Just A Little Bit ✔️

8. Riley

Riley Jameson, In Real Life

 Kinley is killing me right now.

She's standing a few feet away, winging her eyeliner with a confident touch. Her lips are parted in concentration, and her cutoff shorts are riding up her golden brown thighs, steadily moving higher and higher. Jesus, it's like she's trying to torture me.

Tonight, she curled her hair and put on a fantastic ensemble. She's pretending not to be nervous, but I know that it's an act. We're in front of a stadium, albeit, not the largest crowd we've played for, but still enough to be overwhelming. Still, she's taking it like a pro. If we hadn't spent so much time together in the past few weeks, I wouldn't know what she's thinking.

To be fair, she's still a mystery, but I'm learning to read her. It's not like we talk much since we're not best friends or anything, but I know enough about her to catch on. We've been in the studio during crazy hours, writing and revising, revising and writing some more. I know her mannerisms as well as my own. I know which guitars she prefers, how she holds her mic, etc.

I feel like I might be a little obsessed.

Her earpiece brushes against her shoulder as she zips her makeup bag up and gives herself a once-over. She says something to me; I see her lips move but miss the words.

Noticing this, Kinley laughs.

"What?" I ask.

"I asked if I look okay," she says. "I think you've got some serious stage fright."

"Something like that."

She takes a breath. "You know, Riley, I don't know how I got here. You guys sold this place out. I'm gonna sing for a thousand people."

It's likely more than that, but I don't correct her.

"You did too," I tell her.

This is the most we've talked in a long time. She and I keep things professional, mostly because of our disastrous message conversation wherein she told me she wanted nothing to do with me. I respected her boundary, even if it's been hard. She's cool, and I wouldn't mind getting to know her.

But she thinks I'm a dick. It's a bit of a downer for a friendship.

As if realizing we're supposed to be strangers, she begins to shut down. She reaches for her leather jacket and slips into it like a second skin. With a tentative smile, tight-lipped and insincere, she acknowledges me one last time.

"I can't miss my cue," she says.

She won't. She was perfect during soundcheck and amazing as ever when we rehearsed. Still, she worries.

"Good luck," I murmur.

I wait until she's getting on stage in the dark to slip backstage. Stephie is already behind the curtain, watching as Kinley takes her place in the center of attention and lifts her microphone to her lips.

Think I Might is first. She works through most of the EP, saving our song for Faraway Blues's set. She'll be coming out again for the encore, so she won't be playing See You for her act. She doesn't need it, though. Kinley has enough hits to absolutely nail it.

She must have changed the setlist at the last minute because she stuns me when she starts to sing Hurricane You. We weren't planning on performing it, so it was up for grabs for a cover. I didn't think she'd slip it in, but sure enough, Kinley does. She strips it down to an electric guitar, playing without a back-up band.

Stephie eyes me. "That's our song."

I knew within the opening notes that it was, even though she takes a different route with the sound. "It is."