Page 27 of Hard Rock Muse

8

Icould have watched the show from backstage. Julian had given me a pass. But there was just something about watching a concert from the pit. Being surrounded by the energy of the fans, the thump of feet stomping on the floor, pumping your fist in the air…

Rock shows made me feel alive in a way very little else did. It was only second to being up there on that stage myself.

I’d shown up early to make sure I was right at the front and a little to the left, positioning myself on Julian’s side of the stage. I hadn’t waited in a line for a concert in a while, and certainly not a long line full of this much anticipation.

Julian said this was a concert for hard-core, VIP fans only. I didn’t know how they’d been selected, but from what I saw of the people in line, hard-core didn’t begin to cover it. Excitable chatter, girly squeals and low-pitched voices growling “fuck yeah!” made up the majority. Not to mention the bragging stories I heard.

I got invited backstage to party with the band and have selfies to prove it.

I saw them when they were just an opening act for Darkest Days.

I was at their very first concert when they were still indie.

I saw Liam Knight before he joined them when he used to be in the band Forever Night.

I wanted to chime in,And I slept with Julian Woods before you’d even heard of him, so there.

But I stayed quiet.

And then I hear someone pipe up.

I got to meet the keyboardist and drummer’s band Where Angels Burn before they broke up.

I nearly bit my tongue. I didn’t know if they were just bragging, but I panicked all the same. If they were a fan, would they recognize me? Would they ask a million questions I couldn’t bear to answer?

But I soon calmed down, reassuring myself that with my long honey-colored hair and subdued makeup, no one would associate me with Ever.

After sitting through two opening acts — one new, obviously nervous band and the other a group I’d vaguely heard of with a great frontman — the lights went low and the members of Cherry Lips filed on stage, their figures in dark shadow.

A spotlight shone down on Cerise, lighting up her dark red hair. She gripped the mic, wet her red lips and let out a wail. The other members kicked in with their instruments and the show began.

I had chosen my spot perfectly. Julian was right in front of me. His hair fell over his face as he bowed over his keyboard, hiding his eyes as he rocked back and forth along with the music.

He seemed different from what I remembered. More self-assured, maybe. He’d never been shy on stage, but he had always seemed reserved somehow. Now, with Cherry Lips, he played with a vigor and fire I’d rarely seen.

I had thought Julian was amazing when we were together. Time clearly honed his talent into something magnificent.

His strong jaw, the firm press of his lips, his solid arms and lithe fingers — I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

I was mesmerized. Cerise and the others didn’t even exist.

I let my gaze wander down his body. He wore his usual black, but his tight t-shirt combined with the stage lights did nothing to hide the muscles of his chest and upper arms, illuminating every peak and valley.

He rarely turned his eyes to the audience, but when he did, he pinned us with a look so fierce and full of passion, I nearly swooned along with the two girls next to me.

“Ohmigod he’s so sexy!” one of the girls shouted to her friend.

“I wonder what else his fingers can do,” the other giggled.

I growled under my breath, resisting the urge to snap at them,back off, he’s mine.

It was those thoughts that brought me out of my fangirl-induced haze.

Julian wasn’t mine. Not anymore.

But maybe I wanted him to be.