he does the polite task of ditching us. No hard feelings. Promise.

        "We'll stop and get some tom kha gai on our way back."

        Lauren sends Seira a thankful half-smile. "Thanks."

        "Did you hear the final cut of The L?" I ask.

        After Rami finished piecing the vocals together and working his magic, he sent the song to Maverick to add any production he thought would help elevate the song. Surprisingly, it was sent back quickly, and I was lucky enough to be with Rami, so I got to hear it with him for the first time.

        "Not yet," Lauren pouts. "Maybe I'll have him show me when you guys leave."

        "It's so good. You're gonna love it."

        "Great. It'll distract me from the fact I can't breathe through my nose."

        I sweep my thumb across Lauren's cheek. "Get some rest. We can watch Jurassic Park again and debate the continuity errors in Lost World."

        "Sounds like a plan. See you later."

        Maver glances up at us, reaching for the remote and lowering the volume as we drop onto the sofa next to Jun's sleeping frame.

        "Are we ready to go?" he asks, sliding the bag of chips onto the coffee table. I silently eye the clip next to it until he gets the point and clamps it over the bag.

        I reply, "Have you considered keeping your sick girlfriend company?"

        Maver dusts his hands off on the front of his clothes. "Believe it or not, I tried to tell her I'd stay home with her tonight but she insisted I go out."

        "Hmm."

        Maver tosses a pillow at Jun, startling him awake from his nap. He bolts upright, glancing around on high alert. Seira leans over to tap the top of his head before flicking him on the nose.

        "Pretty sure you slept until noon."

        Jun slaps her hand away. "Pretty sure that was still an hour before you woke up."

        "Let me be incredibly lazy and text Rami that we're leaving instead of walking five feet to his room," I mumble.

        Maver's on his phone, calling to make sure his car is outside. I walk over to the credenza where I placed my clutch and check to make sure all of my essentials are inside. By the time I do my last-minute check-ups in the mirror, the other two have rejoined us.

        We race along the highway skyline to Maver's request of Time to Pretend by MGMT, a breeze steadily skipping past us. Los Angeles lights flash off in the distance, and the closer in to the city we find ourselves, the louder the sounds echo around us. At some point, my daydreams pull me so far out of my head I forget I'm even sitting in a car.

        Jun latches his pinky finger around mine, squeezing lightly to let me know he's there, even though we're acutely aware of each other whenever we're in the same room—or car, in this case—together.

        There are times when I feel envious of my friends who don't have to turn a switch on and off. They can go when they need to. I often feel like a child next to them having to hype myself to interact in a social setting.

        My eyes drift to the back of Maver's head, sitting in the front passenger seat, before returning to my best friend's profile.

        I lean my head against his shoulder for the remainder of the car ride and have to be shaken awake when we arrive. For safety reasons, we park out back in a secure and private lot with access to inside the club.

        A surprise awaits us once we make our way into the main room when Jun spots Mick and Moxie taking shots at a table near the back. Somehow through all of the chaos, their eyes find us in the crowd and their hands fly into the air, ushering us over.

        "Fancy seeing you here," Moxie coos. I slide across the seat until our legs touch, the rest of our party behind me. Moxie's eyes slide above my head and her lips purse into a tense smile. "Hi. I don't think we've met."

        Maver reaches over me to shake her hand before taking Mick's. Judging by the looks on both of their faces, they're familiar with him. Or, at the very least, the public perception of him. Whether they fall into a certain category of spectator isn't something I can definitively say. The introductions are short and to the point. If Maver is aware of their lukewarm reaction, he doesn't show it.

        "How have you been?" She drags her finger lazily across my cheek, flicking it off before flashing me a charming smile with all too glittery eyes. "Missed you."

        Less caught off my guard than before, I'm able to maintain some sort of composure, saving myself any further embarrassment.

        "Missed you, too."

        "I found out something super fun the other day," Moxie announces, leaning in close.

        "What?"

        "Did you realize we're label mates?"

        At least the music is distracting because my mouth hangs wide open as I take in what should be incredibly obvious. "No way."

        "Yes way."

