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He didn't get to respond because the doorway behind him was suddenly filled with marching bodies. Four guys in oversized jeans and plaid shirts. Another band had just made their entrance.
Jake moved in close, speaking into my ear. "If you're interested in the answer, please, find me after?" His breath felt hot on my neck, his lips briefly brushed my temple. "You come find me, Angel, and I'll show you the way."
I turned about ten different shades as I awkwardly mumbled a pre-show blessing, "Kick their asses," and went back to find Avery waiting at the mouth of the hallway. I slapped my hand against my forehead, feeling like a clown. Kick their asses? Why not, 'have a great show'? Or 'break a leg'?
"You did fine," Avery assured me later. And when I told her what Jake said, we had major giggles over it. She was super happy for me and encouraged me to act on what I was feeling.
"I'll think about it." I whispered.
"A hot-ass rocker . . . Scratch that. The hot-ass lead singer of your favorite band just offered himself to you! He's all you talk about." She knocked on my head, doing her best Biff Tannen impression. "Hello, McFly? What's there to think about?"
The very idea made me nervous. What if he didn't mean it? Or worse: he did mean it and then was disappointed in me after?
All of the angst melted to extreme excitement when Analog Controller took the stage. Jakes' gifts had the audience aglow, screaming with righteous enthusiasm. He was on fire, too, holding the steady flame of his eyes on me throughout the show. I watched his mouth smooth over the mic-head as he sang:
If I were smart, I'd run.
You kill for pleasure, torture for fun.
Expectation gives way. You've won.
Just come over here, you look like fun.
I jumped and moshed and sang along to every song, enjoying his attention and the growing need sparked by the words he whispered to me in the back room. I wanted to know his way; the path he'd promised to lead me down. When the set was over, I cheered until my voice cracked and the band disappeared into the bowels of The Mystic Muse.
Avery and I went with the flow of traffic, dispersing to other parts of the club once the stage was empty.
By the time the next band was introduced, most people were crowded up at the front once more. But Jake was in back, sitting at the bar amid a small, lingering crowd.
I was sure approaching a guy was the hardest thing I had ever done, but he made it easier. First with his invitation, then with his freshly showered hair and head-to-toe, dark brown outfit that made his milky skin seem like it had been dipped in caramel. His not-so-baggy jeans gave just a peek of the top of his boxers. His long, thin t-shirt gathered at his waist like he hadn't taken the time to pull it all the way down.
"Keep performing like that, Jake, and the label reps will turn into groupies." I gushed, trying to be funny.
He turned his powerful eyes on me. "I don't pay attention to groupies."
I wasn't sure if he heard my lame joke, but knew that his response was molded by modesty. There were at least half-dozen women in his vicinity after that performance. But he was telling the truth, he didn't exchange anything more than pleasantries with them.
He was leaning against the bar holding his complimentary drink of choice-Jack and Coke. Every guy in the band got free drinks. He had a believable fake ID. We all did, but mine only said I was eighteen.
He eyed me as I gushed, trying to tell him how much I loved what he had created.
"You know what I love?" He interrupted, and there was something in the way he stood and leaned in with his hips, like he was going to tell me something very important and couldn't risk the words getting lost in the surrounding noise.
"What?" I barely breathed, remembering the way he whispered in my ear.
Jake leaned in close, setting his lips at the shell of my ear and speaking low, "I love that you thought about my offer and came to find me." He drew back and gulped down the last of his drink. "How old are you, again?"
Avery was standing behind him, talking with the drummer, Max, and a group of other people. Her eyes popped wide when she heard the question.
I started to answer, "I'm seventeen," but Avery's rapid hand signals flew behind Jakes head, screaming at me, "Say 'eighteen!' you idiot!"
So, I improvised "I'm . . . s-super close to eighteen. Hours away, actually."
Jake set his empty glass on the bar and wrapped both arms around my shoulders. "Really? Well, lucky me. And lucky you, too. Happy Birthday, Beautiful." His voice was syrupy sweet as he took my hand and led me towards the back of the club.
The second we were out of sight, his hands were on me. His smooth palms caressed my jeans, stuffing their fingers into my back pockets. "What'ch you got in there?" Through the layer of denim, he cupped one side of my butt and offered a vicious smile, "Nothing but ass."
No one had ever touched or spoke to me that way before and I'm not ashamed to say that I loved it. It was every fantasy I had turned reality as I pulled him closer. Emboldened by desire, I grazed my nose along the intoxicating scent of his neck. Heaven. A slight edge of clean sweat still lingered there, as if during his post-show shower he'd rinsed very quickly, as if he couldn't wait to get to me, as if he wanted me as much as I wanted him. I pressed him against the wall of the dark hallway, but Jake pushed back, pressing his lips over mine. Pouring desire into me.
