Code Viagra aren’t half bad. After the third time I accidentally called them that, I gave up on remembering their real name. Now everyone in our group is chanting, “Code Viagra! Code Viagra!” as they get up to do their encore.

Even Rabbit Girl is clapping along, doing her best to applaud while holding the still mostly-full bottle of Pabst she got when we arrived. I’ve been busy busting a move on the dance floor and starting a minor mosh pit—which I sort of consider my duty whenever I’m at a show—but I’ve seen her over by the bar, shyly answering a few questions from Matt’s girlfriend, Kay, throughout the night.

The band finishes their set and clears off the stage. Whoever’s in charge of the sound system doesn’t miss a beat, and starts blasting alt-rock over the speakers to keep the crowd moving. The first song they play is from Shebrooke Station’s latest album.

If I thought Stéphanie’s friends were loud before, that’s nothing compared to this. They surround me like a circle of sloppy-drunk fairies and start shouting the words of the song. Being the gentleman I am, I play some air piano for them and sing along too.

“Okay, les filles, I gotta go!” I yell once the song is done, then make my way over to the bar.

Stéphanie is standing next to Kay now, the two of them chatting while Molly clutches her beer and nods along to their conversation, her eyes darting around the room. I slide into the empty spot beside her.

“Enjoying your evening, Madame?”

She nods and flashes a quick smile. “Yeah. The band was great.”

I lean in a little closer. “It’s okay. You can admit you were only paying attention to my dance moves.”

If I moved just a few inches closer, my nose would be brushing her curly mass of hair. I can smell her shampoo from here, something flowery with just a little bit of spice underneath. I don’t know why, but I can’t help thinking there’s some hint of spice hiding under her wallflower personality too.

She lets out a nervous laugh, and I watch as she tucks a stray curl behind her ear. There’s something so sexy about the way girls do that. It feels innocent and inviting all at once. I keep my eyes fixed on hers when she flicks them towards me. She holds my gaze for a second before glancing away.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was flirting. I’m about to push my luck and lean in even closer when she sets her drink down on the bar.

“Do you mind watching this for me?” she asks, gesturing towards the Pabst bottle. “I’ll be right back.”

“Your alcohol is safe with me,” I assure her.

She darts off towards the bathrooms. Kay and Stéphanie immediately turn their attention on me.

“JP, what did you do to my roommate?” Stéphanie demands.

I place a hand on my chest. “What did I do?”

“First she let you in her room, then she showed you her drawings, then you got her to come out to the bar.” Stéphanie counts her points off on her fingers. “I’ve been living with her for over a year, and she still hardly talks to me.”

I shrug. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

Kay lets out a snort and shoves her glasses back up her nose. “Lock up your daughters, ladies and gentlemen. There’s a wolf on the prowl tonight.”

Normally I would respond with a wolf howl loud enough to get us kicked out of the bar, but something else Stéphanie mentioned stuck out to me.

“You said she showed me her drawings?”

Stéphanie looks confused. “I thought that’s what you were looking at when I knocked on her door? She’s really good at art. That’s one of the few things I know about her.”

I scratch my chin. “Interesting.”

I glance towards the bathrooms and spot Molly’s cloud of hair through the crowd. Some mec who’s so drunk I can tell he’s hammered from all the way over here is calling out to her, and she pauses on her way back over to the bar. My eyes narrow, and I tighten my grip around her beer bottle.

Matt and Ace appear just then, bumping me out of the way so they can get a hold of their respective women and order fresh beers. Cole took off after about twenty minutes of lurking in a corner. I put in an order for a beer too, and we all shoot the shit about Code Viagra and Stéphanie’s still wildly dancing friends.

I make my share of jokes, but the whole time, all I’m really thinking about is Molly. I keep her in my line of sight as she stands there, politely letting the drunk fucker ramble on about god knows what. He keeps his hands to himself, but my asshole senses are tingling.

Voyons. That didn’t come out right. My ass isn’t tingling; I mean I feel like the dude is bad news.

