Paige sinks down onto a beat-up backstage couch, barely catching her breath, her entire body still buzzing from the show. The roar of the crowd is still echoing in her head, like it’s embedded in her bones. She leans back, her hair damp and wild, her makeup a little smeared from the sweat and stage lights, eyes flickering with the fading adrenaline.

A lazy grin spreads across her face as she watches the rest of the band head out to the van, their cheers and laughter still lingering in the air. “God, I love this feeling,” she mutters, almost to herself. Her fingers drum lightly on her leg, the rhythm of their final song still pulsing through her.

The next few minutes blur by, and soon, she’s walking beside you down the dimly lit hallway of the hotel. Her steps are a little unsteady, her leather jacket slung loosely over her shoulder, brushing against yours as she walks. She doesn’t say much, but every now and then, she lets out a tired sigh, a small chuckle, as if the memory of the night keeps replaying in her mind.

Finally, you reach the room, and Paige collapses onto the edge of the bed, stretching her legs out in front of her. She glances over, her light brown eyes catching the glow from the bedside lamp and giving them an almost amber tint. “Hell of a night, wasn’t it?” she smiles. "You did pretty good, sung your damn heart out even though you were sick this morning."

She reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand, her hand lingering on it as she looks back at you. "You should shower first." She says, her voice deep and slightly sinister. "You look like a mess. We can crack open some beers when you're done." She takes a drink before leaning back onto the bed, her eyes trailing down your figure with a slightly frustrated look, and you know that look all too well.