“You got it.”
Roman’s deep voice still has a bite to it when he says, “Pizza, then.”
“Here, lovebirds.”
Aubrey holds my side and squeezes slightly. I pull back and look at Beck and the two glasses of champagne he’s holdingout. Taking them both, I search the bar where Wes and Roman were. They’re gone, which means they’re down the stairs, sitting together. That could either go well or incredibly badly.
After I’ve given Aubrey her glass and taken a sip from mine, I smooth the hair at the back of her head that I messed up. “Is there a reason why you’re poking at Roman, Elle?”
“He deserved it,” she replies dully.
Aubrey leans toward me but keeps her focus on her friend. “Did he? I’ve never seen you go so hard at him about anything before.”
“Does it even matter? Let’s just let it go.”
“He’s just looking out for us. I think this is why he never really comes out anywhere when we do,” I say, hoping to ease some of the tension still causing Brielle’s shoulders to stay high. “He cares about Wes.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, alright?” she snaps, taking Beck’s glass of champagne from him and tipping it back into her mouth. Once it’s empty, she sets it on the countertop. “Let’s just wait for the show. That’s why we’re here.”
Aubrey nods, rubbing her arm before dropping her hand. “Yeah, Elle. You got it.”
Brielle offers her a weak smile before walking past us to the pink purse sitting on the furthest bar stool, giving us her back, promptly ending the conversation. I look down at Aubrey and tap my finger beneath her chin, guiding it toward me. Her worry slowly disappears.
“You look beautiful.”
“You’ve told me that already tonight,” she murmurs.
“And I’m not done yet.”
Far from it.
31
It’s beenyears since I’ve been at a concert.
My music tastes are vast. Country, techno, pop, alternative rock, rap. I’m not picky with what I listen to, which can’t be said about Finn. The last time I went to a concert, it was Brielle behind me with her arms in the air and her off-pitch singing in my ear. We swayed together and held on to each other as we screamed lyrics into a loud crowd from the nosebleeds before getting upgraded to the pit.
That was the first time I’d ever been close enough to an artist to see the lines on her sheer tights and sweat glistening across her torso. It’s safe to say that it was a memory that I can still see clearly when I hear her music on the radio, regardless of how long ago it was.
Tonight is somehow similar, yet vastly different.
I’m holding on to the glass wall at the bottom of the stairs, not in the pit. Still, I’m close enough to the stage that I can make out the rips in Noah Hutton’s black jeans and the sweat across his forehead without needing the screens on either side of the stage.
It’s not Brielle behind me, nor is her voice in my ear or perfume in my nose. The hands planted on my hips are powerfuland veiny, and the low rumble of Finn’s voice has travelled far beyond my ears. I feel the words he’s singing coursing in my veins and pressing between my legs.
The arena is red from the lights flashing and fanning through the seats. Smoke creeps along the edge of the stage and drips into the pit, kissing the feet of those jumping and shaking their hands in the air. I can feel the beat of the drums in my feet and over Finn’s low words, hear the growly voice in the microphone.
Behind where Noah stands, there’s a massive Devil head with flames roaring in its eyes. His band is spread out behind him, with his drummer on a platform on the top of the head and flanked by its horns. I don’t know any of the members more than what I’ve seen sporadically online, but they seem to have quite the fan base themselves.
The camera streaming to the screens pans the fans in the lower rows before focusing on a few women on the floor holding signs that have my eyes bulging as I read. Most of them are written for the band members, but there are a few that would have made my skin stick to my bones if I were Noah’s wife.
At the thought, I cover the hands Finn has on my hips and glide them higher. They heat my ribs when I leave them in place and press back against his chest, feeling him like a wall behind me. He runs his nose along the edge of my ear and continues to sing a string of lyrics.
I shut my eyes and move my hips slowly, revelling in the racing of my heart as I grin, taking this moment exactly as it is. Living.
The rest of the team stands in front of me and behind Finn, flanking us as they shout and dance to the music. It’s hard to be distracted by much else when you’re where we are, watching one of the greatest names in music own the stage for what could be the last time in years to come.
Yet, I am.
