Page 94 of Talk Nerdy To Me
Chapter 28
BRITT
This weekend, between Randy causing us all to suffer through the sense of smell in the van with burnt ball hair and his lactose intolerance, a lot of band arguing, and some tunnel vision for Base that left him almost absent while fully present today, has been leading up to this moment.
Base grins from the stage, and a small gathering near the front—much smaller than the one that gathers at Silk—swoon as he talks into the microphone.
When his fingers strum the first chord and his eyes stare directly into mine, I get a telling tingle that makes me wonder if I have the potential to be a groupie.
The hypothesis is cleared up when he sings the very first verse of some very dirty song strung with metaphorical lyrics that don’t actually make a lot of sense. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense, because he really can sing. And play. And stare at you until you question if combustible panties really are as impossible as they’re supposed to be.
Everything on me moves to the music, except for my eyes. Because my eyes stay fixed to him like they’re permanently glued to his soul.
Each raw note and natural charisma in his altogether presence is too powerful not to feel. How have I never known this about him?
“Ruby wants to know if you’re…” The rest of Krysta’s words are seemingly drowned out when Base hits a chorus that just takes so much emotion from him, his face playing out the song like a an easily read canvas even to me.
It’s amazing.
“What?” I ask absently, never looking away.
“Never mind. I already answered her a big fat yes,” Krysta says, taking a random picture of my face.
The flash makes me blink several times, but it’s only a mild hindrance until Base’s eyes look away and focus on the growing crowd around us that is packing full of girls.
It’s the first time I’ve noticed how they’re all sort of groupies like me. Krysta is busy texting on her phone as I clear my throat, backing away when one group of girls starts forcing their way between us and the stage.
Then a group of guys try to start dancing with us, and it’s all so crowded that I end up losing sight of Krysta as random hands go to my hips.
“Hey!” someone shouts against my ear before pulling me really hard against them.
A little panic rises up in my throat when I see a lot of shoulders and chests, but can’t catch sight of any faces under the crazy, strobing lights.
I’m struggling, doing all I can to break away from the grabby hands, and end up falling forward as I quickly scramble between feet to escape.
It isn’t until I’m behind the crowd that my breathing starts slowing down as the music thuds like a deep echo in my ears, my pulse throbbing louder as the fear inches down.
Krysta’s face is suddenly in front of mine as she kneels, worry on her expression as she starts pulling me back up to my shaky legs. It all happens so fast, but feels like it takes forever, as more people trample by, almost toppling onto us.
Pain shoots up my arm, and bodies start closing in.
“Get out of the fucking way or get stepped on!” some guy shouts at us, as the building gets more and more crowded. “The main event is about to come on stage after these guys finish the last of their short set,” he adds like he’s ushering us to move as he shoves a few people away to give us room.
Krysta curses as I freeze, just staring at the throngs of people who are coming in by the hordes. Surely there’s a fire-safety limit that’s lower than this.
We almost lose each other again, but Krysta clings to my hand, getting knocked around by rushing bodies until she crashes into me.
“Everyone is trying to hurry and get a good spot. It’s going to turn into a fucking mosh pit,” Krysta says, wincing as she steers us out of it.
My hands are still shaking, and my left hand is throbbing. It takes me a second to realize that my hand actually hurts really, really bad.
“Krysta, I think someone stomped my hand when I was crawling,” I call over the music.
“Someone got my ribs,” she says through a grimace as we manage to squeeze out a side door.
We both make a surprised, terrified sound when we get rushed by a flurry of people waiting in line around the building, breaking for the door we really shouldn’t have used.
We barely manage to get out of the rush after being bobbed around, and she makes a frustrated sound as I spot an uber pick-up area. My hand hurts so badly now that tears are springing to my eyes when I make a poor judgment call to reach for my phone with it.