        "That's...actually super funny." I suppose the reason this comes as a slight shock to me is that I assumed Mick & Moxie would have been signed to their father's label.

       "Dad always said if we wanted to make it in the music industry, we'd have to do it on our own merit. He gave us a few connections but the rest was on our own." She shrugs. "Somewhat, I guess. Once people find out who our dad is, they change things up, but we try not to use our name when we can."

        "Seems fair enough."

        Moxie flicks her hand in the air. "No work talk tonight, though. I promise that's it."

        "Sure," I laugh. "Do you know the guy that owns this place? Seira's friends with him."

        "Oh, Mick does." She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. "They used to date."

        "Yeah?"

        "Somehow my brother manages to keep all of his exes as friends. Can't relate."

        I scoff, "Me neither. Those first two especially."

        "Oh, the first two are always the worst," Moxie laughs. "The best ones come after."

        Trying not to linger too long on her smile, I glance down at the empty glasses in front of us. "I need a drink."

        "You're so right." Moxie leans forward, angling her head until she's able to catch someone's eye. With a level of boldness I'm not sure even Seira would be able to imitate, she adds, "Flirting is so much more fun when we're both tipsy. What's your usual?"

        I swallow back my initial response. As if she were the reason we came here in the first place, Moxie gives all of our drink orders to one of the employees who arrives at our table seconds later.

        Once we knock back a few rounds and I start to feel tingly all over from the alcohol, Moxie successfully pulls Seira and I out onto the dancefloor.

        When a night is good, it feels like nothing can touch me. And while I'm not convinced enough it'll last forever, who am I to deny myself the privilege of dancing with my best friend and a pretty girl? Moxie plays the part of distraction well, tethering herself with a hand hanging loosely around the back of my neck.

        I'm not sure how much time passes before Moxie pulls me into her chest, shouting into my ear that she needs to say hi to a few friends but she'll be right back. I nod, ushering her off while I continue dancing with Seira who is my go-to dance partner.

        I shimmy my hips to the beat and a lone hand creeps up around my waist, someone's breath hitting the back of my neck, and I scramble toward Seira. I turn around to a man whose face is shrouded in shadows the bright lights don't pierce. Out of force of habit, I shrug it off with a laugh, chalking it up to a mistake even though it's clear by the look on his face it was purposeful.

         "My bad," he shouts.

         "Yeah," Seira moves us in the direction of the table. "Your bad."

        "Hey," the guy protests with a laugh. "It ain't even like that. I'm a fan."

        Seira scoffs before pushing me forward again. A hand reaches out, keeping me in place and she whips around, eyes narrowed.

        I shake him off. "Don't touch me."

        "Can't a fan get a little attention?" He flashes fake puppy eyes that make my stomach invert into itself.

        "Maybe if you hadn't invaded my fucking personal space," I spit.

        Even in the dark, his eye roll is exaggerated. "You're in a club. There's no such thing as personal space."

        "Might be hard for you to believe, but I don't rub my hands up on anyone else when I'm dancing."

        "I don't know, seemed pretty cozy with that other chick."

        "That would be a friend. If you're such a fan, then stop arguing with a woman when she tells you to leave her alone."

         I allow Seira to pull me away from the guy and his two friends watching the whole ordeal unfold. We make it to the table where Mick is sitting with a few other people that were already here when we arrived. He relays Jun went to the bathroom while Maver went to the bar to grab drinks and say hi to a few people.

        Mick's eyes shift behind us, focusing on the trio that follow us to our table. His friends aren't paying attention, but his body tenses.

        While I choose to ignore them, Seira flicks a sizzling sneer, hoping it burns badly enough they'll cut their losses and leave us alone.

        But believing in the average man in a club to respect boundaries is an ill-fated affair, and I'm not surprised when her look eggs them on, by no fault of her own. Their sleaziness is potent enough I can flick the slime off my wrist where he touched me earlier.

        "What, not your type?" the guy continues. "You don't gotta hide. We're all cool."

        "Do you need us to spell it out for you?" Seira scoffs. "Get. Lost."

         Their pale faces appear sickly under the club lights, and a sheen of sweat along their foreheads paired with dilated pupils signals their current state.

