“I wanna kiss you,” he told me, “but I’ll wait until you don’t care if I fuck up your makeup.”
Laughing, I replied, “I appreciate your patience.”
“Gotta go.” He set me on my feet.
“Go! I wanna see my favorite band in action!”
The rest of the guys were already in position, the stage blacked out.
“Love you,” he said before running off toward the stage. Stopping at the edge, he flicked on the mic and growl-screamed into it.
The crowd went apeshit, and the stage exploded with blinding bright white light. The roar became deafening, rising in a swell that lifted me with it. Seeing the whole thing from this point of view was mind-boggling.
Phil, at the head of it all, was simply stunning to behold. He goaded the crowd, spurred them on, screaming and belting out the lyrics, encouraging them to scream and sing with him. He glistened with sweat, his hair slipping out of the man bun, strands of it plastered to his face paint. He headbanged, bounced, and leaped all over the stage.
“Los Angeles!” he roared after their third song. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”
The united voice of twenty-thousand people crashed over the stage, vibrating its way through everything.
“I sure as shit hope so!” He laughed.
Since the concert was televised on paid cable, cursing was okay, but it should be kept to a minimum. Fat chance at that really. But this wasn’t one of NOLA’s Junk’s typical concerts. Phil was known for his crowd interaction, and there just wasn’t the time for it. They had an hour-long set, which wasn’t long enough for them, and they had to fill nearly every minute with their music.
Their final song was to be their latest single, “Louisiana Baby.” As the last ten minutes of the set came up, they ended “A Fist to the Face,” and Phil shoved the mic into the stand.
“So, we got this song…” he started to say.
Once more the audience intensified with cheers, and he laughed.
“Yeah, I guess y’all know what I’m talkin’ about. Well, we got this little song, and it really is just this humble man beggin’ for his woman to wait for him just a little while longer until he can get his ass back home to her.”
Phil looked off to the side, straight into my eyes, and he smiled his Lady Killer.
“Can y’all guess what happened?”
Louder, the audience roared its approval.
“My Baby Girl…she held out. She waited for my ugly ass to show up. And she’s here tonight.”
What the fuck is he doing?
My heart slammed against my rib cage, and panic flooded my veins. I shook my head and took a step back. Sheri steadied me with a hand on my lower back.
Phil nodded. He turned back to the audience. “Y’all wanna meet my Baby Girl?”
“She’s a hell of a woman,” goaded Jason on his mic. He twanged a little ditty on his guitar. “I think they should. It would show them all that you mean what you say, Phil.”
“I agree,” replied Phil. Looking back over at me again, he smiled and raised his hand. “Come on out, woman. I got some friends who wanna meet you.”
I shook my head again, little white dots appearing before my eyes.
“You’re too cute.” He laughed. “She’s a little shy, guys. Let’s make her feel welcome, yeah?”
The crowd exploded.
Sheri gave me a shove. “Don’t leave him hanging!”
I took one tentative step forward, trying desperately not to vomit in front of twenty-thousand people. Another step—shit, were my legs shaking. They felt like rubber. I stared at Phil’s proffered hand, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until I could reach out and touch his fingers. He pulled me into his sweat-slicked body.
His other hand on the mic stand, he smiled down at me in front of this immense crowd of people. “Hey.”
Cheers were closing in on us.
“Say hi to everyone.” He turned the mic at me.
“H-hello.” My trembling husky voice echoed outward.
The audience howled with joy.
“Everyone, say hi to the woman who stole my heart so long ago and who is the inspiration for our next song.”
The entire multitude flooded me with greetings of howls and cheers and screams.
How the hell does he do this? I’m about to pass out! Or puke! Or both!
However, the energy flooding over us was so positive that it filled me and lifted me. Suddenly, I understood how he could simply walk out before them and do his dream. I might not have the balls or talent to do what Our Boys