Effortless (Thoughtless, #2) by S.C. Stephens
Chapter
My Boyfriend, the Rock Star
According to the channel four weatherman, it was the hottest summer on record in Seattle. Since I’d only been here a little over a year, I took the kind man’s word for it. As I was smashed into and bumped up against, I felt that heat in the skin of every person that touched me. It was a little revolting to have strange people rubbing up against my body. It was even more revolting when some of those strangers decided that being crammed together in a group like we were, gave them the freedom to in-vade my personal space. I’d smacked more hands off of my butt in this one afternoon than in the entire time I’d been at Pete’s bar.
Sweat poured down the back of my t-shirt and I momentarily cursed my fashion choice. As I glanced up at the cloudless, azure sky, the mid-day sun hit me square in the eye, blinding me. I rolled up the short sleeves of my black-as-night shirt, then went to work tying a knot above my bellybutton, just like MaryAnn from Gilligan’s island.
But then I smiled, remembering why I was wearing it and what I was doing in this crowd of sweaty bodies. As I stared past the few rows of glistening people in front of me to an empty stage, a nervous energy flooded into me. Not for me. No, for my boyfriend. Today was his big day. Today was his band’s big day and I bounced a little on my feet as I waited for him to bound up onto that stage. I knew that at any moment he was going to rush to that microphone and the awaiting crowd was going to scream earsplittingly loud.
I couldn’t wait.
Hands next to me grabbed my bare arms. “Can you believe it, Kiera?
Our boys are playing Bumbershoot!”
3
I looked over at my best friend, my coworker and my confid-ante—Jenny. Her face didn’t have sweat pouring down it like mine and she only looked gloriously dewy, but the sparkle lighting up her eyes was exactly like mine. Her boyfriend was playing the Seattle Music Festival for the first time too.
Squealing a little in my growing eagerness, I clutched her arms back.
“I know! I can’t believe Matt actually got them booked here.” I shook my head, impressed that my boyfriend was playing in the same venue that Bob Dylan was playing on later tonight. Hole and Mary J. Blige were playing in the next couple of days.
Jenny looked over when some stranger ran into her; he seemed completely stoned. Glancing back at me, her blonde ponytail lightly flicking my face, she shrugged. “Evan says he worked really hard to get them this spot. And it’s prime! Saturday afternoon on a perfect summer day, smashed right in-between two great acts. It doesn’t get any better than that.”
She tilted her head up to the sky, the rays of the sun glinting off the white lettering on her matching black t-shirt, a t-shirt glorifying the full name of our favorite band—D ouchebags—although, they shortened it to D-Bags, for marketing purposes.
I nodded when her face returned to mine. “Oh, I know, Kellan said he—”
A sudden eruption of sound disrupted my conversation and my eyes automatically darted to the stage. Smiling broadly, I watched what had the getting-raucous crowd’s complete attention. Our D-Bags had finally decided to grace the crowd with their presence.
The assemblage before the outdoor stage started jumping and hollering as Matt and Griffin hopped on stage first. Matt was his normal, contained self, acknowledging the fan fest with a small smile and a slight wave. He quietly walked to his microphone and strapped on his guitar. I hollered for him, but it was a mess of noise and people around me and the guitarist didn’t hear my voice. His light blue eyes scanned the crowd nervously as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder.