Page 65 of Totally Off Limits

“Can I get a, um, a Fat Tire?”

“You bet.” As the bartender removed the cap, he asked, “Anything else?”

Courage.“How about a shot?”

“Of what?”

“Surprise me.”

“Whiskey? Tequila?”

“Whiskey.”

“Got a brand you prefer?”

“Whatever’s strongest.”

Arching an eyebrow, he pulled a bottle off the shelf behind him. As he poured the amber liquid into a small glass, he said, “Keep an eye on your drinks.”

At first, she didn’t know what he was implying, but then she got it—and her impression of him changed just like that. A guy she didn’t even know was looking out for her welfare. More likely, though, he could probably just tell she was as naïve as they came, a complete fish out of water. “Thanks.”

“That’ll be seven-fifty.”

Fishing her phone out of her back pocket, she pulled out the ten-dollar bill, the only cash she’d brought, and handed it to him. “Keep the change.”

As he thanked her again, she downed the shot and smiled, reminded of when she’d had a shot at Johnny’s house with Mickey. This particular whiskey didn’t taste any better or worse. It tasted like whiskey, though, warming her chest as it made its way down.

Picking up the beer, she wove her way through the people around the bar before trying to figure out how to get back to the front of the stage through the swarms of people.

Some of the men were more than happy to let her press close to them to get by. Instead of being offended by it as she might ordinarily, she thanked them because they were helping her get where she needed to be. Near the front, one guy’s hand got a little too friendly with her ass, but she didn’t want to take the time to let him have it verbally because the band was arriving onstage.

This was no ordinary concert. At least, that was how it seemed to Sierra. She’d only ever been to one other show ever, and that was back in her college days when Cami had insisted she come to Denver for a couple of days, because her friend was the self-proclaimed hugest fan of Fully Automatic. Compared to this one, the memory of that venue highlighted just how different tonight’s was. The setting here was far more intimate and packed tightly. Although Sierra was no firefighter, she imagined the capacity tonight pushed it—but she had a feeling the venue pushed legal boundaries often. She just prayed there would be no moshing and no fighting, because that could be dangerous.

Johnny approached the mic and the crowd went nuts, cheering, screaming, and hollering. A guy next to Sierra shouted, “Yo, J.C.,” reminding her of the guitarist’s stage name. As she glanced at all the guys, she remembered that the man named Kiefer was the lead singer, so no wonder people were freaking out—J.C., the original founder of the band and world-famous guitarist, was addressing the crowd.

Or maybe it was just because they loved the entire band.

Once the applause died down, Johnny started speaking. “Thank you, Winchester. When I was a kid, I left town to pursue my dream, and I swore I’d never come back here—but today there’s actually no other place I’d rather be.” The crowd responded with noise, applause, and shouts. “We wanted to thank you all for coming out tonight to watch us play. You’re gonna be the first people on the planet to hear every single song on our upcoming album.” The audience continued making sounds of excitement, but Johnny’s mic drowned them out. “We haven’t evenrecordedthis shit.” There was another swell of noise as the crowd went wild.

Katie looked over at Sierra, her eyes sparkling. Sierra, shouting to be heard, said, “People will probably record this with their phones and put it on YouTube.”

“That’s what Johnny wants—free publicity.”

“Oh.” Sierra suddenly felt stupid. As far as show business went, she had a lot to learn.

But she didn’treallyneed to know any of this, did she?

As the noise died down, one large man with an even larger voice near the front shouted, “Play ‘Battlefield’!”

Johnny had no problems hearing the guy. “Maybe. No promises. This is new stuff, guys.”

But the man started chanting:Battlefield! Battlefield!And soon the crowd joined in, rowdy and out of control.

Johnny glanced at his band one at a time, getting a small nod from each, before speaking into the mic again. “All right! We’ll play ‘Battlefield’ for dessert. In the meantime, though, let’s get to the new stuff. Kiefer.”

The frontman stepped up to the microphone as the women in the crowd screamed and swooned at his boyish good looks. “I second everything Johnny said. I didn’t grow up here, but Winchester’s like my home.” Glancing down to where the three women stood in front of the stage, he added, “I met my girl here, and whereversheis…that’s where I call home.”

The women in the audience responded withoohsandahhs, not to mention someawws, but the burly men in the crowd didn’t seem to care. Fortunately, Kiefer read his audience like a book. “I’m sorry, ladies, but the first song we’re playing ain’t no love song. In fact, it’s the opposite. We call this little ditty ‘You Ripped My Fucking Heart Out’.” As the crowd began cheering, he added with a grin, “That’s a working title, of course—meaning it might not be the same when you buy the album.”

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