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Jake swung his legs unconsciously at the excitement. "Not yet, but he should be here, soon. So, Lou-the guy with the camera-" he hooked my neck and turned my body as he pointed at a short guy near the bar that appeared to be flirting with a lady bartender. "That's him. You avoid him and you'll be fine."
"How 'bout you interview me? One on one?" I teased, "We could talk in my room. It's really easy to find. It's the one you'll be sleeping in tonight. Three doors down from the rest of your band of lunatics."
Jake laughed. "You pickin' me up, Stalker?"
"How do you know I wasn't there first? Maybe you're the one stalking me."
He jumped from the stage and pulled me against him, wrapping his long arms around my head and shoulders. "Yeah, I can see myself stalking you." Every word, every syllable flittered in my chest.
Beneath the edge of his embrace, I saw Avery's feet. She said something-I couldn't understand because my ears were buried in biceps-and Jake's chest rumbled with laughter. Then he was staring me straight in the face, our noses touching. "I should get back to work." He feigned a grimace before resting his lips on mine.
My body burst into flames at his subtle, sweet touch that never lasted long enough. I threaded my fingers behind his neck, but he pulled away, looking back to the stage where a whining guitar riff plumed.
"What's his name, again?" I asked, leaning in so he could hear me.
The electric pulse of him thrummed beside me and I fought the urge to wrap myself around him, to bury my nose in his neck and draw in his scent again. There'd be time for that, later.
"Gary," he scowled.
"Not very rock and roll. How old is he?"
Jake took out the mic he'd stuffed in his back pocket. Staring at it, he answered. "We could call him 'G'? And it doesn't matter how old he is, he just needs to kill it tonight." He merely winked before walking back to the sound board.
I watched him talk to the guys back there for a few minutes before making his way back to me on his return to the stage. He smacked my butt as he passed but didn't meet my eyes, not until he was back on stage, back in the persona of the lead singer.
Looking at him, raised up the way he was, my chest swelled. "I'm your biggest fan."
Jake's sexy face cracked into a goofy grin. The hand that wasn't holding the microphone rested over his heart. "You better be." He wiped his hand on his jeans and stalked stage right to talk to Andrew.
34
-Angel
Analog Controller was playing third-second to last in a line-up of four bands. Huge improvement from the last time they played at The Mystic Muse. I wondered if that guy, Pierce, had anything to do with it, or if Analog was bumped up because he got a local TV and radio station to mention the show. Either way it was his doing. He wanted them bad.
Once the sound checks were all done, the loitering band members began to disappear. Night rolled in as the club filled up. Noise and body heat increased, wrapping me in anticipation. Avery and I stood in the back, watching the first band come and go. They were pretty good, but lingered a little too long in between songs. They'd have to work on that or the bands they played with would get ticked off. No one wants to cut their set short to keep the show running on time.
The next group was the Proselytes. They were a five man band I'd heard of, but never heard their stuff. When it came time for them to take the stage, the crowd pressed forward. I was pleasantly surprised when they started to play. They were pretty good. Gritty guitar and catchy hooks, but the drummer was definitely the star of that band. I didn't know anyone's names or the style they usually played, but when the sixth or seventh song started, it had a familiar guitar riff. The notes lingered clear and long, rippling through the joint. I was surprised that a hardcore punk band would cover an Aerosmith song-especially a slower one. They added a nice twist to it, sped it up a little, too.
The singer, a skinny and shirtless twenty-something dude sporting a black and white Mohawk and an anarchy symbol tattooed on his left pectoral, addressed the crowd. "Thank you all for coming out tonight. Give it up for Anemic Psychos!" The crowd cheered for the headlining band. "This is our last song. One we're playing by special request for a friend. Everybody, give a shout for the next band, Analog Controller! Here's Jake Haddon!"
I stopped breathing.
People cackled and clapped while others screamed. Cheesy smiles and lighters littered the crowd as the punk-infused ballad played. Small flames waved in the smoky club, as Jake took center stage. Clad in my favorite black leather pants and grey wife-beater tank top, Jake was without the usual guitar when he put a microphone to his lips and belted out the first three words of a song that bore my name.
My heart stopped. What the hell is he doing?
He kept singing-brilliantly, giving Steven Tyler a run for his money-as his eyes searched for something.
I glanced at Avery, whose mouth was hanging open. She shoved me forward. "Go, go, go!" We were still in the back, leaning against a pillar.
"What?"
She didn't answer.
Since I was always front and center when Jake played, I figured that was where I should be right now and began wading into the cramped crowd. Voices sang along to every word of the sweet, sad, love song, encircling me. I moved forward, looking through a parade of raised hands and small licking flames, swaying to the song.
It was all so surreal. My feet were stumbling, eyes glued to the crooning figure commanding center-stage. Then Jake found me. His face outshined the spotlight he was in. He pointed at me, mischievously grinning. A very cat meets canary type of smirk. The crowd held together in compacted layers. We were all caught in Jakes spell and as he locked his hazel eyes on me, beckoning me forward with a curling finger, the entire audience answered, forging toward the stage. Stances tightened as I snaked my way between shoulders, around pushy females and irritated guys. No one wanted to give an inch to let me by fearing they may not get it back.