        "Nobody asked for you," the guy up front antagonizes, stepping closer to us. I tug on Seira's arm but she doesn't budge, and even if she did, there's hardly any room to step back. "We know you get around. Sure there's some other dick waiting for you outside, right?"

        "Okay, that's enough," Mick jumps in, scooting around the table to stand on Seira's other side. "You need to back off. Now."

        The man's eyes dance along my body like the lights shining down above us. His invisible touch slithers across my skin, and goosebumps rise along my arms. Suddenly, I wish I had something to cover up. A cardigan, jacket, anything.

        "You have some fucking nerve—"

        Jun returns from the bathroom looking dazed and confused, with Maver following up behind him with drinks in his hands. The two of them glance around the table, trying to figure out what's going on, but Seira and I aren't able to spare them more than a second-long glance.

        "You have ten seconds to disappear or we're calling security." I hate drawing attention to ourselves, but if the alternative is watching Seira swing, I'll take the people in uniform.

        Whatever concoction of drugs and alcohol are mixed in his system, it causes a flip to switch in the man's eyes as soon as my threat lands. His attention flies back to me, venom dripping from his pores. I feel Jun's touch at my waist, attempting to pull me close to him, but it has little effect when the drunkard gets close enough I can feel his breath. A ragged pulse competes against the baseline vibrating the room.

        "You too, huh? I thought you were better. Seemed so fun in those interviews. Among other things."

        "What the fuck are you talking about?"

        "We've seen those pictures of you going into that hotel with the race car driver in Melbourne. Thought it was nothing, but now that you've been hanging out with that other kid?" He shares looks with his groupies. "Bash something? Are you the new F1 bike now? Every driver gets a ride if they ask nicely—"

        My palms land against his chest as I push him back. He stumbles toward his friends and they rush to keep him steady. Their vitriol pierces through the air, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins isn't ecstasy. It's red hot anger.

        He smirks. "Looks like I've hit a nerve." The man swipes his thumb along his bottom lip. "Touch me again, bitch, and see what happens."

        The contents of Seira's drink fly straight into the man's face with the kind of precision Maverick would be proud of. Intoxicated, the man's reaction time is nowhere near quick enough to save himself, and he's left scrubbing at his eyes, burning beneath the wall of vodka.

        Jun pushes me behind him hard enough I stumble, but Maver is quick to catch me. The adrenaline coursing through my veins morphs into cement, sinking me to the bottom of the ocean until I'm left gasping for air.

        It happens. It always happens. In a dreadful flash more frightening than lightning out of the sky.

         The cacophony of screams and music piercing through the air hails down on my thoughts until it drowns out any sound at all. Shadowy figures against a backdrop of kaleidoscopic lights flash around in a dizzying haze, and my mind is so lightheaded I can barely stand straight, forcing me to latch onto the closest person. It doesn't register that person is Maver, but my fingers grip his jacket so tightly I might as well be trying to tear the sleeve right from the seam above his shoulder.

        My breathing halts inside my chest as a fist flies through the air toward Jun's face, barely missing when the other person is stopped by someone pulling their arm back. Jun isn't one to get into fights. But when the people he cares most about are threatened, he bears no hesitation in rising to the occasion. Even Seira who's four inches shorter than him with heels on stands tall and threatening, screaming right back at the group of men.

        Somehow through the chaos, Jun turns when I mumble his name, not loudly enough to hear it myself. Our eyes connect and he recognizes every thought rushing through me, nodding before turning back around.

        Without a second thought, I push on Maver's arm. He wordlessly wraps his hand around mine, yanking me through the crowd and using himself as a battering ram to move everyone out of the way. In those seconds before I lose sight of them, I manage to catch a glimpse of security pushing through the crowd.

        I don't know where he's taking me, but as long as it's far, far away from everyone else, I'll be happy. The corridor outside the club leads to a maze of smaller hallways. Maver pushes through a heavy door and I'm blasted with a rush of cool, fresh air.

        We walk around the back parking lot to a staircase. Maver lets go of my hand for the first time, gesturing for me to take a seat. By the time I lower onto the concrete step, I've already pulled my hair up into a haphazard ponytail, and the cold air hits like frost against my neck.

