Page 152 of Cherry Beats

“Okay, okay, okay,” Rhett laughed. “You may have seen us before, but…” He spun on his heels, turning to face the direction of us. “I can promise you, you’ve never heard us the way you’ll hear us tonight.”

The audience lost their damn minds, and people behind us began to push and shove to get closer to the band and the stage.

Youth Gone Wild weren’t just popular. They were idolised. Worshipped to the point of insanity.

Bourbon and Molly held strong; their legs firmly planted on the ground so we didn’t get bashed around too much.

“Show us what you got, Rhett!” a woman screamed only a few people down from me. It made me turn to look at him for the first time. Rhett looked good. Buzzed up, but good. His hair was a styled, shaggy mess, and his dark features made his eyes pop on that stage. He was laughing, and suddenly, his attention zoomed in on where he thought he’d heard the woman jeer. Rhett scanned the people around me, and he grabbed his crotch with his free hand, his eyes alive with devilish intent as he spread his legs and raised a brow. “I’ll show you what I’ve got, sweetheart. The question is… can you handle it?”

The moment he said those last four words, his eyes found mine in the crowd.

For a single heartbeat, we stared at each other.

Me, wide-eyed and waiting.

Rhett, clearly surprised as he narrowed his gaze and let his smile turn into a cock-sure smirk.

“Because if you can’t handle it, you really shouldn’t be here,” he said into the mic, his brow raised as he stared at me.

He was pissed, too. I got it, but that didn’t stop me from lifting my beer to my lips with one hand, using my other to flip the bird right at him as he stared at me, waiting.

Rhett threw his head back, his laughter breaking free before he raised the microphone to his mouth again and screamed out in true rock star fashion, “Let’s set this place onfire!”

My heart beat wildly in my chest as I turned back to look at Presley.

He was bent over, fiddling with something I couldn’t see. The cameras chose that moment to zoom in on him, and the second Presley West filled up the screens on either side of the stage, the crowd wasn’t full of cheers, it was full of ear-piercing screams that made me wince as I watched him.

It always went this way. Presley knew when the noise was for him.

Straightening himself back up, he pushed his hair back with both hands, and we watched as he tied it up on the top of his head with ease, his arms back, muscles flexed for all the thousands of fans to see.

I remembered the taste of that skin.

The way those muscles felt wrapped around me.

My legs tensed, my thighs desperate to close together to handle the jolt of electricity I felt down below.

Presley finally looked up, unleashing his bright blue eyes and charming smile on the crowd, taking my breath away.

The crowd were, as Rhett had wished for, on fire. Big D, Hawk, and Coops began strumming on their guitars, each of them walking around the stage with pre-show grins on their faces.

The cameras were still focused on Presley when Rhett Ryan ran up to his raised platform, leaned over and whispered something in Presley’s ear. At once, Presley’s jaw tensed—his nostrils flaring as he narrowed his eyes and began to search a crowd he couldn’t really see.

That’s right, king. I’m here. Let me watch you play.

Rhett slapped him on the shoulder and jumped down to his position at the front of the stage, and then the band began to play. Presley’s shoulders went from rigid to loose as soon as the music began, his focus shifting to the one thing he adored more than life itself—the music.

He was all limbs and precision, his focus undeniable as he became the god everyone wanted to bend the knee for in front of thousands of strangers. They played their one and only Youth Gone Wild song first, and even though my insides were upside down and turning to mush, I still couldn’t help but move my body to the music. Molly was dancing wildly on one side while Bourbon tapped his foot and nodded his head to the beat on the other. I was somewhere in between, sporadically unable to stop myself from singing along only to see a close-up shot of Presley’s face and to being pinned to the spot, unable to move from the way he made me feel.

Smooth Hair

Sparkling Eyes

Doesn’t look bad

But she’s full of fuckin’ lies

Sings like she’s an angel

---