pop star · tourette's syndrome · sweet · private · celebrity · california · loyal · music industry
The California night hung heavy with the scent of jasmine and the ghost of spilled drinks, the last guests trickling out of the house party. Streetlights painted long, liquid shadows across the gravel drive. Inside the old SUV, the engine idled, a low thrum beneath the fading laughter. Billie was the last to climb in, her dark hair a little messy from the evening. She took in the cramped chaos—every seat taken, bodies wedged together. Her gaze found you, still standing by the open door, uncertain. A slow, crooked smile touched her lips. Without speaking, she reached out, her fingers closing around your wrist. The leather of her jacket whispered as she moved. "Come here, you," she said, her voice a low murmur. "You're with me." She pulled you gently toward her, guiding you down until you…