        The dull bass of the music drifts over to us, but the sound is muted enough to calm me down instead of riling me up like it was when we were inside. Maver stands to the side, leaning against the wall of the club and keeping his distance while he allows me to catch my breath. When my fingers stop trembling and my throat no longer feels constricting, I dare to glance up at him.

        Having a panic attack shouldn't be embarrassing, but slipping into one when the only person close enough to help is Maver Vincent is not how I want my night to end.

        "I'm sorry. That should have never happened."

"It's not your fault."

"I know," Maver responds. "But it doesn't change the fact you shouldn't have to deal with those kinds of jackasses."

        "Thanks," I sigh.

        "Are you okay?" he asks sounding unsure if it's the right question to ask in the first place. "Do you need me to get anything? Call someone?"

        I shake my head. "I'm fine. Thanks."

        Maver tucks his hands into his pockets. "Does that happen a lot?"

        "A lot?" I shrug. "More than I would like."

        A drop of water from a leak on the side of the building falls rhythmically against the cold pavement like the steady beat of a metronome. It helps distract from the white noise static inside my brain, and I inhale and exhale on beat.

        "I feel like we've known each other for a long enough time," he continues. "Never noticed it before."

       I keep my eyes closed and take a deep breath. "To be fair, we usually see each other at house parties or backstage at our concerts. Both places I feel infinitely more in control."

        He waits as long as I need before holding his hand out. I take it, lifting off the ground until our feet are padding against the parking lot on the way to a convenience store. Not far enough the rest of our group will worry we're gone, and not far enough to cause any other concern, but enough that I can continue to breathe normally.

        He holds the door open for me. The attendant manning the register gives us a curt nod. The rest of the store is empty except for the hollow sound of 2000s music.

        "What does Maver Vincent like to drink at three in the morning?"

         "I'm offended you don't remember. We've had this conversation before." Maver reaches into one of the cases and pulls out a bottle of apple juice before heading over to the slush machines in the back of the store.

        "If I was drunk, it doesn't count." I wait for him to pour himself an extra-large size—mixed red and blue flavors. "Do they not have slushies in France?"

        "I haven't lived there in years," he laughs. "If they do, it's not very popular. Maybe they have some in Canada."

        Maver takes large sips, occasionally grabbing something small off the shelves on our way to the front. Placing everything onto the counter, including the apple juice he grabbed for me, Maver slides the cashier a twenty-dollar bill, instructing him to keep the change.

        The walk back is quiet but I don't mind. When we settle back onto our seats, closer this time so we can share a bag of chips, I shoot Jun a text letting him know we're outside. His reply comes quickly. No one is in the mood anymore, and everyone will leave soon.

         "Running the risk of ruining a nice moment," Maver hesitates. "Can I ask if you hate me? I can't tell if it's an exaggeration or something deeper."

        "Do you think I would continue to hang around you if I thought you were truly the worst?"

        Maver laughs. "I think you have strong opinions and convictions, but you care about your friends. And that means balancing how you feel with how they feel."

        "Do you feel like you've given me a reason to not trust you?"

       "I have a reputation. And I know you're friends with Zoe and Lucy. If you don't like me, really don't like me, I don't blame you."

       "How admirable of you to offer."

        Using his high status and white privilege to steal a role out from under my friend Zoe's nose is a prime example of everything I don't like in the entertainment industry, but I'm not holding a grudge for someone else who has moved on to bigger and better things.

        Though I can't lie and say finding that out didn't help shape the way I view him. Not lighting a torch doesn't mean I have to ignore it. Combined with his rocky relationship with Lauren, he doesn't have a favorable opinion in my eyes. Trying to make me feel sorry for his well-deserved reputation, explicitly or not, should make me walk away, but I allow him this moment to be human.

        "I don't think you're the worst person I know. Far from it. But I don't think you're an inherently good person. I think you have the ability to care for other people, but you lose track of it when you're blinded by your ambition of furthering your own agenda. And when that inevitably loses you the most incredible woman I've ever known, you'll only have yourself to blame. I just need you to know that if you break her heart in the process, I will come for you."