Sex Dreams

The plane hums beneath me, but I can barely hear it over the thoughts running wild in my head. I stare out the window, watching clouds stretch out like an endless sea, but all I feel is the weight of what I've lost.

Stefani is only a few feet away. Close enough that if I turned, I could see her. But I don't. I haven't, not really, since that night. Since I walked out of her room and left whatever we were behind.

I've done everything I can to stay away. No more late nights out with the group, no more lingering in her dressing room, no more stealing moments that feel like they could mean something. It's better this way. It has to be.

But then why does it feel like I'm grieving?

A lump rises in my throat, and I blink fast, willing the tears away.

"Lena?"

I look up to see Tara sliding into the seat next to me. Her brows knit together as she takes me in, her expression soft with concern.

"You okay?" she asks.

I nod quickly, too quickly. "Yeah. Just tired."

She doesn't buy it. She tilts her head, studying me. "You sure?"

I swallow hard, but the tears won't stop brimming. Before I know it, one spills over.

Tara doesn't say anything—she just opens her arms. And that's all it takes for the dam to break.

I lean into her, pressing my face into her shoulder as I try to quiet the sob threatening to escape. She rubs my back gently, a steady presence in the middle of the storm I've created for myself.

Across the aisle, I feel eyes on me. I know who they belong to. I don't look.

Stefani doesn't say anything.

⸻

Italy is beautiful, but I can't focus on that.

After unpacking in my hotel room, I throw on my running shoes and slip out before anyone can stop me. I need to clear my head, to do something—anything—to shake this feeling of unease.

My feet pound against the pavement as I weave through the streets, the morning air crisp against my skin. When I finally get to the studio space I rented, I throw myself into my routine, stretching and rehearsing every move until my muscles ache.

Tonight is the first show since Stefani and I stopped talking.

And I'm scared.

Not of the choreography, not of the stage—I can handle that. But I don't know if I can handle her.

I think about the setlist. About Sex Dreams.

About the way Stefani and I will have to move together, our bodies close, the tension thick between us.

How the hell am I supposed to compartmentalize that?

I don't have an answer.

⸻

Getting ready for the show is second nature. Hair, makeup, costume—it all happens in a blur, my body moving through the motions while my mind stays far away.

But as soon as the opening beats of Sex Dreams start, reality crashes back in.

The stage lights cast everything in a seductive glow. The crowd screams. The bass thrums through my chest.

The stage is bathed in deep red and violet hues, the lights pulsing to the beat of the music. The crowd is roaring, but their voices blur into white noise as I step forward, my heart pounding harder than the bass.

Then she's there.

Stefani moves toward me with a slow, deliberate sway of her hips, her eyes locked onto mine. She's singing, her voice thick with something teasing, something dark. The words of Sex Dreams curl around me like smoke, intoxicating and heavy.

Last night, our lovers' quarrelI was thinking about you...

She circles me like a predator, fingertips grazing my arm, sending a shiver up my spine. I know this choreography. We've done it a hundred times. But tonight, something feels different.

I match her movements, my body twisting in sync with hers, every touch more dangerous than the last. I can feel the heat radiating off her skin, the tension between us thick as she presses her back against my chest, tilting her head so her lips are near my ear.

Touch me, why don't we kill the lights?I know I'm not supposed to, but I—

She spins, her hands gripping my waist as I mirror the movement, my own hands finding her hips. My fingers dig into the fabric of her bodysuit as she pulls me closer, so close that our breaths mix.

I can see it in her eyes. The challenge. The hunger.

I hate how much I want her right now.

The moment we rehearsed—the one that always made the crowd scream—is coming up. Stefani's hands slide up my arms, fingertips brushing my jaw as she sings the next line.

I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I've had a couple drinks and—

She leans in.

Her lips are inches from mine.

The world shrinks. It's just us, the stage, the heat between us. My eyes flicker down to her lips before I can stop myself. She's so close. Too close.

For a split second, I think she's going to do it.

For a split second, I think I might let her.

The crowd is screaming. The music pounds through my veins.

And then—

I snap out of it.

I step back just enough to break the moment, my breathing unsteady. My fingers slip from her waist as I force myself to stay on rhythm, to finish the choreography like nothing just happened.

Stefani doesn't falter. She smirks, her expression unreadable, and keeps going like it was all part of the show. Like she didn't just try to kiss me in front of thousands of people.

Or maybe like she knew I'd pull away.

The song ends. The crowd erupts.

I stand there, heart hammering, trying to catch my breath.

Stefani walks past me, her hand brushing my back as she exits the stage.

I should feel relieved that I stopped it.

