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.
“Are you having fun?” Jay asked.
“Yeah, definitely,” I said, still watching the drummer as he swiped the straight brown locks from his eyes and looked down at two girls screaming out to him from the other end of the stage. He gave them the cutest, nonchalant half smile I’d ever seen. My heart sputtered. The girls screamed and jumped up and down, megacleavage threatening to bounce right out of their low-cut shirts. The drummer’s red starburst widened a notch, and I felt an unpleasant snarling, ripping feeling in my gut—another new sensation. I wanted him to look away from them.
Jealousy? Good grief!
“It’s not right, man,” Jay said, following my stare. “Some guys have all the luck.”
“What?” I finally broke my trance to look at Jay.
“That guy, the drummer? Get this. He’s a killer musician, he gets tons of chicks, his dad’s loaded, and as if that wasn’t enough, he’s got a friggin’ English accent!”
I had to smile at Jay’s mix of envy and admiration.
“What’s his name?” I hollered as the third song started.
“Kaidan Rowe. Oh, and that’s another thing. A cool name! Bastard.”
“How do you spell it?” I asked. It sounded like Ky-den.
Jay spelled it for me. “It’s A-I, like Thai food,” he explained.
Kai, like Thai, only yummier. Gah! Who was this girl invading my brain?
The name Kaidan Rowe sounded familiar. I’d never seen him before, but I’d heard of him.
“How old are they?” I asked, nodding toward the band.
“Juniors,” Jay shouted close to my ear. Okay, I was impressed. They were only a year older than us, and they had major talent. According to Jay, these guys were the next big thing. They’d recorded a small-time record that was being shopped to labels in L.A., and they’d be touring regionally this summer. Jay was such a fanboy.
An aggravated scuffle broke out behind us. I turned and saw Gregory’s round face and mop of curly brown hair above a too-large Hawaiian shirt shoving through the crowd. He was Jay’s musical partner in crime. They had written a few songs together, and were pretty much addicted to music. The problem was that neither of them could sing. At all.
“’Bout time, G!” Jay and Gregory did that male grab-hands-and-bang-chests-together thing in the cramped space, then Gregory and I nodded at each other. I was surprised and a little grossed out to see a flutter of red across his aura as he looked down at my legs, but it passed quickly as he turned his attention back to Jay.