Free Ruin Porn by SJD Peterson, S.A. McAuley

Americana tour, I think most fans know by now that you’ve picked up a fourth member, but this is the first time we have the pleasure of hearing Evin Rene’s voice. Welcome to Amsterdam, Evin.”
    “Thank you,” Evin said into the microphone.
    “So,” the DJ said, then shuffled his papers and leaned forward on his elbows. Miah had to take conscious control of his own breath, whatever was coming out of the DJ’s mouth next was going to challenge Evin.
    “Are you the reason why there’s no official opening band for the Made in Americana tour?”
    Evin’s eyes went wide, and for a flash—one blink, less than one breath—Miah was sure Evin was going to choke. Then Evin tipped his head, scratched his fingers through his scruff, and laughed. “If I am, then I’m okay with it. Pretty damn happy where I’ve landed.”
    Miah squeezed his hand around Evin’s ankle. Their newbie definitely had it. The rest would come with time.
     
     
    E VIN NOTICED the black-haired girl for the first time when he, Finn, Ritchie, and Miah exited the Van Gogh Museum. Even if she hadn’t been following them so close, he probably would have spotted her anyway, with that blue-black feathering of spiked hair and the glint of sunlight off the silver piercings that lined her aristocratic bone structure. She was thin, in jeans and a black safety-pin-laden top, with dark eyes lined in black kohl. Eyes that seemed to track their movement away from the modern structure and toward the car they were all going to pile into to take them downtown for more sightseeing.
    But she didn’t make a move to catch up to them, and Evin forgot about her as Miah jabbered away on some useless fact about Van Gogh’s artistic process that Evin tuned out in favor of watching the countryside pass. Finn slung his leg over Evin’s with casual ease that made Evin’s heart rate speed and the remainder of the short trip into an interminable infliction of body heat and the scent of whiskey-flavored lollipops Finn had picked up in Dublin.
    By the time the car slowed to drop them off at Dam Square, Evin had the door open partway before they stopped and one foot on the concrete as soon as he could eject himself from the metal cube of proximity torture. He stopped cold when he realized what was at the center of the square: a statue that jutted into the air. So fucking phallic. Fantastic.
    He didn’t have long to ponder just how fucked he really was, because he saw the goth girl from the museum appear on the other side of the square, her spiked hair cresting the steps first as she studied the crowd.
    Lucky for him and how turned-on Finn had made him on the car ride over, stalking was a definite turn-off. Girls too. Evin’s libido came into firm check as he grabbed Ritchie. “I think that girl by the base of the statue followed us from the museum.”
    Ritchie craned his neck, then waved to her.
    “What the fuck are you doing?” Evin whisper-yelled at him.
    “She’s probably just a fan, Ev. Chill.”
    “Probably? A fan? Chill?”
    Ritchie grinned, as copacetic as always. “Yeah. Chill.”
    The girl approached them, unable to make eye contact, but seemingly determined. “Hey. Sorry. You are Rez? Resonator?” She was so timid, so curved into herself, that Evin melted. He wanted to reassure her there was nothing to be nervous about. He wanted to hug her. It was Ritchie who offered to instead, and the girl broke into a smile that revealed the dimples two of her piercings accentuated.
    “Hey, Miah! Finn!” Ritchie called out to them.
    That was all it took for chaos to hit the square. One moment the four of them were talking to her, signing autographs and taking pics with the girl and her friends, then there was a line. Within minutes the queue for their impromptu meet-and-greet snaked around the stone steps. They had three hours left until they had to be at the theater for their show, and Miah had been determined to get them out to actually see something of note since