Murray held out his hand. “I know you’re not telling this story without pictures to go with it.”
I laughed and scrolled through my phone, finding the pictures from that night, then handed it to him, my lips pressed together as I watched his face. I’d worn a blonde wig, sort of Marilyn Monroe style, but bigger. My face had been a mask of makeup, making me look almost like a different person. And my dress...I figured that was what had Murray’s eyes bugging out of his head.
“Your tits were—” He tilted the screen, like if he looked from another angle he’d see nipple. “This dress had to be constructed with witchcraft.”
The dress I’d been stuffed, taped, and sewn into had defied physics. My ample breasts had been held up on a shelf-like contraption, pushed up nearly to my chin. After our show, a man had come up to me and poked my cleavage. Before I smacked him, he’d apologized, said he was a drag performer and had thought they were fake. I’d been eighteen at the time, barely out of my parents’ house, so I’d accepted that excuse. Now? I’d probably smack him anyway.
He passed the phone to Mo, whose reaction was similar. “Whoa. I don’t think I’ll ever see you the same, Maeve.”
He passed the phone to Santiago, who studied my pictures like he was going to be graded on the details.
“Are you going to dress like that on stage with us?” Murray asked.
Santi’s head whipped up, a scowl blanketing his face. “No, she isn’t,” he barked. “This doesn’t—” He shook his head, his eyes pinched, jaw tense.
I snatched my phone from him, not wanting to hear what he’d been about to say. I knew I wasn’t his type, and that was okay. It wasn’t a requirement for men to be attracted to me. But the look of disgust on his face when Murray asked if I’d be wearing something skimpy on stage with them…that stung.
“Sorry, Murray. My drag queen days have come to an end. And to tell the truth, it wasn’t easy playin’ in that thing. I usually wear something looser so I can move my arms and legs easily.”
“Thank the lord. You’d probably cause a riot if you wore that,” Murray said, giving me a wink.
“And no one would be listening to the music,” Mo added.
“True. When I was with the drag band, the performance was just as important as the music.” I shrugged, still trying to shake off Santi’s look of distaste. “We had fun while it lasted.”
Murray’s brow pinched. “What I don’t get is why you didn’t dress up like a dude? I mean, if the dudes were dressed as chicks…”
I laughed. “No idea. I guess dressin’ up like a drag queen was more appealin’ than dressin’ like a guy.”
He nodded thoughtfully, rubbing the scruff on his chin. “Makes sense.”
Yael spoke up from the other side of the room, sitting on the floor with her laptop on her legs. “Of course it makes sense to Alex. Ask him about the time he played in a house dress for the entire Swerve Tour.”
He held his hands up. “Think you just told the whole story. I wore a fucking house dress the entire Swerve Tour a couple summers ago, and my balls thanked me.”
I reached toward his phone. “Pictures or it didn’t happen.”
Murray swiped through his phone and handed it to me. There he was, on stage, wearing a blue grandma house dress, combat boots on his feet, guitar strapped to his chest. He looked completely idiotic, but I also admired his I-don’t-give-a-shit-what-anyone-thinks-about-me attitude.
“You could’ve worn a kilt if you wanted to air your balls out,” Yael said.
“Nah, I don’t regret my house dress. Sorry if I’m not cool enough for you, cool girl,” Murray shot back.
Her face soured, and she clicked her laptop shut. Without another word, she gathered up her stuff and walked out of the room. Murray groaned, sinking back into the couch.
That was weird, but only to me it seemed. Everyone else went about their business—namely eating pizza—like Yael and Murray sniping at each other was an everyday occurrence.
I got up, dumped my pizza in the trash, then went to the bathroom to give myself a second to breathe. I didn’t know how long I’d be with Unrequited. My contract only went through the tour, although Mo had dropped a lot of hints about me being the permanent drummer. Whether that happened or not, I was going to make the most of this experience. I wouldn’t let Santiago get under my skin.
After washing my hands and checking my teeth, I put on a little lip gloss and pushed out the door into the hallway, nearly jumping out of my skin when I saw the man leaning against the wall opposite the door.
“Shit,” I breathed, my hand at my throat.
He looked up from the floor, eyes immediately seeking mine out. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to scare you.”
“But you’re waitin’ for me?”
“Yeah. ’Cause I think I offended you in there. Maybe hurt your feelings.” He lifted his eyebrows in question.