Chapter Twelve
Xander
"I SEE YOU'VE got some issues with time management," Liam greets me as I scramble into his car just ten short minutes later, because I may or may not have forgotten whether I locked the doors once I was already in the lobby. Twice.
I don't respond until I'm fully settled and my seatbelt is fastened, making sure to take my time as I pretend to check if it's, in fact, working. "What can I say? I'm a very busy man. Besides—" I pause when I meet his gaze and catch him staring. Intensely. "What?"
He shrugs, holding back a smirk. "Nothin'."
"What?"
He bites his lip and eyes me up and down, deliberately slowly, making me question my choice of wardrobe, and all my life choices in general. I glance to where his regular khaki t-shirt hugs his muscles in a usual way. Shit. "Too much? I can go change."
"Oh, hell no," Liam says and immediately starts the engine. "We're running low on time as it is, thanks to someone. Besides," he shoots me a side glance after he settles in the right lane, "I never said I didn't like it."
"That's convincing," I mumble.
Liam laughs. "You don't really strike me as someone who needs validation. Ever."
"Pffft. Of course I don't need it. I want it, though."
Liam smiles, eyes focused on the road as he slaloms his way downtown. It's not until he stops at a red light a couple minutes later that he says, "I like it. A lot," eyes still on the road.
I make sure not to smile. Too much.
***
"HOLY HELL," I mutter when Liam drives by the venue for the third time, trying to find a parking spot, the crowd outside the gate seemingly doubling every time we pass it. "You said they were local."
The car comes to an abrupt stop, my body jerking forward, before Liam puts it in reverse and somehow, against the odds, manages to squeeze his SUV into a spot that has no business fitting more than Sawyer's bike. "It's still the Sunset Strip."
"Right," I say, pretending to know why the fuck that matters.
Liam sees right through me and chuckles as we exit the car, late afternoon unusually hot for this time of year, the heat contrasting with the cozy chill of the AC.
I eye the crowd skeptically as we make our way across the street, an ocean of people narrowing by the gate only to drip inside in a tiny stream.
"There's no way that club can accommodate all of"—I gesture around—"this. "
"You worry too much," Liam says, the last of his words barely registering, drowning among the noise, the talk and laughter as we approach the mass and take a spot at the end of the…well, I'm not sure what this is, but it sure as fuck isn't a line.
Surprisingly, it only takes a couple of minutes until we step inside, and I'm relieved once I get the chance to eye the crowd. Some of them, yeah, total metal heads, long hair and army boots omnipresent, but there's a whole assortment of different types of people around, including jocks.
Liam puts his massive arm over my shoulders and leads me forward, as the crowd gets thicker and thicker the closer to the stage we get, until he decides walking any further would be a hazard and we settle somewhere in the middle between the front and the back of the room.
He brings his mouth to my ear and says something I don't quite catch.
I look at him and shake my head, so he repeats.
Same effect, his words distorted by the noise of the crowd.
He then waves me off and apparently decides that whatever he has to say can wait until after the concert. And it hasn't even started yet.
The overhead reflectors go out and the entire room grows dark, while the stage lights up with about a million different points of light, thick streams of photons forming giant tubes over the mic stands, some amps and the drum…
set…area. I take a mental note to actually learn some nomenclature for the next time and turn to Liam, about to ask him how long till the band starts, before I realize he wouldn't be able to hear me, anyway.
I make a never mind motion once he looks at me.
He winks, and I smile back, and the band, the fucking Ducking Quacks who are apparently out to get me choose this exact moment to materialize out of nowhere and hit their first notes with might so strong it makes me jump in place and let out a sound no one can hear, fortu-fucking-nately.
Liam leans back, laughing at my antics, so I roll my eyes, flip him off and turn my attention to the stage.
It bothers me. It bothers me to the point where my ears bleed for the first five songs, not accustomed to sounds so…
aggressive, so in my face, but by the time the sixth and the seventh and the next one roll around I somehow manage to zone in, to absorb the crowd's energy and let it fill me, making me jump along with everyone else, and headbang, and scream out lyrics I don't know on the top of my lungs, because no one can really hear me, anyway.
