Page 1 of Second Sets Omnibus

When the firstnote fills the tension-filled room, every woman's panties in a five-hundred-foot radius disintegrate into thin air, and the crowd goes wild.

Poof! Panties be gone! Mine included.

A sigh of admiration rocks through every patron present when the six-foot God towering over the crowd on stage opens his fucking mouth, belting out the first note of the night. Heaven shines down. God himself shows up and blesses us individually. Miracles happen simultaneously. The lead singer's smooth, gravelly voice echoes through the bar, and we all die a happy collective death.

What an excellent way to go.

My mouth falls open. Watching the stage from my chair at the front door, I sit on the edge of my seat in anticipation, letting their sound envelop me entirely like a hug. With my arm resting against the small podium raised in front of me, my admission stamp hovers mid-air over the back of some poor patron's hand, waiting for their approval into the bar.

Four of the hottest guys I've ever seen demand attention on stage, drawing every eye to their performance. Proving to me they aren’t the same four guys I knew in high school. And hell, it's not even their performance that draws everyone's attention to them. It's the way they command the stage, like kings ruling over their subjects.

Kieran, the lead singer's mismatched eyes squeeze shut, and his body bows back when a particular high note slips out of his mouth, drawing us in more. His beefy body bulges and veins protrude as his fingers wrap tighter around the microphone. His jet-black hair plasters to his head from the sweat glistening across his tanned skin. He kicks a leg out and then works the stage like a pro, making love to everyone in the room. My ears rejoice in his melodies, and when I shut my eyes, I see the ghost of my past peeking through.

Kieran waltzes toward Asher, the grumpy, dirty-blond guitarist, and leans in. Asher's bushy brows raise into his forehead until a smirk pulls at his lips. His hazel eyes watch Kieran's every move until they sing a line together, leaning into the same microphone. Asher bobs his head, belting out every note on key and in perfect harmony. Eventually, Kieran's growl echoes through the speakers, curling my damn toes.

Moisture pools in my panties when he struts to the nearly naked drummer, Rad, and ruffles his mullet as he pounds his sticks into the drums. Yeah, his curly, 1980s-era mullet, drenched in sweat. His lean body constantly moves with every pound of the drum, and his dark eyes sparkle with life, something mischievous hiding in their depths when he looks out at the crowd. A dark tattoo crawls up his chest and neck, displaying a design I can't distinguish from here. But I've studied it before on the worst day of my life.

"It'll be okay, I promise. I'll get help," Rad’s dark, faint voice echoes in my memories. I can still feel him pulling a coat over my body.

My body shudders, blinking up at the music notes and splotches of black ink dotting his neck and chest. How the fuck? Panic crawls up my throat, and bile burns on its way up.

"I'll take care of you, okay? Do you need a hospital?" he croaks, holding my hair back as I puke on the lawn of someone's home in the middle of the night as music blares in the background.

I shake myself from the awful reminder before it plays back in vivid detail, running my fingers over the knife nestled deep in my pocket. I’ve shoved that memory into a solid black box in the back of my brain since the night it happened when I was fifteen—four years ago. No reason to think of it now. Except him—Ashton “Rad” Radcliffe. I must have been nutty to think emailing them and inviting them to perform at the bar I currently manage was a clever idea. They're nothing more than a stark reminder of two different points in my life. Taking a deep breath, I focus on the men on stage.

A grin splits Rad's lips, and he doubles over laughing, managing to keep his rhythm when Kieran makes his way to Callum, the last person in the four-member band, strumming his bass with such concentration his tongue pokes out.

Kieran whacks Callum on the ass, jolting him from his concentration pose. His shaggy blond hair flies with his movement, falling into his pure gray eyes. Like the badass he is, he doesn't miss a note and scowls as the song ends, and the crowd formed in front of the small stage at the front of the bar erupts in whistles and cheers.

