Even Lovers Drown

Distorted hums of guitars brought the full-band sound check to a close. Blake stepped away from her microphone stand, the one she would toss to her tech during the actual performance to give herself room to jump around, and drank from the water bottle she kept clutched in her hands. She normally reveled in the feel of cold water gliding down her throat and chilling her body, a contrast from the quick swigs she was forced to take during shows, but today, the delicious flow of water into her body held none of her attention.

The warehouse-like arena with dim lights and standing room only gave her a perfect view of the merch table across the venue, where Saylor worked diligently alongside Davy to stock band merchandise. Blake couldn't keep her eyes from trailing to her during their sound check and couldn't help noticing how disinterested Saylor appeared to be in the music being played. Not once did she look up from her task of unloading items to give the band an appraising glance, her head never bobbed along with the tempo, she didn't mouth the lyrics. Blake wasn't sure what to make of her, a merch girl with no apparent interest in music.

Blake pulled the water bottle from her mouth and swiped the back of her hand over her lips, blue eyes trained on Saylor. The white undershirt she wore, one Blake assumed belonged to Davy, strained against her chest. If she were closer, she was sure she would catch a peek of cleavage over the V-neck of the shirt. Her jeans didn't cling to her body but hung loose on her hips, giving her the comfort to move around. The black wristband she wore didn't add color to her outfit.

Not her normal type of girl, that was for sure. Blake was used to tops that revealed too much and pants so tight they threatened to split anytime their wearer bent over. Girls who wore clothing with the purpose of forcing her gaze to private areas, those were her girls. Saylor wasn't one of them. Her outfit appeared to be more an attempt to remain in the background than an attempt to get attention. Yet Blake urged to slip the clothing from her body and find out just what hid underneath, an urge strong enough to let her overlook Saylor's lack in musical interest.

"You're drooling," Sage said.

Blake's eyes darted to Sage, remaining on the guitarist long enough to catch the teasing smile before focusing on Saylor again. "Do you think she's gay?"

"How would I know?"

Blake hummed an acknowledgement of Sage's statement, keeping her eyes on the siblings. Davy wrapped his arms around Saylor's middle, pinning her arms to her sides, and lifted her in the air. Her laugh floated across the small venue. No mask of discomfort clouded her face. She looked at ease with the contact, nothing like the Saylor she met the day before.

"And she couldn't shake my hand?" Blake grumbled.

"Can't win 'em all," Sage shrugged. "It shouldn't be hard for you to find another fan to play with. Just walk past the line outside."

She was right. Fans were easy. Blake could walk outside and find more than one woman willing to have a good time with her, no strings attached. There were enough barely legal teenagers in line that would strip their clothing off if she gave them the right look. She didn't even need to go as far as the line to find someone. The two other merch girls had been flirting with her since the opener started sound check. Finding another girl would be far less time consuming than attempting to get Saylor into her bunk.

"But she's convenient," Blake said, "She's cute, Davy's sister, not a fan so I won't be awkwardly asked afterward to sign something. She's never toured before, being in the van might be too much for her. She'll jump at the chance to sleep on the tour bus. She'll be here all tour and finding her after tour shouldn't be hard. If I don't have time for a fan, I can have her."

"Like a groupie?"

"I prefer the term bunk buddy."

Sage shook her head. "You're insane. Her being Davy's sister should be enough for you to stay away. She's clearly not interested, therefore she can't be convenient. Find someone else."

"No can do. My sights are already set. Besides, a challenge will be a fun way to make this tour go by faster." She tore her eyes away from the conversing siblings and looked at Sage, cocky smile across her face. "And aren't redheads supposed to be wild in bed?"

"Wouldn't know." Sage ruffled her bright red hair, "I'm bottle redhead."

From what Blake could remember, Sage's last girlfriend was a redhead. But she wouldn't call her out on it. They hadn't lasted long. A few months at most. Knowing Sage, they hadn't had sex.

"Guess I need to go on a conquest to tame the redhead for the good of humanity. I'll take plenty of notes."