I have this weird urge to go check on Molly, like I’m her babysitter or her big brother or something. She’s an adult woman, though, and I don’t have any actual reason to believe she’s unsafe right now. We’re strangers to each other, and she doesn’t need me barging in on her life.

I start getting antsy and reach into my pocket to get mon truc.

“Câlice,” I swear, when all my fingers reach is the bottom of the pocket. “Molly has my ball.”

Matt’s just taken a big sip of beer and almost spits his drink out. Kay thumps him on the back while everyone else laughs.

“Do you mean she has you by the balls?” Ace asks with a smirk.

I glare at him. “Ben non, I mean I dropped mon truc in her room.”

“Ton truc?” Stéphanie questions, squinting in confusion.

“Yeah,” Ace answers for me, “his ball.”

He and Matt nod like the situation is clear now. Stéphanie and Kay share a look.

“You guys are so fucking weird,” Kay states.

Matt slides an arm around her waist. “Yeah, but you girls love it.”

“I’m gonna go find Molly and ask her to look for my ball when she gets home,” I announce.

Everyone roars with laughter at that. I leave Molly’s beer in Kay’s care and flip them all the bird as I cross the room. I get over to the entrance to the bathrooms, where I wedge myself in between Molly and the drunk guy.

“Hey,” I greet her. “You get lost on your way back to the bar? Allow me to lead you to your beer.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” she stammers, eyes going wide at my sudden appearance. “I was just talking to...”

We both glance at where Drunk Guy was just standing and find him a few feet away, doing some kind of hula dance for a group of girls all killing themselves laughing at his hip thrusts.

“I think that conversation is over,” I announce.

She exhales heavily. “Thank god. I didn’t know how I was going to escape him. I think he was trying to tell me he owns a motorcycle, but I’m not sure. He kept making engine noises and doing this weird thing with his hands.”

There’s a beat of silence before we both burst out laughing. I slouch down a little further on the wall.

“Besides Mr. Hell’s Angel, are you having a good night?” I ask her. “I hope I didn’t make you feel pressured into coming with us.”

She shakes her head so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t hurt her neck. “No. Nope. Not at all.”

I can’t help smiling. It’s kind of cute, the way she gets so nervous.

“Okay. Good.”

I let the silence drag. Molly twists a strand of hair around her finger, eyes wandering through the bar. She looks like she’s working up the courage to say something. Sure enough, after another moment of silence between us, she speaks. Her voice is quiet and halting, but she speaks.

“It’s like nothing else, isn’t it? Live music, that is. Sometimes when you’re at a show, all high on the noise and the lights, anything seems possible, you know? It’s like you can be someone else.”

“You don’t have to be somebody else.”

Her gaze snaps to mine the second the words leave my mouth. I didn’t plan on saying them out loud, but something has slipped into her expression, some sort of pain that brings out lines and creases in skin that doesn’t deserve to be anything but smooth, and I know she needed to hear those words.

“Seriously,” I urge, “we all like having you here. You don’t have to worry about pulling some Cendrillon shit.”

She makes a face. “Cendrillon?”

“Yeah. It’s French for, uh...you know, that Disney movie? With the pumpkin? And the shoe?”

She thinks for a moment. “Cinderella?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Cinderella. You don’t have to pull some Cinderella shit. You’re pretty damn cool already.”

Her lips twist into a little smile. “Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”

I start leading the way back over to our group. “Well, it’s the truth.”

We squeeze our way through the small crowd of people still dancing. We’ve almost made it back to the bar when Molly gets knocked into my back where she’s following behind me. Her hands fist my shirt as she catches her balance. I feel a jolt run through my whole body from just that one touch. I glance at her over my shoulder, and she instantly lets go. Even in the dim bar lighting, I can see her whole face is going red.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry,” she gasps.

I just wink. “If you wanted to start a Conga line, all you had to do was ask.”

She’s still blushing when we reach the group at the bar. Kay notices and gives Molly’s shoulder a pat.

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Kay orders Molly. She jerks her chin toward me. “He’s the biggest flirt in Montreal. I don’t think he knows how to turn it off.”

