Page 39 of Crave

Jules searches my face for a sign that I’m joking. I stare her down.

She whistles. “Kate, I never knew you were such a marshmallow.”

Me neither. These days, I’m jaded. Indifferent to all the pretty boys and girls I got excited about when I was younger. Music is the only thing that gets me going.

“Come on.” Amanda grabs my arm. “Doors open now. Let’s go get dressed and see what kind of show Benjamin Bunny puts on.We’llcheer for him, at least.”

An hour later, Ben steps in front of the mic. He’s in the same well-worn T-shirt, frayed jeans, and sky-blue Chucks that he wore for the sound check. Meanwhile, the girls and I are kitted out in black, vinyl, and sass.

“Why so covered up, Kate?” Mikki wants to know, eyeing my crop top and checkered pants.

I run a hand through my shaggy pink hair and give her a quick flash of bra. “Saving the big reveal for later.”

The crowd is thick and rowdy. Ben clears his throat twice before speaking.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Ben Lewis.”

He’s as soft-spoken onstage as off. I met him after we changed. I shook his hand, stared into those intense green eyes, and told him we were honored to share the stage with him. I hope to hell it’ll be true.

“Whoo!” Amanda cheers, clapping loudly. “Yeah, Ben!”

Ben blinks and mumbles the introduction to his first song.

“We can’t hear you,” Mikki yells. When his cheeks flush, I whack her arm. “What?” she protests. “He needs help. He hasn’t been media-trained.”

“Hasn't been potty-trained, you mean,” Jules chimes in, as Ben plays the opening chords. They’re spare, quiet. Hauntingly beautiful. They stir me. His fingers on the strings, now steady, send ripples through the air in the club.

“Shut up, Jules,” I say distractedly. “I’m trying to listen.”

“Oooh, Kate.”

“Kate's got a crush.”

A crush? No. No, I do not have a crush. But I do have something else, something long-forgotten.

I put a hand on my bare stomach. Inside are little occupants that haven’t been there in years.

Butterflies.

“Kate?”

“Oh my god, Kate.”

“We've lost Kate. Call the fire department.”

The audience doesn’t know what to do about Ben. So they hush up. He’s quiet, but intense. Earnest. Heartbreaking. With each song, he’s a little more confident. He owns the stage a little more. He doesn’t step fully into his presence, but the guy has talent. He’s an artist. The people listening are confused as fuck, but they acknowledge that.

After the first song, I stop paying attention to the crowd, because I’m caught up in the swirl of his music. When he ends the too-short set, I have to remember to clap.

“Next show, he gets more stage time,” I tell Jules.

She rolls her eyes. “If you say so, Katie.”

Ben bobs his head to the applause and hurries off. Yet I still feel those long fingers making music. Tracing my tattooed shoulders and back, causing the inked flowers to bloom.

I shake it off. The Aftershocks are taking the stage, and the audience expects an inferno.

Energy crackles through the room as we set up. My back stays to the crowd until the band is ready. At Mikki’s nod, I whirl to face front.

---