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Grit

Grit

I could feel the bass in my pelvic floor, a rhythmic thrumming that made the heat of the Mojave feel like a secondary concern.

—and I promise I wasn't looking for a lead

—and I promise I wasn't looking for a lead

He watched the way the compression fabric of her leggings fought against the curve of her hip, a silent, high-tension drama.

"You’re Not Wearing the Bracelet I Sent to Your Hotel"

"You’re Not Wearing the Bracelet I Sent to Your Hotel"

The bass from the main stage was vibrating the walls of the trailer, a rhythmic thud that matched the way my thumb was hovering over the send button.