“We have some special edition ones backstage if you want to check them out after the show.” He leans his arm on the wall and crosses his feet at the ankles.Is he flirting with me?“I can give you a pass if you want.”
I’m completely dumbfounded. It’s not that I can’t get any words out; it’s that there are no words. Ryder bites the side of his lip, his tongue darting out to play with the ring on it. Just as I’m about to mumble something unintelligible, I feel a presence behind me. A hand wraps around my waist, pulling me into a hard chest.
“That would be awesome, man,” he says. “We’ll take two.”
Ryder’s eyes drop to where Ashton’s hand is pressed firmly against my hip, and he chuckles. “Sure thing. I’ll have my manager send them right over.”
A blonde with a skin-tight Noble Rot tank top and ripped jeans comes over and wedges herself in front of him, giving us her back. “Ryder,” she whines. “Come backstage.” I don’t miss the double meaning as his eyes rake over her giant fake tits before turning back to me. “Duty calls,” he says, pushing upfrom the wall and causing the girl to stumble forward. He slaps her ass, and she giggles as they disappear into the crowd. Yeah, I’m not holding my breath for those backstage passes.
“Can’t leave you alone for a second,” Ashton whispers in my ear.
I break his hold so I can turn around and glare at him. “Should have just dropped your pants and pissed on me,” I sneer.
Ashton laughs, completely unbothered as he brings his hand to rest on the small of my back so he can guide me through the mass of people now filing toward the stage.
As we make our way through the crowd, a frazzled-looking older man with a goatee stops us. He shoves two rectangular plastic cards at me. “Passes for after the show.” He pants, completely out of breath. “Compliments of Ryder.” Then he turns around and is gone before I can respond. How did he even find us? I guess Ryder wasn’t lying. Ashton narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything as we continue up toward the stage.
The concert starts half an hour late, and I’m not surprised considering Ryder didn’t look like whatever he was about to go do with blondie was going to be quick. It doesn’t matter. It’s worth it. The show is better than I expected. I’ve been to live concerts before, but it’s been a while. Ashton holds my waist the whole time, even as I jump and bob my head, going wild every time I hear the opening chords to my favorite songs. We’re pretty close to the stage, so when a pit forms in the middle of the crowd during a really fast bridge, Ashton immediately pulls me over to the side away from the sweaty bodies slamming into each other. We’re right on the edge of it, though, and it’s hard to tell who wants to be involved or not. At one point, a guy is shoved into the girl standing on the other side of me, and she goes to push him back, but slips on something and goes down.
I lean down to help her up, but when I do, someone knocks into me and I fall on top of her. Ashton pushes people away as he helps us both up, and then I feel my feet being lifted off theground. He carries me further back where the dancing is less rowdy.
“Thanks,” I pant, smoothing out my shirt. I’ve never been in a mosh pit before. As much as I love the chaotic energy, getting trampled by punk rockers high on adrenaline and who knows what else is not my thing.
We watch the rest of the concert from the back, but it’s still the most fun I’ve had in a really long time. About midway through the set, Ryder starts shedding his clothes, so now he’s rocking out in nothing but black ripped jeans. Every single time he removes an article, the crowd goes crazy and Ashton rolls his eyes. Other than that, he’s been a pretty good sport. I know this isn’t his jam, but he’s here anyway. Every once in a while, I look over and notice he’s not actually watching the show.
He’s watching me watch it.
After their last song, Ryder throws his guitar pick into the crowd and another pit forms as people rush to grab it. Then he squeezes the mic as if he’s choking it, says, “Fuck you, New York,” and walks off the stage.
“That was incredible,” I breathe out. Ashton grabs my hand as we look for signs to point us to the backstage area.
“I’m glad you liked it,” he yells over the commotion. He looks a little pale.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I thought I almost lost you back there.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
Once we get to the security checkpoint off to the side of the stage, Ashton lets go of my hand. I look down at where he dropped it and lift my eyebrow, but he’s looking straight ahead. I show the security guard our passes, and he checks with the guy next to him who looks at a roster of some sort. He nods, and the first guy waves at us to follow him. He guides us through a dimly lit hallway. We pass by several guys hauling equipment and some girls giggling off to the side. Finally, we get to a doorwith a piece of ripped notebook paper that says “Noble Rot/Guests Only” in all caps taped to it. The security guard knocks on the door, and a tall guy with long black hair tied back into a man bun opens it. I recognize him as the drummer, but I don’t know his name.
“Guests of Ryder’s,” Security Guy says. Man Bun grits his teeth and I think he’s going to tell us to get fucked, but then he moves out of the way to let us through. I’m prepared for anything as we walk through the door. I’m expecting it to be like Declan’s party times a hundred, but it’s actually pretty tame. Ryder is sitting on a couch with a beer in his hand, talking to another member of the band, the bassist maybe? I don’t know, he looks a lot like the other guitarist. I can never tell them apart. Man Bun sits at a table next to a woman with long red hair who reminds me a little of Skylar. The man with the goatee who gave us the passes earlier is on the phone, pacing back and forth and intermittently yelling at whoever is on the other end. Other than the red-haired woman, there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here who isn’t in the band or working for them.
When Ryder notices us, he stands up and walks over. “You made it,” he says, speaking directly to me and completely ignoring Ashton.
“Couldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet my favorite band,” I say.
“Shit, you like us more than Black Flag?” His eyes fall to my shirt. “Hey guys, she likes us more than Black Flag.”
Man Bun shakes his head, and the bassist, or whoever Ryder was talking to before, hops up from his seat and shoves his hand out toward me. “Always willing to meet my biggest fan,” he says, flashing his white teeth, which contrast with his tan skin and pink hair. I take his hand and shake it.
“This is Skid,” Ryder says, slapping him in the abs with the back of his hand. “The pissy asshole over there is Adam.” He points to Man Bun. “And Pony is…well, doing what ponies do.”
Skid snorts. “Didn’t we say no more fucking right after shows? We fuck before and then we debrief after. That is what you said, Ry.”
Ryder rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” He steps away from Skid, walking over to a table filled with every drink you can imagine—sodas, hard seltzers, beer, wine, bottles of tequila. “Help yourself, by the way,” Ryder gestures to the table, and Ashton immediately grabs two bottles of water and hands one to me. He’s been acting super weird ever since we left the concert. First, he’s holding my hand, then he drops it like it’s on fire, and now he’s making sure I don’t take alcohol from these guys.
“So how is it fair that Pony is getting laid right now and you have a threesome showing up at our door?” Skid’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and Ashton spits out the water he just sipped.
