glance up the bouncer grins at me. “You must be new in town, because I’d remember”—he pauses as he gives me the once-over with his eyes and then winks as he says—“you.”
I roll my eyes at him as I thrust out my ID. He doesn’t even glance at it and pulls the door open for me instead. I say, “Thanks,” before I step into steamy heat just in time to see the lead singer jog to the stage. I, like most of the other women around me, gasp at the sight of him. Adrian Lindquist is a massive guy, built of pure muscle. He’s got a mane of white-blond hair I’d love to twist around my finger. Well, if I were into that type. I prefer a cultured-looking man like my boyfriend, Link. He’s the kind of guy that looks good in suits, with his bronze skin and Hollywood smile. Adrian launches into a song, and I watch him interact with the lead singer, a girl named Nessa, whose triplet sister Ginny plays keyboards for the band. I’m not sure how I’m going to work the sibling angle yet, but it’s going to be a great interview question.
I wince at the sound of a group of girls singing badly near me as I watch the band. It appears the college kids of this town love Second Sound, and I work my way to the edge of the room to keep from being jostled around by the gyrating bodies. I notice another tall blond near the edge of the stage, and I guess he’s the fourth Lindquist. While his features are like the lead singer, this guy is almost nerdy. And man, what a sexy nerd he is. He’s seen a gym, judging by the width of his shoulders. I wonder if he’s the band’s manager, and I lick my lips as I imagine he’ll appeal to a different kind of girl than his brothers do. My pulse races with my excitement about finding a band that is almost too good to be true. I imagine the posters and magazine articles I can arrange to whip the female teen population into a frenzy.
My phone is slick in my hand as I take it out of my purse to record a video clip for Link. Just as I start, Adrian yanks a girl up on the stage. He dances with her for a minute before she gets handed off to the bass player. I think every girl in the place wishes she were the one that got to dance with two of the band members. I almost do. I focus my attention on the playback of the video I took, and now my joy can barely be contained, because I think this band is my ticket to fame. I send it to Link. His reply is quick, and I look down at the text that reads, “Get me a meeting in Boston on Wednesday.”
I glance up from my phone in time to see the mystery brother walking toward the bar. He intrigues me, and I decide to follow him. He approaches the bartender and orders something that I can’t hear. It’s always good to know what kind of substances a potential band ingests, so I watch intently. I notice this brother’s hair is cut in a serious style that begs to be mussed up. At first glance he appears to be a normal guy, but upon further inspection there’s nothing average about him. He reaches up to scratch his head and flexes a forearm that makes my knees weak with the way the muscles ripple. He turns toward me, and while he doesn’t look directly at me, the crystal-blue eyes of his gaze mesmerize me anyway. Wow. I’m not sure how he does it, but the sex appeal he radiates is like a magnet, and I want to slam my body against his. I clear my throat to get a hold of myself. I have a boyfriend, after all.
The bartender hands him two large pitchers of what appears to be ice water, and I’m relieved. They’re still a wholesome group, and I plan to keep them that way. The wall I’m leaning against is hard on my hands as I push myself off it and approach the guy. When he reaches for the tray of glasses I speak loudly. “Let me help you with that.”
He turns his gaze toward me, and for a moment I’m completely starstruck. If it’s possible, he’s even more magnetic up close. “Thanks,” he says.
I pull myself together and answer a bit too abruptly,
I roll my eyes at him as I thrust out my ID. He doesn’t even glance at it and pulls the door open for me instead. I say, “Thanks,” before I step into steamy heat just in time to see the lead singer jog to the stage. I, like most of the other women around me, gasp at the sight of him. Adrian Lindquist is a massive guy, built of pure muscle. He’s got a mane of white-blond hair I’d love to twist around my finger. Well, if I were into that type. I prefer a cultured-looking man like my boyfriend, Link. He’s the kind of guy that looks good in suits, with his bronze skin and Hollywood smile. Adrian launches into a song, and I watch him interact with the lead singer, a girl named Nessa, whose triplet sister Ginny plays keyboards for the band. I’m not sure how I’m going to work the sibling angle yet, but it’s going to be a great interview question.
I wince at the sound of a group of girls singing badly near me as I watch the band. It appears the college kids of this town love Second Sound, and I work my way to the edge of the room to keep from being jostled around by the gyrating bodies. I notice another tall blond near the edge of the stage, and I guess he’s the fourth Lindquist. While his features are like the lead singer, this guy is almost nerdy. And man, what a sexy nerd he is. He’s seen a gym, judging by the width of his shoulders. I wonder if he’s the band’s manager, and I lick my lips as I imagine he’ll appeal to a different kind of girl than his brothers do. My pulse races with my excitement about finding a band that is almost too good to be true. I imagine the posters and magazine articles I can arrange to whip the female teen population into a frenzy.
My phone is slick in my hand as I take it out of my purse to record a video clip for Link. Just as I start, Adrian yanks a girl up on the stage. He dances with her for a minute before she gets handed off to the bass player. I think every girl in the place wishes she were the one that got to dance with two of the band members. I almost do. I focus my attention on the playback of the video I took, and now my joy can barely be contained, because I think this band is my ticket to fame. I send it to Link. His reply is quick, and I look down at the text that reads, “Get me a meeting in Boston on Wednesday.”
I glance up from my phone in time to see the mystery brother walking toward the bar. He intrigues me, and I decide to follow him. He approaches the bartender and orders something that I can’t hear. It’s always good to know what kind of substances a potential band ingests, so I watch intently. I notice this brother’s hair is cut in a serious style that begs to be mussed up. At first glance he appears to be a normal guy, but upon further inspection there’s nothing average about him. He reaches up to scratch his head and flexes a forearm that makes my knees weak with the way the muscles ripple. He turns toward me, and while he doesn’t look directly at me, the crystal-blue eyes of his gaze mesmerize me anyway. Wow. I’m not sure how he does it, but the sex appeal he radiates is like a magnet, and I want to slam my body against his. I clear my throat to get a hold of myself. I have a boyfriend, after all.
The bartender hands him two large pitchers of what appears to be ice water, and I’m relieved. They’re still a wholesome group, and I plan to keep them that way. The wall I’m leaning against is hard on my hands as I push myself off it and approach the guy. When he reaches for the tray of glasses I speak loudly. “Let me help you with that.”
He turns his gaze toward me, and for a moment I’m completely starstruck. If it’s possible, he’s even more magnetic up close. “Thanks,” he says.
I pull myself together and answer a bit too abruptly,
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