Liam keeps switching between roaring, clapping and whistling, and he actually seems to know every word of the songs, his lips moving it shapes that match what the vocalist's singing.
I pause my jumps, take a second to catch my breath and observe him, having fun, enjoying himself, and for the first time since I've met him, he seems truly happy.
I can't help but smile. Something about that realization makes me lighter.
Freer. As if I weigh nothing and my feet lift off the ground, no longer submitting to the law of gravity.
Or at least that's what it feels like when something comes over me and I jump as high as I can, using the shoulders of some random guy in front of me.
And before my conscious brain can catch up with my recklessness, I'm diving, being carried on and passed forward by dozens, hundreds of hands until there are no more hands under me anymore, and I manage to somewhat graciously land on my feet. On the fucking stage.
The crowd roars, and I don't even need to look at the two bodyguards heading in my direction to know I'm not supposed to be here. The vocalist doesn't stop screaming at the mic but makes a friendly nod. My eyes dart first left, then right to where the guards are approaching from both directions.
They're far enough, I decide. I can make it.
With a cat-like swiftness I grab my phone from my back pocket, open up the camera app and step closer to the vocalist, angle my phone, make a face and snatch a selfie, the dude actually skipping a word of his song to bare his teeth for the camera and make that funny gesture rockers make with his fingers.
I throw him a "Thanks" he has no chance of hearing, and just as one of the bodyguards grabs my leg, I dive off the stage and into the crowd, hundreds of hands carrying me.
And they continue to carry me all over the fucking room, back and forth twice, because I refuse to jump off until I finally spot Liam.
After I land a few heads over, I notice another few bodies already flying up and letting themselves get carried toward the stage.
Before I have a chance to move, Liam squeezes his way over to me, grabs both of my shoulders, shakes me a bit and speaks words I can’t hear.
His grip on me is strong, so my first instinct is that he wants to yell at me, let me know I've committed some type of faux pas I'm not aware of, but he doesn't look angry.
He doesn't look happy either, he just seems… different.
He tries to say something again, so I shake my head and shrug, reminding him his sounds don't reach me.
He nods then, points to the side where the gates are and taps my shoulder, and then, we elbow our way there, dodging accidental punches, trying not to get stomped over on our way, my heart performing dangerous backflips that grow more intense the closer to the exit we get.
What the fuck did I do wrong?
***
LIAM
THE BLAST OF the music and the collective roars of thousands of people dial down as we exit the main room, a much needed wave of cool air hitting my face, making it possible to breathe again.
I have my eyes set on the end of the hallway to lower the amount of decibels even further, my ears ringing, when Xander, who's trailing behind me grabs my shoulder and spins me around when we're halfway there, puzzled look on his face.
"’Sup?" I ask, my voice gravelly from all the singing and laughing and screaming on top of my lungs.
"Okay, what?" he asks, the joy that was present on his face just minutes ago, the one I so desperately wanted to witness more of now gone.
I deflate. "What?"
"What did I do wrong? Just tell me so I know what to apologize for. This suspense is killing me."
I step in closer so that he doesn't need to yell and further turn heads of random people catching a breather in the area. "Wrong? I never said you did anything wrong. Did I?"
He opens his mouth, then closes it and huffs through his nose. "Well, you seem…I don't know. Intense."
I fight off the burst of laughter that's bubbling inside me and take another step forward.
I glance around to make sure no one's paying attention to us and put one hand on his hip, pulling him toward me.
"You're right. I do feel intense." I don't miss how his eyes double in size for a fraction of a second when I pull him closer still, our bodies crashing together.
"It's not because of anger, though. It's…
" I try to find the words, but fail. Honestly?
I don't know what it is. I'm shocked, and amused, and smitten and fucking horny at the same time, and if there's a word for that, then no, they didn't teach it in muscle school.
"Come," I say instead and grab his wrist, spinning him around and dragging him to the end of the hallway, where I spot another door. "I'll show you."
"Show me? Show me what?" Xander asks from behind, trying to catch up with my impatient steps.