Blake hopped off the stage onto the empty venue floor, landing on her feet with a soft thud, and began walking toward Saylor, who stood alone at the merch table. Davy had disappeared sometime after giving her a monster hug. Where he went, Blake didn't know, but his absence would make it easier to get to Saylor.

Sage called after her, "Make sure you can walk by the time we perform."

"No promises," Blake shot over her shoulder.

She didn't need to turn around to see Sage shaking her head, so used to the initial disbelief she received from her friend. There was no doubt in her mind that the rest of the band was watching her strut confidently to the merch table and waiting for her to crash and burn. Whatever teasing remarks they would make were already prepared. And Andy, backstage working with stagehands, would be ready to give her a lecture for even trying to mess with Davy's sister after she had been warned.

But she wouldn't be denied this time. Blake had never been turned down by a woman she wanted in her life and she wasn't going to let Davy's little sister be the first. Saylor would cave, fold to her demands like a doll. Her ridiculous denial of a handshake would be forgotten.

As Blake reached the table, Saylor didn't take any notice of her, too consumed in taking clothing out of boxes and stacking them on the back table. Shifting her weight to one foot and cocking her hip, Blake watched her and waited for some acknowledgment of her presence. She couldn't help appreciating the way Saylor's jeans tightened over her bottom with each bend and the light curves of her frame from behind. The view was almost enough for Blake to disregard the minutes ticking by while she waited. Almost.

Impatient, Blake cleared her throat. Saylor jumped, dropped the shirt she had been folding, and spun around, green eyes wide. Her shocked look morphed into one of confusion, her eyebrows drawing and her mouth twisting. She didn't speak, just stared. This would harder than Blake originally assumed.

"Hi," Blake said.

"Can I help you?" Saylor returned.

The sultry voice thick with fatigue further separated the Saylor of Blake's imagination that took on the role of protagonist in Davy's stories from the Saylor standing in front of her. Davy always portrayed her as some gawky girl whose nose was stuck in the books. Or maybe Blake assumed Davy's sister wouldn't catch her interest and formed images of the woman from there.

She pointed to herself, "I'm Blake. You know, from yesterday."

"Oh," Saylor paused. Her eyes trailed over Blake. This wasn't the same Blake she met the day before. The woman she met looked like she was in pain, was being held up by a fellow band member, threw on a charming smile that reminded her too much of her ex-girlfriend, and wore sunglasses. This woman, with sparkling blue eyes and charismatic demeanor, was who the merch girls fawned over. Strong, beautiful, confident. "You look different."

"And you're talking," Blake commented, "That's a nice change. Think you can shake my hand today?"

Saylor rolled her eyes at the cocky tone of her voice, snatched the discarded shirt from the floor, and turned her back to Blake. Davy had to leave her alone at the merch table, thought she would be fine on her own folding the last of the tee-shirts for the show that night. He didn't realize he was leaving her like bait for Blake. Her initial plan to avoid the attractive womanizer, an appropriate label she formed while listening to Sarah and Jenny gossip, wasn't going as planned.

Blake's mouth dropped. Did she turn away from her? What the hell was her problem? She may have been picking at her a little by making the handshake comment but to be so blatantly blown off, well, she didn't think she deserved that. Whether Saylor liked it or not, they were in the middle of a conversation. A short, almost uncomfortable conversation, but a conversation nonetheless. Turning away was rude and uncalled for.

Mentally counting to ten, Blake inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. She was not going to yell at Davy's sister, she wasn't. Bringing up her inability to shake hands had been the wrong move. She would find another tactic.

"So, um." Blake searched her mind for something to force Saylor to speak. "Where's Davy?"

"Looking for Sarah and Jenny," Saylor replied, back still to Blake.

The pair disappeared after Davy told them he didn't need them to help with setup, the same thing he told Saylor. He had a system to get things up in good time, which Saylor sufficiently ruined by insisting she stay to help him and forcing him to take time out to teach her how to setup. She had nothing better to do with her time than act as the tagalong little sister that wanted to do everything her big brother did.

"He won't have to look far," Blake said, "They're backstage, chatting with the opener's drummer. I think they like her."

"Fantastic," Saylor mumbled.

All she wanted was for Davy to march his happy ass back to the merch table and save her from having to deal with Blake.