“Yeah, it is!” I had to shout. “Everything is fine. I’ll be home by eleven.”
It was my first time going to something like this. Ever. Jay had begged Patti for permission himself, and by some miracle got her to agree. But she was not happy about it. All day she’d been as nervous as a cat at the vet.
“You stay right next to Jay, and if any strangers try to talk to you—”
“I know, Patti. Don’t worry, okay? Nobody’s trying to talk to me.” It was hard to reassure her while I was shouting and being jostled.
The deejay was announcing that Lascivious would hit the stage in five.
“I gotta go,” I told her. “The band’s about to come on. I’ll be safe. I promise!”
“All right, honey. Maybe you can call me on your way home?” It was not a suggestion.
“Okay. Love you, bye!” I hung up before she started talking about self-defense moves or some other crazy thing. I’d barely made it out of our apartment earlier that night because of her list of warnings. Part of me thought she might be paranoid enough to follow us to the club.
“Come on.” I grabbed Jay’s hand and pulled him into the crowd. It was an eclectic mix—everything from punks to goths to preps. I worked us all the way to the front corner of the stage, annoying a few people with my slight pushiness, but I was careful to apologize. I figured I owed Jay a front-row seat after upsetting him.
The wooden stage was battered, like every other surface in the building. The club was small and boxy, but the ceilings were high. Cramming people inside and breaking every fire code in Georgia added to the atmosphere.
We squeezed in just as the deejay told everyone to “give it up” for Lascivious. The band was greeted by a roar of cheers, and I recognized the first song as one Jay played for us on our way to school sometimes. Despite my usual tendency to be ultrareserved, I found myself caught up in the music, jumping up and down and singing along at the top of my lungs. Jay was right there with me, doing the same. I couldn’t believe it. This was fun. I bounced with the crowd, allowing myself to be caught up in the surrounding exhilaration.
“Dude,” Jay shouted in my direction as the first song ended. “They. Are. Awesome!”
The second song started, and it was slower. I calmed down a little and looked at the band. The lead singer oozed with pride. His dark purple aura all but drowned out his tight shirt and snug jeans. His spiked hair was styled in a stiff lean to one side. He held the microphone like a lover. The tempo sped up into a frenzy of drumbeats as they hit the chorus, bringing my eyes to the drums as the wild crowd began jumping again.
I noticed several things about the drummer all at once. He was focused on the task at hand, keeping perfect rhythm. Instead of a swirl of transparent colors around his torso, there was a small, concentrated starburst of bright red at his sternum. But otherwise his aura was blank. Huh. That was strange. But before I could contemplate it too much, my eyes landed on his face.
Wowza.
He was smokin’ hot. As in H-O-T-T hott. I’d never understood until that moment why girls insisted on adding an extra T. This guy was extra-T worthy.
I examined the drummer, determined to find a flaw.
Brown hair. An interesting haircut: short around the sides and back, but longer on top, hanging loose and angling across his forehead. His eyes were narrow and his eyebrows were a bit thick and... Oh, who was I kidding? I could pick him apart, but even the shifty slant of his eyes made him more alluring to me.
There was an intensity in the way he played, like he was unleashing his passion into the music and nothing else mattered. He was feeling it, lost in it, and he was good. A light sheen of sweat shone on his arms and face, dampening and darkening the hair at his temples.
Never before had I felt such instant physical attraction. The power of it was jarring. I’d noticed when guys had nice features, sure, but I was usually distracted by their emotions.
Now, with the drummer’s absence of an aura, I was able to watch the muscles in his biceps and forearms flex as he slammed the drumsticks down in a whirlwind of precise movement. The beat was intoxicating, bumping each nerve ending inside of me. His whole body moved fluidly, jumping with the force of the beat, his face focused and sure.
I looked again at the red starburst on his chest. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. I doubted he felt lustful at that moment, with his utter concentration on the music. It was weird. The song came to an end with one last crash of the cymbals; then he twirled the drumsticks in his fingers before tucking them under his arm. Jay was cheering, along with the rest of the crowd. I stood there in absolute awe.