“So you’re kidnapping me in the van, then?” Trent asked around a mouthful of pancake.
I snort-laughed and everyone at the table joined me.
Chapter Two
Trent
Iwasn’t sure what happened between me bursting into a random diner in panic and being invited to a concert, but I wasn’t complaining. I’d gone to a local gym to let off steam, but had felt uncomfortable every second I spent there. The men there and their derogatory jokes about women and talk of scoring some ass had my skin crawling. It had sounded way too close to the gym culture I’d been getting more and more sick of lately. After running out of there, I hadn’t stopped until I saw the colorful lights of a fifties-style diner. What a change of vibe that had been.
Now, with a guitar case in one hand and a round bag with the wordZildjianon it in the other, I followed Charlie, Trixie, and Sabrina into a club at the edge of the city. Posing as a part of the band was easier than I thought—I tried to look serious and nodded whenever someone asked one of the real band members a question. We arrived early; bright lights illuminated the interior, and the bar was unsettlingly empty. During a slalom through the club, I shook hands with several technicians and the couple organizing the event.
“We’ll dump our stuff backstage and leave Trixie to talk to the sound guy.” Charlie steered me by the elbow until we reached a tiny room with beige paint peeling off walls.
“You won’t hear well from the back so you can pick a spot in front of the stage. Or at the bar.” Charlie took the equipment from me and set it all aside. “Don’t feel you have to stay if you don’t like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” This time, I didn’t stop the smile from taking over my face. Even if I didn’t vibe with the music, complete strangers had shown me more kindness than any of my friends, and had invited me to an event that was important to them. I was excited about the concert no matter what. “I’ll be cheering you on from the front row.”
“Cool.” Trixie clapped me on the shoulder harder than my gym buddies would. “We’ll see you after the gig.”
I nodded and slipped back through the narrow corridor that smelled of burned rubber, and into the club proper. The place had the vibe of catering to all sorts of events. A disco ball hung high in the ceiling, as if tucked in so the rock crowd wouldn’t notice. Tables and chairs stood shoved to the side of the open adjacent room, while boxes and various sound equipment lay scattered around the smaller space.
I ordered a beer, leaned back against the barriers in front of the stage, and watched people come in. Within half an hour, themusic from the speakers and dimmed lights set the party mood, while couples and groups of friends filled the place quickly.
They were dressed in blacks, whites, and reds, most of them wearing band t-shirts, making me realize how strikingly out of place I must look in my basketball jersey and shorts. I faced the stage and chose to ignore the negative thoughts my brain was coming up with. I’d attended the odd concert and a town festival with my parents and my older brother, but I’d never known anyone on stage in person.
The music quietened, and one of the organizers came on stage and introduced the band.
Anticipation built in me, even if the crowd was chatting away.
Then I saw Charlie.
It wasn’t the style that made a frontman, but the confidence, and Charlie swaggered onto the stage like he belonged there. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He effortlessly seduced the audience with his slim body and piercing gaze, as he rearranged his dark red guitar. Trixie sat behind drums, stretching her arms above her head, and Sabrina placed a sheet with a set list on the floor next to the foot switch for her bass.
Technically, I’d just met Charlie and the crew, but when they stepped on the stage, my heart jumped and the rest of the club ceased to exist. The uncanny magic of eyeliner was that it madeeveryonehotter, but holy shit, did it look fantastic on Charlie. The rockstar smudge accentuated his deep brown eyes that reflected the overhead lights, and his red-tipped black hair, messily styled, matched the black t-shirt and red suspenders hanging at the sides of his jeans.
Charlie nodded at his bandmates, at which Sabrina clicked her drumsticks together three times and they all started playing.
Maybe it was the casual kindness Charlie had shown me, but I was drawn to him in a way that was new to me. I couldn’t put a finger on it. His hands worked the guitar like magic I was unableto fathom. The sticker-covered instrument became an extension of Charlie.
He took a step towards the standing mic, looked straight at me, and sang.
Chills ran through me, and my body felt as if I’d drunk too much caffeine and ate a whole box of glazed donuts.
The pure sound of his tenor, mixed with the angry lyrics and a clear delivery, pulled me in and sent the people behind me into a frenzy. They sang along and jumped, pushing me against the barrier. I didn’t mind, as the sheer energy of the crowd and the performance from the band were worth a bruise or two.
They played some tunes I’d heard on the radio when I was a kid, or maybe it was something my brother used to listen to. The first song had to do with a bunch of kids that were not alright, and the next was welcoming us to paradise with an upbeat melody.
Charlie bit his bottom lip when playing the solo, his focus showing in the flawless dance of his fingers on the guitar.
I loved music, but I’d never been very particular about it. What fascinated me today was Charlie, Sabrina, and Trixie performing with a clear love for the music. They put their hearts in every move and note—I could feel it without knowing the songs. Sabrina hit the drums with rhythm and admirable strength, showing off a serious set of guns in the sleeveless top she’d changed into. Trixie stood with her left side to the audience as she slapped the bass, connecting with Charlie and Sabrina on some metaphysical level I could never understand.
In the span of several songs I only vaguely recognized, the trio showed me why people lost their shit and paid hundreds of dollars to see their favorite bands live. Why didn’t Charlie and the band play their original songs? With the charisma they had, they’d surely draw in crowds.
Someone from the crowd poked me in the arm. Then again. I turned to give them a piece of my mind but realized that poke was an invitation to join whatever the fuck kind of dance they were doing in front of the stage. I shook my head. Some people moved chaotically and bumped into each other, or jumped up and down. Others in the back stood with their beers and simply vibed.
Their energy was contagious and when I turned back to the band, I could tell they were feeding off the crowd as well. The grin that took over my face was involuntary, and I let my body move to the music as my organs jiggled to the beat of the drums.
Once the band finished, I glued my gaze to Charlie. His lips looked so soft when he licked them, then took a sip of the bottled water at the edge of the stage.
