Page 19 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“All right guys, gals, and non-binary pals,” the band’s lead singer announces. The chatter dies down and heads turn to the back where the stage is located. “My name is Harkin, and we’re Silo’s Symphony. It’s seven o’clock. Time for?”

“Rock Star Karaoke!” the crowd answers in unison, followed by cheers. Harkin swishes his long, greasy brown hair back and strums the chords on his electric guitar.

“What’s Rock Star Karaoke?” Mylan asks.

Gary, a white bearded ZZ Top-looking regular sitting next to Eloise, leans forward to answer. “Karaoke with a band instead of the track.”

“Oh cool. Like a rock star.”

“Ain’t you a bright one.” Gary snorts.

I burst out a laugh the same time Eloise does, and we lock eyes. Okay, she’s pretty great. I could see myself being friends with her now that I know she has no interest in Mylan.

What the hell? Why do I keep having jealous thoughts about who Mylan Andrews is or isn’t dating?

Mylan frowns at Gary then turns his head back to me. “Are you going to sing, Lana?”

“She always does,” Ginger answers, grabbing the round of drinks I poured for her to take.

“All right, folks,” Harkin says, his voice cutting through the excitement filling the air. “We usually have our queen, Lana, kick off the night, but I was hoping that honor could go to someone else tonight.”

The crowd goes wild in anticipation of the famous name Harkin is about to say.

“Mylan Andrews, what do you say?”

Mylan whispers something to Eloise then to Bruno, who nods. He stands and locks eyes with me.

“Let the king show you how it’s done.”

I roll my eyes, begrudgingly smiling, which pleases him to no end.

Such a brat!

With help from Bruno, and two of the officers Chief Hallows sent to deal with the paparazzi outside, now inside manning the crowd, Mylan makes his way through a sea of people, giving high-fives along the way. He jogs up the stairs like he’s Mick freaking Jagger about to perform a sold-out show.

Damn it. That was hot as hell.

He sweeps his fingers through his messy dark locks, something he does a lot. Something I want to do a lot. He’s wearing a similar outfit as last night—too tight jeans and a too tight t-shirt. So simple yet that outfit makes him look like the A-list celebrity he is.

My curiosity got the best of me, and I Googled him again this morning after his little visit. I wondered if I'd seen any of his movies. I don’t watch many. When I'm not at the bar, I'm working on tasks for the Tyler’s Team organization. In my free time, I visit my grandparents, or the cemetery for alone time with Tyler and my parents. Sometimes I read to escape my reality for a world of fairies or vampires or hot mob bosses falling in love with the women they kidnap. The only time I do watch movies is when Ginger drags me to one. Same with television. I don’t even own a TV. The only show I watch is Law & Order at Ginger’s place. It became a tradition and sparked our obsession with pleading the fifth anytime we wanted to avoid talking about something.

Mylan’s been in dozens upon dozens of television shows and movies, including a popular science fiction trilogy about space that I never saw. The only film of his I recognized was a historic romance released two years ago called Love Lost. Apparently, it won several Oscars. Mylan was nominated, but he didn’t take home the statue. I saw the movie with Ginger when it came out and loved it.

And I remember thinking the lead actor was cute but far too young.

Reading his Wikipedia page, I skipped over the section about his dating life, not caring to read about the sexy, thin models he’s fucked. I also scrolled past the parts detailing his drug and alcohol problems. I couldn’t bear to read it. To be honest, I wanted him to tell me. To make matters worse, I found myself wanting to know everything about him, things Wikipedia wouldn’t have.

Harkin and his three other bandmates begin playing a classic. Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey. Of course, Mylan would choose something so cliché to sing. The crowd roars to life and here I am smiling again. That cheeky bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

Mylan stares straight at me as he belts out the lyrics about a small-town girl. For his information, I do not live in a lonely world. At this point, I can barely hear him singing over the cheers. I only know he's at certain parts of the song because he's acting out each word.

Like right now. He points at me then draws a smile on his face. No sir, we will not share the night for a smile.

“Girl, he’s singing this song to you,” Ginger says, appearing by my side.

“That’s what he thinks.”

She snorts, and I tear my eyes away from Mylan to look at her, which was extremely hard to do. Despite being an absolutely horrible singer, he's magic up there on that stage. This is why he’s an actor. The way he commands attention. He’s making eye contact with every person in this bar. He's winking and smiling and pointing and being charming as fuck.

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