Page 151 of The Bridges I've Burned

I had to do a quick Google search to figure out what channel it was on. Thankfully, it hadn’t started yet, so I flipped on my TV, and while I waited for it to start, I ordered some dinner.

I let out a deep breath.

Being in Ocracoke hadn’t felt right, but being here didn’t either. The empty apartment felt claustrophobic, and I suddenly remembered the weight of responsibilities I had to face at work.

Deciding I had nothing better to do, I opened my work email for the first time in over two weeks.

“Jesus,” I breathed out as I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled.

Usually, something like this would push me into overdrive, and I’d pull an overnighter just to see that inbox cleared. But looking at it now, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of dread.

Because I knew once I got back into that routine, there would be nothing else. Work would become my whole life again.

And for once, I wanted more.

I thought about what Zander had told me in that restaurant.

“Do something for you.”

It didn’t sound any less scary now than it had then. It sounded even scarier when I added a six-month tour with a man I’d only known for three weeks into the mix.

That’s if he even wants you …

Luckily, I didn’t need to think about that train of thought anymore.

The concert was starting.

Some annoying, overly enthusiastic MC started off by introducing himself—a young actor I’d never heard of. The crowd went crazy, and he preened like a goddamn peacock from their praise. He talked about the charity the bands were supporting, and then each band was listed off while a giant screen ran B-roll footage behind them. The moment Manic at Midnight was announced, the crowd erupted.

The screams were so loud that I had to turn the volume down.

The camera zoomed in on a huge group of girls, all wearing custom Knight Rider shirts with two strategically placed hearts with a picture of Asher’s face.

I’ll give you two guesses where those hearts were placed.

My attention drifted in and out after that. Some of the bands I liked, so I’d turn it up and listen. Others I was less enthusiastic about, and I’d find myself scrolling social media. At some point, my food arrived, and soon, they announced the second-to-last band. I poked my mandarin chicken, all while an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies looped-the-loops in my belly.

Finally, after what felt like the longest commercial break of all time, Manic at Midnight took the stage.

And I forgot how to breathe.

I leaned forward, my legs tucked underneath me as I watched the front man, Asher, take the mic. He was gorgeous. Tight, lean muscle all on display with only a black vest and low-slung jeans to cover him. There was a reason he had legions of fans.

But all of my attention was on the man to his right.

If I had any doubts he might be nervous, they were washed away in that instant.

He looked like he owned that stage.

This is really happening.

His hair had been given the just fucked treatment, and the black jeans and ripped tank he wore made his body look ridiculous.

Mine.

The thought was so intense that I wanted to reach through the screen just so I could lick him in front of all those skanky women to prove my point.

But then Asher stepped up to the mic, his blue eyes blazing. “Hello.”

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