I smile at their carefree escapades and clap when they go into another song without addressing the drooling crowd. The atmosphere tonight flares when everyone jumps on theirtoes, throwing their hands in the air, and rocks out to the beautiful sounds of Whispered Words—my newest discovery—and possibly my worst nightmare.

My heart rate picks up, and sweat prickles at the base of my neck. I can't take my eyes off their cocky grins and swaggering steps. Girls swoon. Guys swoon. Everyone in the fucking bar swoons over them.

I've known most of these guys since high school. Well, I didn’t know, know them. I knew of them—ego and all. Two years ago, we roamed the halls of Central City High School together, and then they graduated when I was a sophomore. Watching them command the stage for the second time, I can tell they haven’t changed much. They've always been the same demanding pricks, making their presence known. They're larger than life. And yet, they have no idea I exist. Hell, they probably don't even know my name—not anymore, at least.

I was just the poor Central City girl showing up to school with ripped, out-of-date jeans and messy hair, not caring what they thought about me. Or anyone, for that matter. They live the good life in Lakeview, on the good side of town, with two-hundred-dollar shoes and expensive clothes, living off their mommy and daddy’s money. At least, that was then. And now? I have no idea what their lives are like. But judging by the name-brand shirts and shoes, I’d say they’re still doing pretty well for themselves. Even Kieran…

Kieran and I grew up together in the trenches of Central City. Once neighbors, now—he stares at me like we weren't friends hiding under the stars, talking about our tiny lives. We had experienced so much in such a fleeting time and related to one another on many levels. Even when we were little, I thought Kieran was my knight in shining armor—the hero who saved me over and over again from danger.

My heart aches at our shared memories, and I shake my head. I always wondered what had happened to my best friend, who vanished and was nowhere to be found. Every day I looked for him. In the halls of our elementary school. On the streets, we walked. Or on the shared bus we took home. But he was gone, disappeared into thin air.

It wasn't until I got to our only high school, where every student in town attended, that I learned the cold hard truth—he moved on to bigger and better things on the other side of the city, seemingly forgetting I existed. His new reality was the rich side of town, lined with mansions and money, leaving me in the poverty-stricken apartment complex with nothing but his memory.

"Ahem, bitch!" A whiny voice breaks me out of my little pity party, bringing me back to the present.

Right. I'm at work—time to return to reality.

I jerk back, narrowing my eyes on the pearl-wearing, plaid skirt-toting woman standing with an unattractive sneer on her lips. Great. It's her. Tessa. My snobby bully from high school who has never decided to grow up. Ugh. Gross. She taps her fancy-ass heels on the sticky floor and scoffs at me like I'm an idiot.

"You stupid Central girl, stamp my damn hand so I can watch my man perform." A warm smile glides across her face when her crystal-blue eyes land on the boys on stage with hearts floating above her head.

More specifically, she stares at the delicious morsel singing like someone punched his puppy, and he’s been crying for hours. Deep anguish lives in the depths of his voice, and I want to fucking hold it in the palm of my hands and bathe in it and keep it for myself. There's something so right about Kieran's deep voice that calls to me. Or maybe it's the nostalgia of a formerfriend who is now the ghost of who he was. The only thing that never changed was his love of music.

"Let me play this for you, River Blue. Mom's new boyfriend got me this," Kieran’s small raspy voice utters, sitting beside me in the grass, overlooking the parking lot of our dismal existence. Setting a small, janky-looking guitar on his lap, he strums the strings, tuning them by ear, and he hums, playing me our favorite country song by Garth Brooks, as my head rests on his shoulder. Laying his head on top of mine, he plays into the night, drowning out the sounds from his apartment that I was way too young to understand.

"Right, that'll be a ten-dollar cover charge," I say, returning to reality and extending my hand while wiggling my fingers expectantly.

Glaring in my direction, her face heats. Did she expect to get into this bar for free when a popular local band was playing? Probably. She's entitled like that. But not today, Tessy-boo. Pay up or leave before I sic my bouncers on you.