Page 12 of Hard Rock Deceit
We turned to the stage to watch the concert. I couldn't remember the name of the band that had been announced, and I didn't recognize anyone on the stage. I was intrigued that the singer was a girl, decked all out in a rocker chic leather kilt and combatboots.
I should have enjoyed the concert the way Hope seemed to be doing, taking in the music and soaking in the energy of the crowd with a happy grin. Instead, I couldn't help but think in terms of my work. Identifying the best angles, contemplating how I'd frame particular shots. I took out my camera and snapped a few pictures here andthere.
I didn't have much experience with event photography. It made no sense why August had hired me. Was it really just because he'd seen something in my photos? Something full ofpassion?
My face flushed, and not because of the heat of the concert hall. Every time I recalled that word falling from that man's lips, my body reacted inunfamiliarways.
I was glad for the darkness of the concert hall, so no one could could see my brightredface.
As the opening band left the stage, Hope squealed and ran off in a flurry. Ian had appeared, carrying his guitar in hand. He caught his girlfriend with his one free arm as she threw herself at him. She shouted something in his ear. He squeezed her in return. Hope ran her hands through his hair as he pulled her in for a kiss. I averted my eyes at the public display ofaffection.
I caught sight of August. Black leather pants looked molded to his thighs, and a sleeveless mesh shirt showed off toned arms and torso. I couldn't stop my eyes from drinking in every exquisitely definedmuscle.
August headed toward the stage, twirling drumsticks between his fingers in complicated patterns. The rest of the band members followed behind him. I recognized the lead singer and bassist. With fiery red hair, the bassist was laughing at something one of the twins was telling him, clapping him on the back. The lead singer wore a look of intense concentration, his dark eyes glinting in thespotlights.
The announcer shouted an introduction, telling the fans that it was time for Darkest Days to appear on stage. The entire concert hall shook with the energy of cheers and chanting and the stomping of feet. The twins and bassist rushed on stage, thrusting their guitars in the air and calling out to the crowd. The lead singer and August took their time to reach their respective places at the front and back of thestage.
Hope returned to my side, her cheeks flushed andmouthred.
"Sorry I abandoned you," she said. "I just see Ian in thateyelinerand—"
She made a sound in the back of her throat, like a wild animal about to leap ontoitsprey.
"I get it," I said. "It's that rock starappeal."
As I was learning alltoowell.
The sound of two guitars shredding emitted from the speakers, soon followed by heavy drum beats. Hope's attention turned to the stage as the concertbegan.
I followed her lead, watching the band perform their first song. It was one of their more well known ones. I'd heard it on the radio often enough I'd almost become sick of it. Listening to it played live was a differentexperience.
The lead singer's sensual voice seduced the audience with his heartfelt words. The sound of the bass guitar thrummed in my chest, pulse quickening along with the beat. The twins wailed on their guitars, playing wildly, fingers flying over thestrings.
But it was August who really captured my attention. His arms were a blur as they pounded away. His hair whipped every which way, sweat-dampened strands sticking to his cheeks and neck. His eyes were narrowed, hot and fierce. Despite the ice blue color, there was no chillness in his expression. August's gaze burned with an inner fire that made my whole bodyheatup.
I fought to drag my attention away from him. I was supposed to be getting ideas for my work. But the shifting of his toned arm muscles under skin, the way his shirt clung to his chest and abs, the way beads of sweat trickled down the side of his flushed face, made it impossible to think aboutanythingelse.
August was an artist himself. We didn't share the same medium, but art was art. He had a different perspective, more experience. Maybe I could learn from him. Ask him to be a mentor ofsorts.
My face burned as I contemplated what exactly August couldteachme.
Aboutart.
Aboutpassion.
August had seen something in my work. Something no one elseeversaw.
WhathadI been feeling when I took thatphoto?
ChapterFour
"They're fantastic, aren't they?"Hope shouted over themusic.
I couldonlynod.
Halfway through the set, the members of Darkest Days put down their instruments. A black piano was rolled out. The lead singer sat down on the bench in front of it. The rest of the band members filed off stage. A beautiful melody replaced the thrashing and screeching ofguitars.
As soon as the other members of the band were hidden by the curtain, a throng of assistants gathered around them, shoving towels and bottles of water into theirhands.
