Page 24 of Embody

In hindsight, I realize I probably should’ve insisted on the “buddy system.” Too late now, there are so many bodies packed in front of the stage I’ve already lost sight of him.

The band is good, playing mostly originals, and the members…not exactly painful to look at, not one bit. But when the bassist, who could be Brandon Flower’s muscled-up twin, switches to a double-neck electric guitar and starts the opening bars of‘Love Song’by Tesla, I sit up pin straight from the crazy tingle zinging up my spine.

This song has always been one of my absolute favorites, and if that sexy guy who can play multiple instruments starts singing it, I may lose all decorum.

Oh shit, after he fingers his way through the long intro flawlessly, he does sing it, in an all-man, raspy voice of the gods. Forgetpeoplewatching, right now my eyes see only him.

“Got ya another,” Marshall stumbles into the table, splashing the drink on it.

“Sshh,” I hiss, shooing him away.

“Well, excuse me,” he laughs then downs two more shots, if I’m counting correctly from my periphery, and disappears again.

I sway to the rest of the song, closing my eyes a few times to focus solely on the way his voice massages the lyrics, then open them and jump out of my seat to applaud wildly when he’s finished.

“Like that, did ya?” he smirks and asks into the mic.

Everyone screams their yes…but he asks again. And Ithink…he asks me.

No, couldn’t be. I jerk my head left, right, then do a full spin to see who he’s talking to, but it’s just me tucked in this corner.

“Yes, you.” His sexy, baritone laugh resonates through the air and vibrates me to my core. “Cutie in the corner. Did you like that?”

My cheeks flame and my mouth goes dry, yet somehow, I manage to nod.

“I’m glad,” he winks at me. “Pick a song, Cutie.”

Everyone in the entire bar is staring at me, I can feel it, but I keep my gaze trained solely on him. “Um…” I search my mental Rolodex for another favorite that might possibly fall in what I perceive as their “genre,” and finally come up with one. “Never Tear Us Apart?” I more ask than answer.

“Oh yeah,” he growls in an octave of pure sin and gives me a cocky grin. “Some INXS, excellent choice. Come up here where I can really sing it to you,” he slowly curls his finger at me, turning up the seduction in the crooked curl to his mouth.

Marshall must’ve spiked my drink and that first sip I took is taking effect, because there’s no way this is actually happening. Things like this don’t even happen to special people, let alone humdrums like me.

So I have to be imagining my tentative steps toward the stage. Hallucinating the gorgeous guy squatting down, hand out, waiting for me. Hearing voices rather than the lead singer really saying, “Well folks, guess I’ll pick up the bass since Zeke here sees something he likes and is taking over.”

“What’s your name, beautiful?” He leans into me, his silky baritone caressing my ear, his thumb rubbing my wrist.

“B…Bellamy,” I stammer quietly.

“Of course it is,” he chuckles softly. “Not an ordinary thing about you. I’m going to sing your song, beautiful Bellamy, and you’re gonna wait for me after the show. Deal?”

Once more, all I can manage is a nod, and he laughs at that. “So damn sweet,” he grunts, biting his bottom lip as he runs his eyes the length of me. “See you soon.”

He kisses my knuckles then stands, counting off the song I chose to his bandmates.

It’s a full body experience—his serenade. He should be the lead singer all the time, his voice a deep, gritty phenomenon. His dark eyes, locked on me, hold an intensity that demands your full attention. I’m mouthing the words along with him, lost in a once-in-a-lifetime haze, when I’m almost knocked off my feet, literally.

“Look at you,” a very drunk, bobbling Marshall screams in my ear. “I didn’t know I was coming with the chosen one. Can you hook me up to meet the band?”

My guess is gonna be no, if judging by the scathing glare Zeke is giving him. Marshall bumps me again and I turn to grab both his arms and steady him. “Easy there, Grace. How much have you had to drink?” I ask.

“Dunno,” he makes some sloppy movement I think is meant to be a shrug and laughs. “Guess I should’ve eaten. Why’s it matter?”

I let go of him, kinda hoping he does fall now. “You were my ride home, remember? Just,” I push him away, “lemme enjoy the rest of the song.”

I look back up and get a crooked smile and nod from Zeke—I think he approves of the shove I gave Marshall.

After they finish my choice, Zeke goes back to the bass and I point to my table, mouthing that I’m gonna sit back down. This up-close mosh pit isn’t for me.

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