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Wicked Desires
-- EXCERPT: It’s three forty-five and the four of us down a shot, just one. Benji’s approved this, so fuck what the record company says. We do shots before every show. It’s part of our pre-show routine, and no matter what anyone says, that is not going to change…ever. I usually like to have a quick fuck before I go onstage, but unfortunately, that isn’t happening here. We are standing in the middle of Times Square with just a curtain separating us from the crowd. I’m not shy, and the guys have seen me fuck women a million times before, so it wouldn’t bother me or them, and there is no shortage of women who would be happy to accommodate me, but I promised Benji I would behave. Aside from the shot I just did, I also haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since I left the bar with Tommy yesterday afternoon, and as far as I can tell, neither has Dylan or Shawn. Tommy is on something, but he’s not going to be a problem. He always holds his own onstage and has never let us down. He’ll be okay. We just need to get through three songs and then we are out of here. We step onto the makeshift stage that was erected only a few hours ago. There are no bells and whistles, just the bare bones we need to get the job done. Dylan is standing on one side of me, and Shawn is on the other. Tommy takes up the rear, behind his kit. Someone out front is speaking to the crowd, and then my heart rate kicks up with a familiar rush when I hear, “Ladies and gentlemen, you are in for a real treat this afternoon. Get ready for Ruin!” The crowd goes crazy. Tommy counts us down, and we start to play just as the curtain rises in front of us. We crush the first two songs, and the crowd continues to grow. There are a shit ton of security around us, along with police on horseback, keeping the crowd under control. Things could go sideways in a heartbeat, but that’s not our concern. We are here to perform, and that’s exactly what we do—we are killing it. There’s not a lot of room up here on this tiny stage. I like to move around, but I’m limited to a few feet in any direction, so I focus on the crowd instead. We slow things down for the third and final song. I’m singing one of our biggest hits. It’s about a dark-haired, green-eyed girl who steals hearts and never gives them back. I look out over the crowd and my heart almost fucking stops when I see her. She’s fucking gorgeous. The auburn highlights in her long dark hair shine in the sun, and she has the biggest green eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s the fucking girl in my song and I can’t take my goddamn eyes off her. She is so close, I feel like I can almost reach out and touch her, and her eyes are riveted on me. I smile and point at her. She slaps her hand over her heart, and then points right back at me as she flashes me a megawatt smile in return. I feel like I’ve been hit by a lightning bolt as electricity zings between us. I force myself to move on, to give my attention to the rest of the crowd, but I can’t seem to stop my eyes from returning to the green-eyed girl. To me, one girl is as good as the next, but fuck, there’s just something about her. The song comes to an end, and the curtain drops as soon as the last chord dies off, blocking any chance I might have had to find out who she is. I’ve never, ever regretted the end of a song as much as I do in this moment. I don’t know what the hell it is that I’m feeling, but I can’t let it go. The need to find out who she is, is overwhelming. I jump off the stage and pull the curtain aside. My eyes zero in on the spot where she was sitting, but she’s not there, and my heart sinks. I frantically look around, trying to find her. Where the fuck did she go? There are literally hundreds of people moving around out there. She could be anywhere in that crowd. I narrow my eyes as they skim over the crowd, I search for a couple more seconds before I give up and drop the curtain. She’s not there. I need to forget about her and move on—but my mind refuses to let it go. Who is she? How can I find her? She was only on my radar for the length of a single song, but somehow, she’s managed to get under my skin. That never happens. The need to know what it is about her that is different from all the rest is overwhelming. 
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