“Georgia’s not wanting to be anyone’s anything?” I reply.

He grins and tips his head toward the stage. “That is her showing me she’s a free agent.”

“You don’t seem to mind.” I’m impressed by his coolness.

“That punk’s only been around twenty-five years. I have centuries of experience on him. I know how to show Georgia what she’s worth. Which makes me confident. And confidence is always sexy.” As if hearing his words, Georgia gives us a wave, keeping one arm around Sebastian.

Arthur blows her a lazy kiss, then turns back to me, completely unbothered by her flirting. “One. Two. Three,” he counts slowly. By the count of four, Georgia has hopped off the stage and is on her toes, planting a kiss on Arthur’s cheek.

“Seb’s so glad you came,” she says to him, and then looks around at us to extend the compliment to the group.

“I’m sure those were his very words,” Arthur says, as Sebastian stares out at us, annoyed.

“Well, his group must be good. This place is packed,” Siaka tells Georgia.

He’s right. It’s standing room only and people are jammed in. The place is thick with the smell of beer and body odor.

As if reading my mind, one of the bouncers opens a side-door to let some air in. I see a couple of guys walk up to ask him something. He nods, and they step outside to light cigarettes.

There’s something familiar about them, but I can’t quite place where I’ve seen them. I’m distracted by Vincent, who’s saying that the last time they came to one of Sebastien’s concerts they were attacked by numa afterward. When I look back at the guys, they’re staring directly at Liv, and it clicks.

I lean towards Siaka and motion toward the exit door. “Aren’t those the burnouts who were smoking behind Liv’s squat?”

“God damn it,” Liv mutters, reading a text. “Reese isn’t coming.” She sees us staring at the door and cranes her head to see what we’re looking at. The burnout guys duck out of sight.

“Liv, did you invite some guys from your squat?” Siaka asks.

“I didn’t invite anyone but Reese,” she replies. “What are you guys staring at?”

“Those two jerk-face stoners who were in the courtyard behind your building the other day. They’re here, at the concert. When you looked up, they hid.” Siaka’s says.

“What do they look like?” Liv asks, with a glimmer of interest.

“Redhead-beard guy and dark-haired beard guy,” I say. “Skinny. In their twenties.”

“Oh, them.” She rolls her eyes. “They’re probably just catching the concert like us. But they’re hiding because I called them out for being wank-face misogynistic dicks in front of the whole building.”