I make a big show of acting offended. “I am not a flirt, Mademoiselle Fischer. You’re just jealous you had to settle for the drummer when what you really wanted was me.”

Everyone cracks up laughing.

“See!” Kay crows. “You’re flirting right now!” She turns back to Molly. “He’s only laying it on thick because you’re new and exciting. He’ll lay off soon and stop distracting you from your bar conquests. I saw you talking to someone by the bathrooms. Where’d he get to?”

“Oh, he, um...he was kind of weird,” Molly admits in a small voice, “and drunk.”

Stéphanie takes a sip from the glass of water she’s holding, Ace’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Glad you dodged the bullet, then. At least when JP flirts, it’s entertaining.”

“Ben là, guys,” I groan, “I’m really not that bad.”

Everyone except Molly raises their eyebrows.

“Yes,” Matt argues. “Yes, you are. I saw you trying to flirt with a tree once.”

In my defence, I was very high when that happened.

The conversation moves on after that. Molly stays quiet the whole time, other than turning down the bartender’s offer of a fresh beer. I want to tell her Kay was only messing around, that I don’t just think she’s ‘new and exciting.’ I try to catch her eye a few times, but she seems a lot more interested in the floor.

Eventually, Stéphanie’s friends all leave for some club, screaming like banshees in mini dresses. Stéphanie waves them off and then yawns before checking the time.

“Merde, it’s late. I have to teach tomorrow morning.” She runs her hand through Ace’s hair. “Your place tonight?”

He nods, his own hand cupped around the back of her neck. Matt and Kay laugh when I tell them to get a room, but Molly’s now digging through her purse like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh, wait,” Stéphanie says suddenly. “Molly, you shouldn’t walk home alone. We’re at least twenty minutes away. The three of us can just head to our place together, if you’re ready to leave, that is.”

“Y-You don’t have to—”

I cut off Molly’s stuttering reply with my own. “I can walk her back.” I nudge her foot with mine and turn towards her. “If you want.”

She jerks her leg away like I’ve shocked her and then laughs to cover it up.

“Really, I can make it back myself. It’s not far. I don’t want to be a bother...”

“Stéphanie is right,” Matt pipes up, always the responsible one. “You shouldn’t go that far by yourself this late, and besides, the walk might help JP blow off enough steam to save me from his nightly urge to play the keyboard at three in the morning.”

I mean, when the muse strikes, the muse strikes.

“Plus,” I urge Molly, “you still have a beer to finish.”

She gives in and agrees to the plan. Stéphanie and Ace take off, and the rest of us finish our drinks before splitting up outside the bar. In a really shocking turn of events, Molly is quiet as she leads the way back to her and Stéphanie’s place near Parc Lafontaine.

“Sorry I don’t have a motorcycle to drive you back on,” I joke.

She laughs as we make our way up the dark street lined with brick houses and trees whose leaves are just starting to show signs of turning orange. I’m a half step behind her, and I do my best to ignore the view of her peach-tastic ass that gives me.

Okay, fuck ҫa. I totally check out her ass.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asks, after we’ve made it up another block.

I rub my hands over my ink-covered arms. All I’ve got on is a t-shirt. “Nah. I like to think I’m pretty hot.”

She bites back a smirk and I swear I catch her doing a little eye roll.

“Hey, so, what Kay said at the bar—”

My words get cut off by a buzzing in my pocket. I pull my phone out see I have an incoming call from my oldest sister, Geneviève. It’s just past midnight now. This better be good. I excuse myself to Molly and press ‘Accept.’

“Allô, Gene-vache. Qu’est-ce que tu veux?”

Starting the call off by asking her what she wants isn’t even rude. She only calls me when she wants something, usually involving minor repair work. Giving her the nickname ‘Gene-cow’ is maybe farther up on the rude scale, but she’s not exactly the world’s politest girl either.

“Allô, poisson rouge.”

That’s what all my siblings call me: ‘Goldfish.’

I’m not just the baby of Sherbrooke Station; I’m also the baby of the Bouchard-Guindons. When your dad is a former Member of Parliament for the Parti Québécois, it’s kind of important for your family to maintain the old school French Catholic family values. My parents just kept popping babies out until I came along sixth in line, and they decided not to pop out any more.

