Surveying the rock bounty onstage, it was time for me to pick from the remaining hotties. Lead guitarist Zane Rocks was a sexy option. His bouncy dark curls, handsome, boyish face and boundless energy made him seem like a hell of a lot of fun. Oh, and holy shit. Soooo talented. I became mesmerized by the blur of his fingers as he effortlessly worked the frets of his vintage Les Paul.
Bass player Conner McLoughlin was as broody as the singer. I wasn’t a moody-boy fan, but his Herculean, muscled body was unbelievable, and his reddish-brown hair was gorgeous. Perhaps a ride on the ginger-train could be fun this summer.
Turning my attention to the back of the stage, my eyes popped out Bugs-Bunny style when I focused on LTZ’s shirtless drummer Jace Deveraux. Of all the guys, he was the least-featured band member in their social media feeds, and by God, it was a damn shame. His dirty-blond Viking hair was swinging around his phenomenally muscled tattooed arms and shoulders. He meticulously punctuated each song with amazing percussive beats. His eyes clenched shut and his mouth opened almost orgasmically while his hands blurred through a pounding rhythm to end the song. He was the one. I was overcome by instantaneous lust.
Shaking his hair out after the song finished, Jace clasped his drumsticks in one hand and took a long sip of his beer. Gazing out at the audience through his kit, I could see him peering in my general direction.
Look at me. I stared at him, willing him to notice. Just for a second, as he scanned the room, I could have sworn he caught my gaze. Then he became aware that his lead singer was focused on my friend. He smirked at Ty and nodded to Connor. Undeterred at his lack of eye contact, for the rest of the show I danced and swayed to the music, watching him intently while he was lost thrashing on his skins.
After the show, I basically forced Zoey to be the star of my Instagram story about how badass LTZ was. Based on the success I’d mustered up for mom’s pie business on social media, my plan after I graduated was to fund a gap year of travel by boosting up my own Instagram following and getting paid for posts. College held no interest to me, much to the chagrin of my dad who wouldn’t STFU about it. My goals weren’t overly ambitious, I just wanted to earn enough money to be self-sufficient and do what I wanted, when I wanted, for at least a year.
Tapping into LTZ’s impressive following with a fun post and a few strategic hashtags would hopefully get me a few more followers. Plus, maybe one or two of the guys in the band would think we were hot.
“I think he looked right at you,” I shouted at Zoey, hoping to convince her we should go back toward the stage and find Tyson. Knowing she was smitten with Mr. Broody singer, I wanted to start planting the seeds to lay the groundwork for my master plan to talk to Jace.
But to my surprise, McBroodypants himself shocked us both when he approached Zoey and hit on her. Badly. Not wanting to be a third wheel, I stepped away and covertly tried to listen in as they talked, hoping she wouldn’t blow it. Strike that, hoping he wouldn’t blow it. My sweet little bookworm certainly wasn’t the most confident talking to hot guys. Ty had laughably little game either as evidenced by him forgetting to even get her number before he stalked off back to his band.
Not wanting to crush her spirit and hoping to reinstate my plan to go meet the fine-as-fuck drummer, I encouraged her, “OMG are you serious! He is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in real life. Although—No. The drummer is a delicious piece of eye candy, more my type.”
“Alex, I just royally fucked that up,” Zoey interrupted glumly, oblivious to my comment. “I’m such a tool, I basically put the hottest guy that ever talked to me on blast. I missed my chance.”
“Shut the fuck up. Did you see the way he looked at you?” I reassured my little dove. “He’ll be back, trust me. Let’s just chill and hang out for a bit more. Just look nonchalant, cool. As your dad would say, ‘Be Fonzie.’”
I managed to talk her into staying for about ten minutes as we both scoped out the loading area from our vantage point. My attention was laser-focused on hottie McSticks who was breaking down his drum kit methodically while the bass player unstacked and loaded the amps next to him. Zane the guitar god sat on the edge of the stage animatedly talking to half a dozen women of various sizes and shapes as they were enraptured by every word. There was no sign of Ty, and as Zoey’s curfew loomed, I could tell her heart wasn’t into being at the grungy club for one more second.
Just as Zoey ducked out to catch her Uber, the scrumptious but sullen singer emerged from the makeshift dressing room and barreled through the club in my direction.
“Hey, do you know where Zoey went?” He frantically looked around; his blue eyes wide as saucers.
“Um—” I was confused and a little starstruck.
“Aren’t you her friend?” He stuck out his hand. “Ty.”
“Alex.” I took his hand. “Yes, Zoey’s my best friend.”
“Do you know where she is?” He continued to look around wildly.
“Um . . .” I gestured toward the side door. “She grabbed an Uber; she has a curfew.”
“Fuck,” he yelled and then immediately