I rip my duffel bag open, shoving my sweaty performance clothes inside with more force than necessary. The adrenaline from the show hasn't worn off, but instead of the usual high, there's an underlying frustration buzzing beneath my skin.

Stefani is only a few feet away, but it might as well be miles. She's sitting on the couch, her knee tucked under her, laughing at something Freddie said. Tara is curled up beside them, scrolling through her phone, occasionally adding something to their conversation.

Me? I don't exist.

Not to Stefani, at least.

She hasn't said a single word to me since we got off stage. Not a glance, not an offhand comment, nothing. She's only talking to them.

And it pisses me off.

I try to drown them out, focusing on my bag, my breathing, anything to keep from staring at her. But their voices keep cutting through.

"We should go out," Tara suggests, stretching her arms over her head. "Celebrate a good show."

Freddie hums in agreement. "I heard there's a club down the street—supposed to be nice."

Stefani murmurs something in response, her voice smooth and low, but I don't catch what she says. Not that I care.

I clench my jaw and make a decision. I'm going out, too. Not with them, though. I need to let off some fucking steam.

I zip up my bag and sling it over my shoulder, walking toward the door without saying a word. If she can ignore me, I can do the same.

⸻

Back at the hotel, I get ready with sharp, purposeful movements. Music plays from my phone, something loud and fast, matching the erratic energy pulsing through my body. I peel off my rehearsal clothes, stepping into the bathroom where I snort a line of white powder off the counter. The burn is sharp, but the instant clarity that follows is worth it.

Then I light a joint, inhaling deeply, holding the smoke in my lungs before exhaling slow. The combination hits just right, a familiar comfort settling in my limbs as I start working on my makeup.

When I'm done, I step back and assess myself in the mirror.

Perfect.

Dark liner, lips slightly overdrawn, my dress clinging to every curve just right. My head is light, the room spinning slightly, but I don't care.

I need to move.

⸻

The club is dimly lit, the walls pulsing with red and blue neon. The air is thick with sweat, smoke, and perfume, the scent of bodies grinding together filling the space. The bass vibrates in my chest, drowning out every coherent thought.

Exactly what I need.

I weave through the crowd, heading straight for the bar.

"Two shots of tequila," I tell the bartender.

The glasses are in front of me in seconds. I knock the first one back without hesitation, the burn slicing down my throat, grounding me. The second follows just as quickly.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and scan the room, my gaze landing on a girl a few feet away. She's tall, striking, dark eyes locked onto mine.

I smirk.

"Let me buy you a drink."

She raises a brow, but she doesn't hesitate.

We drink, we flirt, we dance.

Her hands slide over my arms, my waist, pulling me closer. I let her. I press into her, our bodies moving together, my mind foggy but light.

And then—

A flicker of pale skin.

A glow I'd recognize anywhere.

My breath catches, my body going still for just a second before I pull away from the girl. My heart pounds for a different reason now, a reckless surge of something sharp and intoxicating burning through me.

Stefani is standing near the edge of the dance floor, her back turned, deep in conversation with someone.

I don't think.

I just move.

I step behind her, my hands sliding around her waist like they belong there. I push her hair to the side, my lips hovering over the shell of her ear.

"Come to me," I whisper.

She stiffens, then turns.

Her eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable.

I don't give her time to react. I grab her wrist and pull her through the crowd, out the doors, into the night air. She follows without resistance, without a word.

We slip into the alley behind the club, the world narrowing down to just us.

I press her against the brick wall, my body flush against hers, my breath coming in uneven gasps.

Stefani tilts her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. "I thought you were busy."

I don't answer. My fingers weave into her hair, tilting her head back slightly.

"Tell me to go away," I say, my voice low.

Her smirk falters, her expression shifting into something raw, something real.

"I can't," she whispers.

I don't hesitate.

I lean in, hovering over her lips, waiting.

She meets me halfway.

Her mouth crashes into mine, her hands gripping at my waist, my back, anywhere she can reach. The kiss is frantic, desperate, nothing like before. It's not calculated, not controlled. It's real.

I press harder against her, my fingers tangling in her hair, her body molding into mine. She moans softly against my lips, and it sends a violent shiver through me.

We move together, lips parting, reconnecting, our breaths mixing in the cool night air. She tastes like tequila and something sweeter, something that makes my head spin.

I don't know how long we stay like this, lost in each other.

But then Stefani pulls back, just an inch, her forehead resting against mine. Her breath is ragged, her lips swollen.

I blink at her, my mind hazy, my pulse wild.

Her fingers are still gripping my sides, her eyes locked onto mine.

And for the first time in a long time—maybe ever—I feel completely, terrifyingly exposed.