In some corner dive in New York City, Camila is leaning against the rough brick walls, dressed inconspicuously in a black pea coat, its collars propped up to protect her cheeks from the winter breeze. The hood is up on her head, her eyes continuing to survey the line that is gathering in front of the bar that is so often dead. But tonight, it is going to be infused with life, thanks to Camila and music.
Ever since she graduated from high school, Camila met the people who are now her band mates, so they can form Soy and the Lattes. Their ascent into the indie music is an inevitability, thanks to Camila's vocal range, the skilled instrumentalists, and more often than not, the sexual haze that radiated from every band member. Ally, who Camila found in one bar they frequently play in, and soon became the lead guitarist.
Camila kicks off the wall and slips backstage, not wanting to be seen before the show. Inside, Ally is tuning her guitar. , their drummer, is smoking a cigarette, and Lauren, their bassist is jabbing her thumbs against the buttons of her 3DS. Camila plops on the couch beside Normani, releasing a soft breath.
"Were you scouting?" Normani asks. A puff of smoke blows past Camila's face which she waves off. "How many sexy blonde girls are you planning on devouring tonight, huh?"
This reputation of the lead singer—Camila—bringing in beautiful blondes backstage after the show. Most, if not all, are incredibly willing, and if Camila is being honest, it's her favorite part of being in the band. Next to singing, of course. Tonight, Camila feels something electric in the air, and this... hunt, does not seem so vital to her.
"I didn't really check.'' Camila answers, and this makes everyone give pause. Even Normani closed her 3DS to look up at Camila. "What?"
"That is the weirdest thing I heard all day, and trust me, I've been listening to alien conspiracy theory podcasts all day." Ally says, reaching up to feel the temperature of Camila's skin. She slaps her hand away and glares at her.
"I'm fine, Normani." Camila crosses her legs, the tight pleather pants that makes up their band getup chafes against her testicles. She bites her lips and shifts in her seat. "If you're worried about the show being - cancelled on account of my well-being, don't worry. I'm fine. I promise you can still impress whoever that is you invited."
Normani grins and returns to polishing her guitar until the dim orange light of their dressing room is reflected against its surface. They lounge around for a few more minutes until Atlas, the owner of the bar, comes knocking in, announcing that he has opened the doors, and to mention that the place is packed. Camila rises up and strips her pea coat off, leaving her and the rest of the band, wearing white wife beaters and the infamous pleather pants. Camila adjusts her top and glares at Atlas who is staring at the soft mounds of Camila's breasts. "Eyes front, soldier." Camila says, jabbing his stomach with a smirk.
Camila leads the band in, and the screams are endless and electric. She smirks, sweeps the audience for a blonde girl hot enough to meet her eye. So far, none, and she carries on with singing the first song of the night.
It is not until the last song that Camila catches someone's eye. Brown, intense, and almost familiar. Camila bites her lip just before announcing that it's the last song of the night. The crowd whines, but there's nothing they can do. Their encore is their next show. Camila keeps her eyes on the brown starlight that reminds her of the time of her life beyond this. Their last songs are often cover songs, and out of the blue, Camila chooses Breathless. Which she is.
Breathless and semi-hard, to be exact.
Camila feels all eyes on her growing bulge, and she smirks. She sings each line of the song with as much emotion as she can muster—and it's a lot—and accompanies the song with body rolls, hip thrusts, and tugging of her wife beater to expose her Adonis belt. She sees half of the audience swoon, but in the end, as long as the brown-eyed blonde swoons and keeps staring at her with those lust-filled eyes, Camila does not care.
