Page 82 of Ashley & the A-Listers

Ashley nodded, and River leaned back to cover his mouth before laughing. “I can’t say much. I hung out with the skaters.”

That image merged perfectly with the River sitting in the seat with tattoos scattered up his arm. “And now you’re a screenplay writer?”

He shrugged. “Exactly. I find inspiration where I can get it,” he said, and nudged Cam, who held up his hands innocently.

“It’s all you, I just answer the random-ass questions you ask me all the time.”

“And I’m forever grateful,” River said. “You’re the one with experience on the other side of the script.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cam said, and Ashley caught a flush to his cheeks before she spun back around to face the road.

Their conversation carried on in low murmurs, and she shared a look with Dylan before settling into her seat.

The drive wouldn’t be more than an hour, so they had a while to go.

It wasn’t awkward like she’d feared, and as the song changed, she wondered how often that same band would play.

Ashley didn’t listen to them very much anymore, because of the memories it would bring back.

Like the night that changed everything.

Birthdays were her new favorite thing. Especially if they all turned out like this.

The lights went down, and the crowd around them came alive, yelling and screaming. The pure energy that infused the venue brought her and Dylan to their feet, and she couldn’t help but grip his arm and shake him with excitement.

“It’s happening!” she yelled.

She felt like she had helium in her chest, like if she didn’t stay latched onto him she’d float right off.

He didn’t shake her off, and she gripped tighter.

Dylan wasn’t embarrassed to be seen here with her; he was just anxious about the crowds.

He had certainly grown into his growth spurt the past few months, but he wasn’t growing out of their band.

A thought he proved true only a few moments later, when the stage glowed red and the band came out. He whooped and hollered with the rest of the crowd, and Ashley already knew they’d be croaking through bruised throats by the end of the night.

She knew every fucking word.

And so did Dylan.

They sang them together, turning to grin at each other as they shouted the lyrics and pumped their fists and danced and acted like absolute fools.

She’d never seen a musician live outside of a coffee shop or open mic night, but this was certainly a different realm. There were pyrotechnics and lasers and LED screens that matched album artwork.

“Oh my god,” she cried as the lead singer stood in the crowd, a hundred hands holding him up as he sang.

Then they jumped, and she swore she could feel the venue shake beneath their weight as the crowd raged with them. When he brought a stool out to sing some of the slower, more heart-rending songs, it gave her pulse a chance to slow down, too.

The whole time she kept thinking about how they just had a handful more songs to go, and then this night would be over.

She swayed to the music, and the venue was aglow with lighters and cell phones. Her arm hurt by the time the song ended, only for the band to go right into the next one.

Dylan swayed with her, and she glanced up at him just to see if he was as entranced as she was.

It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she knew they were soft. Softer than they usually were when he looked at her.

His arm was around her shoulders and she was squished into his side, her arm around his waist, and a moment ago she’d thought nothing of it. But now, with him staring down at her as they sang the song to each other, it felt… like so much more. So much bigger than anything had ever felt, settling in her chest and barely making room for her ever-beating heart.

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