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His hand was a hot weight on my lower back, right where the sacrum meets the spine, grounding me even as my pulse began to fray.
I could feel the bass in my pelvic floor, a rhythmic thrumming that made the heat of the Mojave feel like a secondary concern.
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"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"you’re-not-wearing-the-bracelet-i-sent-to-your-hotel"-726-cover-1777536060331.jpg)
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.