Page 9 of Lance

Lance

On Friday we tape our first performance on a network late night show. It’s almost too surreal to wrap my mind around. Even now, hours later at the viewing party the label put together, I’m still having trouble believing it actuallyhappened.

“I could get used to this,” Dylan declares, gazing around at our swank surroundings with a dopey-looking smile on his face. “I mean, this is all for us, you know? For us. It’s totallynuts.”

“Not entirely for us,” James mutters in between sips of beer. “Half the people in this room are only here because they’re hoping to network with some executive or get a celebrity to noticethem.”

Dylan rolls his eyes at me as James takes another swig of Heineken. “We can always count on you to be a sweet ray of sunshine, can’t we,buddy?”

“I’m just saying, it’s kind of gross. I mean, look at that.” James points across the room to a balding man in a suit, surrounded by a crowd of what appear to be adoring fans, laughing uproariously at practically every word he says. The guy looks a little familiar to me, definitely rich, most likely important, and I wonder if he’s maybe someone I’m supposed to know. Should we be over there kissing uptoo?

James sniffs. “We never acted like that when we were startingout.”

“Are you kidding?” Dylan asks. “We would have sold our souls to get signed. I doubt a little ass-kissing would have been beneathus.”

“WellIwouldn’thave—”

“Sure,” Dylan interrupts, rolling his eyes again. “Sureyou wouldn’t have. I keep forgetting how above it all you are. Of course, the fact that you couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off your face the entire time we were taping at the network kinda makes it hard, but so long as you keep reminding me of your vast superiority I’m sure I’ll be ableto—”

James is starting to look pissed so I hold up my beer. “You know, I was just thinking how surreal this all is. But with the two of you arguing like that it feels just like any other shitty Friday night. So thanks for keeping megrounded.”

Before either of them can respond, Layla appears at my side. “Did someone forget to tell you guys that this was a party?” she asks, eyebrows raised. Layla clearly needed no reminding. She’s dressed for the occasion in what I suppose is a dress, though it might be more accurate to describe it as a tiny scrap of electric blue leather. She has some twisty braids up at the top of her head, but otherwise her hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, rainbow strands peeking out from the platinum blonde. I’m pretty sure her heels could be used as a weapon if need be—the spikes she’s somehow managing to balance on look absolutelylethal.

“What’d you say?” Dylan asks, sounding more than a little dazed. His eyes are glued to the mile-long legs Layla is showing off in between the heels and the minuscule leather. I’m torn between wanting to laugh at his dopey expression and feeling bad for him. He’s always had a thing for Layla but as far as I can tell it’s entirely one-sided. Which might be best for him, honestly. She would eat himalive.

“I said, this is a party! A party in our honor, if you’ve forgotten. But the three of you are standing over here against a wall, glowering out at the room like a bunch of bookworms who haven’t been asked to danceyet.”

“I’ll dance with you, Layla,” Dylan sayseagerly.

She pats the top of his head—which she easily reaches in those stilettos—and smiles. “I’m about to make my move on Christopher Dawson, but thanks, Dyl. Maybe nexttime.”

“Who’s ChristopherDawson?”

She looks surprised that I don’t know. “He’s anactor.”

“What’s he beenin?”

“Heart’sFalls.”

James makes a face. “What the hell is thatabout?”

She shrugs. “How in the hell am I supposed to know? It’s some show on the CW that I’ve never heard of. The point is, the man is fine and he’s into me.” She shakes her head. “And I know that because, unlike you losers, I’m out there making the most of my youthful goodlooks.”

Well, she has a point. Standing around listening to James and Dylan bicker isn’t exactly how I want to spend the first industry party thrown in our honor. Maybe it’s time to follow Layla’s lead and get out there. It’s not like there aren’t dozens of gorgeous women in this room. In fact, there’s a hot redhead over there who definitely looks interested. And a brunette just a few feet away who keeps looking at me over her shoulder as if she’d like nothing more than the chance to get to know me better. There’s something shy about the way she keeps ducking her head after we make eye contact that I’m finding pretty damn cute. At one point she gives me a little wave before blushing and turningaway.

Before I can decide which one to talk to first, we’re joined by another couple. “Paige!” Layla says, her face lighting up. “Reed! It’s so good to see youguys!”

Reed, the eldest Ransome brother and drummer of their band, shakes hands while his girlfriend, Paige, hugs every one of us with the kind of enthusiasm you would expect between best friends reuniting after years apart, even though we had last seen her just a few weeks ago inLondon.

“You guys!” she exclaims, practically jumping up and down in heels tall enough to rival Layla’s. “This is so exciting! I’m so thrilled foryou!”

“Thanks,” Dylan says. I get the impression that he’s trying to look cool, but that same dopey grin keepsthreatening.

“It’s pretty great,” I tell her. “It still doesn’t feel quitereal.”

“That’s a good thing,” Reed says. “Better than taking it forgranted.”

“He still gets crazy excited about a big performance like this,” Paige says. “They all do. You should have seen them the last time they played the Grammy’s. Like little kids atChristmas.”