Music Lines Novels & Stories

Jerrick said, still holding Lin’s weight, as she slumped in his arms. “Good idea.” I went around to Lin’s side and helped Jerrick walk her out into the hallway, where the music was less intense. The bass still rattled the floor beneath our feet. “Lin, I think it is time for us to get home. I ordered a rideshare; it should be here in…,” I said to Lin. Her head drooped and rested peacefully on Jerrick’s shoulder. “Oh no,” I mumbled. I reached over and shook Lin’s shoulder.

"Lincoln, show her to her mark. Dani, for this scene you're simply staring at him like you want to eat him. Think you can do that?" I nodded. Any woman could do that. Most men too. "Cue music!" Jaymeson called out. "Action." A techno mix of AD2's latest song filled the air as the extras started dancing around us. I stayed glued to the wall while Lincoln delivered his lines to Pris, and then he lifted his head, meeting my gaze. It's just a movie. It's just a movie. The breath left my chest on one slow exhale as he moved toward me, his body making fluid, purposeful movements through the crowd.

I answered, expecting a routine check-in. "Hey, man! How was the date?" Cameron's booming voice asked, accompanied by the faint sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, sultry music, and unmistakable moans. "Can you hear me?" I asked, struggling to focus over the background noise. "Barely!" Cameron shouted back, chuckling. "Hold on, let me get somewhere quieter." The sounds of rustling fabric, whispers, and playful giggles filled the line before Cameron's voice returned, slightly more subdued.

After a second, I said quietly, “Do what you think is right.” The words sounded distant, like they belonged to someone else. Damian exhaled through his nose, a slow, heavy sigh. He reached forward and picked up the phone. “Hey,” he said, softer than usual. I turned my attention back to the TV, even though the game had paused, the characters frozen mid-motion. I focused on the glow, on the pixelated landscape that suddenly felt stupid and flat and completely unimportant. I could hear Marianne’s voice faintly through the speaker, too muffled to catch words, but bright, familiar. The sound of someone assuming they were welcome.