With four older sisters and one older brother, it’s no wonder I have the ‘attention span of a goldfish.’ I had to be moving around all the time just to avoid getting stepped on.

“I need you to come fix my hairdryer,” Geneviève continues in French. “Like, now. Or tomorrow morning. Early.”

“Get your fiancé to do it,” I suggest, “or just buy a new hairdryer. You’re fucking rich, Gene-vache, as our parents like to point out every time they open their mouths.”

“You know my fiancé is an idiot,” Geneviève argues, “and this maudit hairdryer was really expensive and took six weeks to arrive. I don’t want to go through the whole refund process if you can just pop some piece back in place and fix it. Most importantly, I have a critical meeting at eight-thirty tomorrow morning, and there’s nowhere to buy a new hair dryer between now and then. You know what my hair looks like if it doesn’t get blow dried. You still owe me for that time I lied about your weed stash to Maman, so I need you to come over and look at it. I don’t care who you’re screwing around with tonight.”

Such a lovely young lady. A real catch.

“Why don’t you just take an Uber to your meeting and hang your head out the window to let your hair dry?”

She lets out a string of French swear words, and I have to laugh. Québécois profanities are another French Catholic tradition the Bouchard-Guindons take very seriously.

“Okay, I’ll come over, but I’m taking all the bacon in your fridge as payment. All the ham too. Maybe your peanut butter.”

She grunts and hangs up. I go to pocket my phone and notice a new text came through while I was at the bar. It’s from Shayla, replying to the photo of Molly’s Sherbrooke Station poster I sent her a few hours ago:

I’ve never seen that before, and I’ve seen all your merch. If it’s from a concert, maybe someone was selling their own shit outside the show. It’s good. I’d hire whoever did that on the spot.

I’m starting to get suspicious that Shayla might have the chance to do just that, if I’ve got anything to do with it.

“Sorry about that,” I tell Molly, once I finally put the phone away. “My sister is crazy and obsessed with her hair.”

We’re still trudging along beside each other on the sidewalk.

“Obsessed?” Molly repeats.

I nod. “I have to go fix her hair dryer after this, and yes, I know it is now after midnight.”

She gives me a curious look. “You know how to fix hair dryers?”

“Let’s hope so.” I shrug. “I can fix most things. Once you know the basics, you can figure out how to take almost anything apart.”

“Well I hope you fix it too,” she replies. “Your sister sounds a little scary.”

“Maybe,” I agree, “but mostly she’s just annoying, like all my sisters are.”

“How many do you have?”

“Four, plus a brother, and before you ask, yes, I’m the baby.” I offer up a quick recap of all my siblings, which people usually ask for after they find out I have so many. “Geneviève, the one I was talking to, works at a big law firm here in the city. She and her twin, Carol, live in Montreal. The other two sisters and my brother are still back in Trois-Rivières, where we grew up. Geneviève is probably the most financially successful, but they’re all working these fancy-ass jobs in law, business, or politics. Then there is me.”

Molly pauses just before we get to an intersection.

“You’re in Sherbrooke Station,” she says, like it’s supposed to be some kind of revelation.

“I am...” I prompt her. I don’t know where she’s going with this.

“I mean...” She waves her arms around, getting flustered again, but not willing to give up on making her point. “The way you said, ‘Then there is me,’ like...I mean, it’s like what you said to me earlier. You don’t have to be somebody else.”

My words sent a jolt through me when she throws them back my way. We stare at each other in the orange glow from a nearby streetlight, and this time, it’s me who looks away first.

“My place is just across the street,” she says softly. “Thanks for walking me back.”

There was something else I wanted to say. There were lots of things I wanted to say, but I’m too stunned, too struck by her statement to remember any of them before she’s slipping away. I watch her cross the road, and only manage to return her little wave just as she’s opening the door to her building’s lobby.

Tabarnak, I think, as I watch it swing shut. I forgot to tell her she has my ball.