After pulling on my most comfortable pair of jeans and a basic black v-neck, I do another once over in the full length mirror on the back of my door. Accepting my appearance for what it is, I walk into the living room and grab my car keys off the coffee table.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking garage at the office. Running my hands through my chocolate brown waves is a desperate attempt to make it look less like I’d just woken up thirty minutes prior and more like I have my shit together.
Rylee, my roommate, tackles me in an embrace when I get off the elevator. We met through our jobs and we’ve lived together for about six months. Incidentally, she’s become my closest friend in Dallas.
I know she’s already been at work for an hour and, if I had to guess, she’s had at least three Red Bulls from the break room by now. Her fiery red hair is pulled up in a knot on the topof her head, and I notice she’s wearing… the t-shirt I brought home from the concert I’d photographed last night. I’d left it on the back of one of the barstools in the kitchen. In typical Rylee fashion, she must have been wandering around this morning in just her bra—in a rush to get out the door as usual—and put on the first clean shirt she could find.
“Today! It’s today, Mia!” she squeals, not helping my headache.
Her energy is a lot before caffeine, but I manage a weak smile as I make my way into my office and set my bag down at my desk. I’m the only one in our company that has an office without being on the executive team—one of the many perks of being the only photographer on staff. It sounds glamorous, but I really only have it because I need more space to store all of my camera equipment.
Rylee is talking about the out-of-town concert we’ll be covering tonight in Los Angeles. Our company was hired a few weeks ago to do some photos and general media promotion material for a secret pop-up show, and the details thus far have been limited. We know the name of the headlining band and the name of their tour manager, but that’s about all they’ve given us. They even had our team sign NDAs to keep everything under wraps. I’ve never worked on a show this high profile before, and it feels like I’m taking the next big step towards the career I’ve always wanted.
By the early afternoon, Rylee and I have made sure the promotional material is ready to go and gotten my equipment packed up. We head back to our shared apartment to pack our personal bags for the trip and load them up in the back of my 4Runner to make our way to the airport.
We walk into the back of the venue in the early evening to introduce ourselves to the tour manager. The backstage area is buzzing with an energy I’ve never experienced before. Like every other venue I’ve been in, it’s dirty and smells like sweat, but it’s home to a lot of these guys. Musicians are going through their pre-show rituals of tuning their instruments, doing vocal warm-ups, finishing getting dressed, and even napping. I’m usually out with the crowd during the majority of my time at a venue—and I like it that way. I’m perfectly content being the behind-the-scenes girl, focused on my job and unnoticed by the masses.
We’re walking down one of the hallways when Rylee stops short and grabs my hand. I notice she’s staring at a guy with his back to us, immersed in conversation with a group of pit crew members.
“I recognize the back of that head and those tattoos,” she whispers, and I swear I hear a little panic in her voice.
“What?” I ask. “Who? That guy? I’ve never seen him before. He’s hot though.”
The hot guy with the colorful sleeve of tattoos turns slightly towards us, and Rylee’s thoughts are confirmed right before my eyes. She lets out a huff and puts her shoulders back, heading directly towards him. He faces us fully now, and I can tell he recognizes Rylee now, too.
“Little sister,” he smirks. “What are you doing here?”
Before Rylee can answer, I can tell he’s looking right past her and straight at me. He gives me the slow once over. I stand there looking a little more out of place than I would’ve liked, sporting a blush I’m not expecting.
Oh.This is Brandon. Rylee’s brother.
“What am I doing here?” Rylee snaps. “I’m working. What are you doing here?”
“I’m working, too,” Brandon says with a cheshire cat grin. “Catastrophically Charismatic is making it big time, baby. We’re opening for this show.” His eyes flick towards me again. “Enough about me. You gonna introduce me to your friend over there?”
“You’re—,” Rylee stammers, but she recovers quickly as she turns to face me. “Mia, this is Brandon, my annoying big brother who never tells me anything and the bassist for Catastrophically Charismatic—hisband.”
Brandon rolls his eyes and grabs Rylee in a side hug.
“Brandon, this is Mia,” she huffs. “My roommate back in Dallas. She’s the incredible photographer at my office that I’ve told you about on the phone.”
I swear I see Brandon’s eyes glimmer underneath the low lights of the hallway we’re in. They look exactly like Rylee’s—warm, caramel tones that I recognize without hesitation. His sandy blond hair is a stark contrast to his sister’s fiery red, but it suits him. I can definitely see the resemblance now that I’m focused on something other than how hot he is.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mia,” Brandon says before he beckons to us. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the band.”
I see Rylee tense a little before we step into the band’s dressing room. It’s dark, and a little musty. A clothing rack with only a few jackets on it stands to my right, and there’s an old vanity with a flickering light on the other side. It’s spacious, but not fancy by any means.
Two guys are warming up on vocals and guitar on the worn, brown leather couch in the corner. One of them has cropped brown hair and every part of him from the neck down that isn’tcovered by the tightest black shirt known to man is pure muscle and beautifully inked. The other one… there’ssomethingabout him other than the fact that he’s gorgeous. His hair is dark—almost black—and he’s wearing a simple faded gray t-shirt with distressed black jeans and combat boots. His hair is shorter on the sides, but longer on the top. As he looks down, the longer part hangs over his forehead to cover his eyes. He’s very focused on the chords and strumming pattern on his guitar—enough to not even bother looking up when we enter the room.
Musically, they’re incredible. I close my eyes for a moment and let the melody fill my senses. There are few things in this world that I love the way I love music. I can’t believe Rylee’s never shown me their work before.
“Grayson,Eric,” Brandon calls over to them. “Surprise! Rylee’s here for work, and this is her friend and colleague, Mia. She’ll be out front taking photos tonight while Rylee is backstage doing interviews.”
My eyes open widely at the mention of the name, Grayson, as a pair of familiar deep, dark blue eyes finally look up at me curiously from their spot on the couch.
Fuck. Me. It’s him.
Before I can form the words to all the questions I’m so desperate to ask, another band member bursts through the door.
