450. Chapter 450

Maggie knows that Winn can sing.

She knows that Kara can sing.

Hell, she knows that Alex can sing.

What she doesn’t know?

What she doesn’t know is that Vasquez is wicked on an electric guitar, and that Alex?

Alex is just as intense, just as singularly focused, slamming on a set of drums as she is taking shots at bad guys during the day, as she is fucking Maggie during the night.

So when Winn tells Maggie she absolutely has to show up at the bar on Friday night because who wouldn’t want to see a bunch of secret agents in a band, Maggie expects some cute little duets from Winn and Kara and some dorky, adorable harmonies from her girlfriend.

She doesn’t expect to find Alex with a red bandanna on her head, eyes fixed and focused, ribbed tank top fitted and showing off just the right amount of skin, just the right amount of twitching, corded arm muscles, banging out intricate rhythms behind Winn’s voice, behind Kara’s voice, in tandem with Vasquez’s guitar and Yve’s bass.

Her jaw hits the floor and she thinks vaguely that she might be in danger of drooling – she’s a little late to the show, and Alex has already started to sweat, staining the edges of her bandanna, highlighting the contours of her arms just right – and she hears Brian chuckling next to her.

“Not every day you get to see a fine woman like that lose control while keeping perfect control on a drum set, is it, Detective?” he asks, his eyes just as fixed on Alex as hers.

“Would you like to see this fine woman lose control while keeping perfect control on your face, Brian?” Maggie asks, without so much as turning to look at him, and he laughs. Maggie has protected him too many times, gotten him out of too many scrapes, to be intimidated by her tough stance, her dismissive words.

“Enjoy, Detective,” he grins as he heads back to the bar for another drink, and god, for once, she listens to him.

Because she’s forgotten about Kara and she’s forgotten about Winn, and she’ll have to pay attention to them, Vasquez, and Yve later – because everyone will want to know what she thought – but all she can think right now is Alex, Alex, fuck, fuck, fuck me, Alex.

And apparently, Alex is thinking along the same lines. Because when they finish their set with a perfect, sexy as all hell flourish from their drummer – god, god, her woman is a fucking drummer – Alex hops down from the makeshift stage right to Maggie, right to slinging her arm around her, right to a slightly breathless grin, a very breathless kiss.

“What’d you think?” she wants to know, but her eyes tell Maggie that Alex already knows.

“I think I need you to take me home as soon as humanly possible,” Maggie breathes, and Alex grins, because that’s exactly what she’s been planning on doing.