Page 81 of The Last Special Thing

“Well, I’ll see you around, I’m sure.” She heard Joe say. She had already forgotten about him.

She gave a bright smile. “See you, Joe, brother of Evan!”

He gave a nod and walked to a cocktail table nearby. A girl was waiting, her eyes darting around nervously. She could probably use a line.

The crowd hollered, and Amelia’s attention snapped. On stage, the four musicians of Honey Cat filed out.

She cupped her mouth and whooped along with them. Ready for the best show of her goddam life. She dumped her empty drink into a trash can, then squeezed between the crowd, positioning herself at the front.

“Watch it,” a boulder of a man growled as she pressed by him.

Anger budded up at the casual rudeness. She bit back a response, fighting with a guy twice her size before the band started was a bad idea. She closed her fists, and her nails punctured her palms. Releasing her hands, she shook them out. She was here to have fun. Here to support Art. She had to get her temper under control before she lost it.

Amelia glanced around for a distraction. Joe and his girl each took a shot of honey colored liquor. On his tiptoes, she tried to find Max. Art said he had invited him weeks ago. Amelia could only think of one reason Max-without-a-job would miss a night out. While she still owed Madisson an apology, Max could have come alone. It was pretty shitty of him not to be there. She winced. She’d broken a nail with her balled fists again.

Art caught her eye from the drum stool, and relief filled her lungs. He was here. She was here. It was all okay. He blew a kiss to her, and she pretended to catch it, holding it against her chest.

With a strum from Logan and Evans’ guitars and a flick from Art on the drum set, Honey Cat began.

The pulsating music took over, Jake’s raspy voice, Art’s practiced movements, and the guys on the guitar. The songs blended in harmony, one flowing into the next, without distinct beginnings or endings. Watching Art play in his bedroom and listening to the demo incessantly was one thing. Seeing how all the other members came together live was quite another. They had a roaring talent in their own ways.

Holy shit, they would make it big. She had thought it, supported it, believed in it conceptually, but in front of her now... This was their first live show, yet it was as if they had done this a million times.

Art built up steam as the set went on. What had started as a gentle flick of his wrists tapping the drumstick to the drum turned into an all-out warfare. He threw himself into the movements, sweat dripping from him. Jake raised the mic and clapped above his head, leading the crowd. Once they caught on to the beat, he brought the mic to his grizzly face and screamed.

Pulling back, the crowd formed a circle. Men ran around the perimeter of it in a frenzy, slamming against each other as they circled. She released her fists. That was the place she wanted to be. Rounding the circle, she let herself knock into the men who gently shoved her back, an acceptable place to let out pent-up aggression. The circle was electric, unstoppable. Between the bumping of the music and the pulsing of her heart with cocaine, she radiated with an unparalleled liveliness.

After a few laps, she pulled out of the circle, panting and eyes wide with excitement. On stage, Logan put his foot up on a black box and bowed deeply as his fingers slid across the strings. Evan was at the back, so focused on playing that she only saw his eyes lift once- to the girl seated with his brother, Joe.

Amelia jumped up and down, thankful she didn’t have to temper her excitement. Her arm raised, she flicked her fingers with the beat. Her head rolled from side to side. Closing her eyes, she let the music consume her.

A flash blinded her, interrupting the moment. A short girl with a nose ring and a tattoo of a butterfly on her forearm lifted her hand in apology, then took off with her camera.

“Thank you, San Diego,” Jake drawled.

The show may have been over, but she wasn’t ready to come down.

Her eyes flicked to Art, who gestured for her to go backstage. She pointed to the bar, and he thumbs-upped.

She ordered two Jack and Cokes and tipped the bartender with a fifty as a secret thanks for risking his job by serving an underage girl. The more she got away with illegal things, the more she was inclined to push the envelope. She could understand why Art pushed boundaries. It was the thrill.

The band was in the green room when she returned, white lines on the scratched table. A twenty-dollar bill was currently pressed against Evan’s nose. Art and Logan leaned against the black chalkboard wall. She handed Art a drink, and he kissed her on the cheek.

“You can’t be serious that you think Ruffles are superior to Lays chips,” Art said to Logan.

“Of course they are. They have ridges,” Logan responded.

“Do you want another one?” Evan looked to her.

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” She was untouchable after the last one.

He lined up two more for her as she sat on the couch beside him and placed her cocktail down.

Amelia tapped her nose. “You have a little something.”

“Oh, thanks.” Evan wiped the residue off his nostril and rubbed it against his gums.

She would have to ask Art later what benefit that served.