Dmitri #2
Eric is sweaty and exhausted as he stands at the mic, with his deep voice raspy and worn. His black shirt clings to his damp skin, hugging those thick biceps that flex almost obscenely as he moves.
After we walk off stage, he uses the neck of his shirt to wipe his face, and it gives me a glimpse of his sun-kissed belly underneath. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips at the tiny pooch that peeks over the waistband of his jeans.
He used to spend hours at the gym, pushing himself to shed those extra pounds around his middle. It didn’t matter how many times I insisted he looked great, he wanted a flat stomach and defined abs, while I wanted him just as he was.
Still do.
The intrusive thought makes me shake my head with a sigh. I can’t go down that rabbit hole right now. Not while he hates me.
I pull myself out of my funk and glance around, unsure of what I need to be doing now that the set is done.
It was a hell of a show, high energy for a small gig, and the band was in perfect sync through the entire hour-long playlist. If tonight's performance is any sign of what’s coming on the tour, it’s clear it will be a massive success.
I’d forgotten how hypnotic Eric’s voice is. We’ve practiced this set plenty of times in the past week, but he changes when he’s on stage. The anger and stress disappear, and he turns into something magical.
The others are good, sure. But he’s the star.
He’s always been the star.
In the grand scheme of things, we're nothing more than space dust, while he’s larger than life, with a presence big enough to cast a shadow over the sun.
He’s always been so beautifully dark.
A week in his company and the feelings I buried for years have come roaring back. They're stronger and sharper—proof I never truly buried them at all. My eyes drift across the bulging muscles of his body as he packs up equipment, ignoring my presence, so I pull my attention away and do the same.
“Great job tonight, man,” Dante says from behind me.
“Thanks. You too.”
“Have you decided if you’re going to stick around for the tour?”
“Yeah," I say with a tired nod, "at this point, I think I’m obligated. If I didn’t, it would leave you guys in a tight spot, and you know I’m a giant softie.”
That, and I’m half in love with the singer, in case there was a question about that.
“Why do you think I asked you in the first place?” he asks with a good-natured laugh, slapping me on the shoulder and then grimacing when he realizes how sweaty I am. He wipes his palm on his jeans with a scowl. “Knew you’d never say no.”
“At least you admit to taking advantage of me,” I say with a grin, and my gaze gravitates back to Eric.
His eyes follow mine. “How’s all that going?”
I hesitate before answering. Dante and I are friends, but not close enough that I’ve shared any of my secrets. His knowledge of my history with Eric is based on what he’s seen since I joined the band. With a sigh, I shrug. “Honestly, I’m not sure. How much has he told you?”
“Not much,” he admits, “but Eric isn’t exactly a talker. The only thing I got from him is that the two of you went to college together and had a falling out. What, uh… what happened?”
“Isn’t that the question of the hour?” I mutter. A loud sigh blows my damp hair off my forehead, and I push my fingers through it in frustration. “It doesn’t matter. He hates me now, but it’s fine. We can be professional.”
“Can you, though?”
I huff a small laugh at his skepticism. “Don’t sound so confident in my abilities to control myself, Dante.”
He shakes his head as he glances toward Eric again. “Honestly, I worry more about him losing his cool than you. I thought I heard raised voices outside earlier… you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Nope,” I lie.
“Right,” he drawls with a snort.
I ignore the insinuation and gesture around at the chaos. “So, what do I need to do? Clean up? Load?”
He stares at me for a breath, recognizing that I changed the subject, but he doesn’t pursue it further.
“Yeah. Eric usually takes half the stuff to the studio in his SUV, and I grab the second half.” He starts to walk away after I nod, but stalls.
“Theo mentioned he’d invited you out with us tonight. Did you want to come hang out?”
Hanging out with a drunk Theo after he got handsy with me earlier seems like a terrible plan, so I shake my head. “Not this time, man. You have to remember, it’s been a minute since I’ve done any of this. I’m fucking beat.”
He nods and starts to clap me on the shoulder again, but stops himself with a grimace that makes me bark out a loud laugh. Eric glances over his shoulder with a scowl before he resumes ignoring my existence.
An idea blossoms in my mind, and before I allow myself to consider the consequences, I say, “Why don’t we load up my truck with the rest of the equipment? You can enjoy your night out without having to worry about dropping it off in the morning when you’re hungover.”
He frowns, but his eyes veer to Theo again. “You sure?”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, man. It’s a clear night, and I’m driving in that direction. Load me up and I’ll take care of it. It’s the least I can do.”