#jdmm

Mason blinks innocently. “Will you come look at it please?”

Jamie yanks the mic from its stand and inspects the connector cable. Mason steps up right behind her, front pressed hot along Jamie’s back. Mason’s hand slips onto her waist. Her voice is low. “What do you think?”

A voice sparks through Jamie's earpiece. “Jamie, can you confirm? How’s the mic?”

“It’s fine,” Jamie says into her headset. “Perfectly fine.”

Laughter echoes down the line, and she flips the headset off.

Jamie lowers her voice. “Really, Mason? Was that necessary?”

“Necessary?” Mason asks sweetly. She tosses an exaggerated glance around the stage, the thousands of empty seats around them. She conveniently ignores her band chuckling behind her. “You’re the one always telling me how important the tech rehearsals are. But—“

Jamie rolls her eyes. She knows what’s coming.

“Since you’re already out here, why don’t you watch us run through Come First?”

Jamie wishes she could regret telling Mason that Come First was her favorite of Mason’s songs. It's got this deep, heavy bass over which Mason sings about putting someone above herself.

It's also about something else entirely.

In a fit of—she doesn’t know what—their first night out as a crew, Jamie’s vodka-coated brain decided it would be a good idea to tell Mason she loved Come First.

“Especially the music video,” she said, like that wasn’t tantamount to confessing she was a massive lesbian.

“Oh really?” Mason said, eyes dark. She brought Jamie back to her room on the tour bus the next night.

Jamie hasn’t spent a night in her own bed since.

Now, a week from the end of the tour, Mason’s still acting like she’s got to impress Jamie, lock her down, like she didn’t add Jamie to her lease a month ago.

Jamie pulls herself out of Mason’s arms. The band is getting restless. And as for watching a run-through…