"Don't look at me like that," he mutters.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm some kind of fucking hero for buying you band merch." He slams the truck closed with more force than necessary. "Let's go back in. I'm starving."
Inside, the smell of concession food hits me hard. My stomach growls loudly enough for Ramsey to hear over the crowd.
"Pretzel with spicy nacho cheese," he tells the concession worker before I can even open my mouth. "Popcorn. Two waters."
"You know, I can order for myself," I tease, nudging him with my hip.
His eyes find mine, intense and dark. "Tell me that's not exactly what you wanted."
I can't argue. It's exactly what I would have ordered.
Arms full of snacks, we make our way toward the stage. "Here," he says, finding us a spot with a perfect view of the stage. The pit isn't fully formed yet, but I can see where it will be.
I take a massive bite of the pretzel, moaning as the hot, salty dough hits my tongue. The nacho cheese is nuclear orange and so fucking spicy it makes my eyes water, but I don't care. I dip again, letting the cheese drip down my chin.
"You eat like a fucking animal," Ramsey says, but there's something in his voice that doesn't sound annoyed at all.
I'm about to flip him off when the lights dim and the crowd roars. The opening band, False Gods, takes the stage with a wall of sound that hits me like a physical force. The lead singer's voice is like gravel being dragged over barbed wire, and I'm instantly obsessed.
"Holy shit, they're actually good!" I scream to Ramsey, who just nods, his eyes never leaving me as I start to move.
I can't help it—my body responds to the bass like it's hard wired into my fucking DNA. I shimmy in place, one hand clutching my pretzel, the other in the air. The nacho cheese is probably going everywhere, but I don't give a fuck.
"Eat your food first, then dance," Ramsey says into my ear, his breath hot against my neck.
"Make me," I challenge, looking up at him with what I know is cheese on my face.
His eyes darken, and for a second, I think he might actually try. Instead, he wipes the cheese from my chin with his thumb, then—holy fuck—licks it clean. The move is so casual yet so fucking filthy that my knees go weak.
I turn back to the stage before he can see what that did to me, stuffing more pretzel in my mouth.
Some drunk guy stumbles backward, nearly crashing into me, but Ramsey's arm shoots out, stopping him with a flat palm to the chest.
"Watch it," he growls, and the guy mumbles an apology before disappearing back into the crowd.
I dance in my little bubble, protected by Ramsey's presence. He stands behind me, close enough that I can feel his body heat but not touching. Every few minutes, someone gets too close, and without fail, Ramsey shifts toblock them or gives them a look that sends them scurrying.
"You're my own personal bouncer," I laugh, looking over my shoulder at him.
"Someone's gotta keep these fuckers away from you," he says, and there's no humor in his voice at all.
False Gods wraps up their set with a scream that makes my ears ring. The crowd goes wild, surging forward as the stage goes dark. I chug what's left of my water and shove my empty pretzel wrapper into the nearest trash can.
"Holy fuck, here it comes," I whisper, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The silence stretches for one beat, two, then three. The anticipation is so thick I could fucking choke on it. Then—BOOM—a single spotlight hits the stage as the first chord rips through the air. The crowd erupts as Chaos Theory emerges from the darkness.
"HELLO MOTHERFUCKERS!" Daymon King, the lead singer, roars into the mic, his voice like liquid sex wrapped in barbed wire. His tattooed arms flex as he grips the stand, the stage lights catching on his piercing. "ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING LOSE YOUR MINDS?"
The crowd loses its collective mind. So do I.
"Stay close," he growls in my ear, but I barely hear him over the music. He grabs me by the neck and forces me to look at him and I know he means business. It’s not like I would want to go far from him anyway. This place is fucking crazy.
The bass is so heavy it feels like my heart is syncing to its rhythm. The drums pound through my body, and whenDaymon starts singing—holy fucking shit—it's like being hit by lightning.
