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“Okay, Warning Sign, we’re ready for you. This is an eighteen-and-over crowd, but try to keep the profanity to a minimum, huh?”
Ry glanced at Michael and his friend snorted.
“Shouldn’t have said that, dude,” West said as he came up to stand with them.
“Nope.” Michael picked up his bottle of water from the small table.
Jules came over. “He didn’t just dare us to behave, did he?”
“I do believe he did.” Ryan grabbed a bottle of water.
Juliet made a tsk sound.
The house lights came down and the murmur of the crowd went from a low hum to a roar.
“Fucking A, what a sound.” Ryan slapped Michael’s arm.
Elle and Molly came up to the table for their bottles and Mal lingered at the back of the pack.
Molly shook back her mane of hair. “Let’s do this.”
They all went out as a unit for the first time. Generally, Molly liked to come out last for maximum effect, but it felt right to do it as a band, with no egos and no games. And when the crowd actually came to their feet, Ryan’s chest went tight.
Damn, it was a good day.
“How are you doing, Rochester?” Molly brought her mic stand to the brown couch that had been put onstage for them. Every venue was different, and this one looked like a bastardized rec room from a library.
But it would do.
Elle stalked around the stage and sat on one chair, then another and made a face, then finally bounced into a huge beanbag chair with a sigh. Surprised that she’d hammed it up a little, Ryan ran over to her and scooped up her deep red acoustic and handed it to her.
“My hero,” Elle said into the skinny microphone headset she wore. She scrunched down into the chair until the guitar was up around her chest as she played the opening chords to “Goodbye” and then flattened her hand over the strings. “Whoopsie, not yet.”
The crowd groaned. The new single was always the favored song for these shows, but they always left it for last. Had to keep everyone until the end. Grinning, Ryan ran over to his side of the stage and pulled out the tiniest stool and sat on it. His long legs bent until his knees were by his ears.
The crowd laughed and then the band exploded into the first song on the setlist. “Cascade” was a jam song, and the mix of four acoustic guitars made for a helluva rocking sound. West slammed on his keys and Mal slapped out a brutal beat. Molly’s soulful voice carried to the back of the auditorium and blew the roof off the little room.
It kicked off the show into a wild frenzy of acoustic jams where they tried to one-up each other and soulful ballads that ripped at the heartstrings. Ryan saw hundreds of phones up, taping their antics, and knew YouTube would blow up with clips from this show.
They embraced that half of the fandom. He’d learned from Jazz and Oblivion to take this piece of networking and make it work for them, instead of trying to take down every video like some artists did.
And he secretly enjoyed seeing the comments on some of their crazier stunts. There were a ton of trolls out there too, but he found their remarks even more amusing. Made the bus ride a helluva lot more entertaining.
As they entered into the second half of the show, Molly stood and played with the fringy edges of the half-dozen scarves on her mic stand. “We have a special cover song for you tonight. This one came from our drummer and favorite trunk-o-fun maestro. We love a collaborative effort. Ry is going to help me sing.”
Ryan’s stomach jittered. He glanced out into the crowd and found the figure he was looking for in the shadows. Her compact little body hugged the accordion divider tucked away at the side of the auditorium. She was always half-hiding.
He pushed away the niggling feeling he’d been getting more and more. Denver was so much more than what she appeared. Not just that they were so well-matched sexually. Something made her stay on guard all the time. Even with him.
Sometimes especially with him.
He didn’t know if it was partly because of how they’d started out and her fear that sex would screw up their friendship or if it was just her intrinsic distrust of the male species.
Or if it was way more personal than that.
She wouldn’t tell him, at least not now. But maybe he could reach her this way. Music was a way to connect, and he’d use every trick in his arsenal.
He brushed his lips over his mic. “I heard this song on Spotify while I was on the bus one day. Old song. I loved the original, but man, Theory of a Deadman’s take on it left me itchy. Let’s see if you feel the same way.” He lifted his mandolin off the little stand and picked out the chords.
