The second I stepped under the lights, the arena stopped being an arena and turned into something that wasalive. Heat rolled off the crowd in waves, sweat and perfume and beer, and it hit me like a drug I didn’t know I’d been craving all day. My electric guitar hung against my chest like a second heartbeat, the strap biting into my shoulder as I leaned into the first riff.
The sound that came out of the amps was so loud it made me feel like the god of thunder.
Every face in the front row was tilted up at me, eyes bright and mouths open. I could feel their attention on my skin like a caress. Or something more sexual, like a grope or a squeeze.
Either way, Ilovedit.
When I wrapped my fingers around the mic and belted out the first verse of our opening song, my voice didn’t belong to me anymore. It belonged tothem, and that kind of surrender was intoxicating. I watched bodies move to my rhythm, watched hips sway and hands reach, and the power of it turned my bloodhot and reckless. It was sex without touching, a slow, dangerous kind of seduction where every note was its own small orgasm.
This wasn’t my first show. It wasn’t even my hundredth. I usually scanned the throng of fans, never focusing on one person. Because when the music began to play, the crowd wasn’t a collection of individuals: it was another thing, something greater than the sum of its parts, a living,breathinganimal that hung on my every note.
But tonight, someone caught my eye.
It was the blonde standing in the front row, a low-cut top showing off a lot of cleavage. But it wasn’t her body that captivated me. There was something else, something almost spiritual in its intensity, that went far beyond a nice pair of tits.
This might not have been love at first sight, but it wassomethingat first sight.
I was mesmerized by this woman from the first song. It became difficult to remember my guitar chords, or even the lyrics of the song I’d played a thousand times before. That heart-shaped face staring up at me became my entire world, the only thing that mattered.
Jesus Christ,I thought while adjusting my amp between songs.What’s going on with me?
Being in a band—and being the frontman specifically—meant women were always throwing themselves at us. Anonymous sex was a vice I had indulged in many times before. Aside from the adrenaline rush of performing, it was the best benefit of this job.
But it had grown old. Stale. Even if the women were different every time, it had begun to feel like the same thing. Sometimes I thought of myself as Sisyphus, if he was forced to have meaningless sex instead of pushing a boulder up a mountain.
Dumb analogy, I know. Most dudes wouldkillto be in my position. But that’s how I felt.
Yet when I stared down at the blonde in the front row, and saw the sparkle in her eyes as she gazed up at me?
It was the first time I’d felt somethingrealin the longest time.
I couldn’t help but sing to her, because I couldn’t peel my eyes away. I was terrified that if I blinked or turned my gaze elsewhere, she would disappear and I would never see her again.
And her attention hung on every word I sang, every note I played.
We finished our set quicker than I expected; that’s how fast time had gone by while this woman occupied most of my focus. A guitar pick felt so inadequate a gift, but it was all I could give. And when the asshole next to her snatched it out of the air, it gave me an excuse to hop down to the floor level and get a closer look.
She was somehow even more beautiful up close, with curvy hips and pouty lips that demanded to be kissed. Electricity passed through her palm and into my fingers as I pressed the tiny pick of plastic into her hand, sparking something so goddamnrealthat I wondered if I was dreaming.
One of the stage guys was shouting at me. With a final smile for my fan, I climbed back on stage as the roadies rushed out to swap out our equipment for the next band’s.
Back in the dressing room, my bandmates were riding the adrenaline of the show. “Hell of a night!” Milo said, grinning and walking in my direction.
I ignored him, instead hurrying to my backpack in the corner, rummaging around for paper and pencil.
“Hello? Earth to Riot?” Milo called.
“I know that look,” Violet said, running a hand through her neon pink hair. “He’s beeninspired.”
She was right, but I didn’t have the energy to respond. The only thing that mattered right now was taking the lyrics that were swirling in my mind and putting them to paper before it was too late. I didn’t even sit down. I just slapped the paper on the nearby desk and started scrawling as fast as my hand could write.
A few minutes later, I dropped the pencil and massaged my hand. My fingers were cramping, but I’d gotten most of it out. The meat of the song, and a few bars of the chorus. Enough to turn into a full song later.
Ever the quiet one, Cash walked over and looked at the paper. I was amazed he could read it at all; my handwriting was borderline illegible.
“Not bad,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ve got a bassline that might work with these chords. You thought of this during the performance?”
“He was inspired by the girl in the front row,” Violet joked. “The one with the huge rack.”
