Page 71 of Revv

Especially for something that isn’t serious.

This is private.

Physical.

One time.

Simple. Physical. Done.

My traitorous body chooses that exact moment to remember Revel’s mouth between my thighs.

Ay, coño.

I turn the volume up harder than necessary, like more bass might knock the memory straight out of me.

It does not.

The set runs another forty minutes, and by the time I bring the final track down, my skin is damp, my shoulders ache, and the whole room is still moving like they’re not ready to let me go yet.

Perfect.

That’s exactly how I like to leave them.

Sweaty, a little desperate, and already wanting more.

I pull off my headphones as the lights shift, and the room erupts.

Cheers, whistles, hands in the air—the whole club still buzzing from the last track.

For a few seconds, I just stand there and let myself feel it.

Not the attention, but the proof.

Every hour I spent fixing transitions nobody else would notice. Every promoter who called me cute before he bothered calling me talented. Every man who reached for my equipment like I needed help touching the same controls I knew better than he did.

Ay, mira.

Still here and better than half of them.

This is why I kept going.

I lift one hand toward the crowd, pass the booth over to the next DJ, then start packing the few things I brought with me. Laptop into its case, headphones wrapped properly, cables checked twice because replacing shit is expensive and, unfortunately, rent does not accept vibes as payment.

I leave my equipment secured behind the booth and head downstairs through the staff entrance. The second I step into the main room, the heat closes around me. It smells like alcohol, perfume, bodies, and that weird fog machine scent every club has no matter how much money they put into the place.

The crew spots me before I reach the bottom of the stairs.

Bexley throws both hands up and screams my name. Echo joins in, Draygon whistles, and Thorne cups his hands around his mouth.

“Fuckin’ smashed it!”

I laugh, lifting a hand as I point toward the bar.

Drink first.

Friends second.

Mostly because I need one minute to get my shit together before standing near Revel in front of everyone and pretending I wasn’t naked in his bed a few hours ago.