The sweet burn in his shoulders that only came when he wailed away, full-throttle, on his kit.
It was the best feeling in the fucking world.
Better than nodding out.
Better than flying.
Better, even, than sex, though there was a tiny, distracted part of him that wondered if that would still hold true if he’d had the time to get that cute little brunette he’d met in back of the club into bed. Eating her out had been one of the hottest things he’d ever done, and something told him it wasn’t just because he’d gone two and a half months with only his hand to get him off.
No, there was something about the way she’d felt under his fingers, the noises she’d made as he’d taken her higher and higher, that was sticking with him way longer than an anonymous encounter before a show warranted. Hell, her gasps and whimpers were still playing in the back of his head, adding a sexy-as-fuck baseline to the music he was playing. Each pump of the bass drum, each crash of the ride cymbals, sounded like her in his head. And it made the playing so much sweeter.
In between songs, Jared and Ryder pandered to the ever-growing crowd. Asking them how Li was doing, which they answered with whistles and shouts. Teasing them. Working them up even higher so that they were in a frenzy by the time they were winding up for the last couple of songs. Every time he had a break, he searched the crowd for the brunette, wondering if she was still around. Hoping she was. It was hard to see past the first few rows because of the lights, but he kept looking anyway. Ending the night inside her seemed like a pretty good finish to him.
But the movement of the now-capacity crowd made it impossible for him to focus on any one face. They were so into the music, clapping and stomping and singing along like this was a stadium show instead of a cramped club on Fifth Street. It reminded him of the early days, before things had gotten so fucked up. Before the drugs took hold of him and he ruined everything.
So he played. He played and played and played, going so hard that sweat was dripping off of him and pooling on the floor at his feet.
So hard that his shoulders and back and arms screamed at him to stop.
So hard that he broke half a dozen drumsticks before the show hit the three-quarters mark.
And he loved every fucking second of it.
More than once, he caught Jared or Quinn or Ryder looking at him, eyes wide and mouths open. He didn’t care, wouldn’t let himself get bogged down in worrying about what was wrong. He knew he was playing well, knew he was on point, and whatever it was that had them looking at him like that could wait ’til they were off-stage. This feeling was too fucking good to waste.
He was riding it all the way home.
Chapter Four
He was on fire. There was no other way to describe it, no other words to do justice to what she was seeing. What she was hearing. Wyatt was in the back right corner of the stage, but it was like he was the only one out there. Like there was a giant spotlight focused right on him while everyone else was just standing around in the dark.
Obviously, that wasn’t true. The whole band sounded amazing. Ryder’s vocals were right on, Jared’s guitar playing was phenomenal as usual, and Quinn was as close to perfect on the keyboards as a human could get. It was crazy.
More, it was like it had been two days since they’d played together instead of two months. That’s how well they blended together, how well their styles meshed. Sure, Li was a little off, just as she’d known he would be—he was good, but his skills weren’t up to their level and his style was too removed to work with what the others were throwing out. Plus, he wasn’t coming close to keeping up with the drum line Wyatt was laying down, which was a problem considering bass and drums worked hand in hand in most Shaken Dirty songs.
But then again, it wasn’t like keeping up with Wyatt was easy at the best of times. And now, when he was mounting a full-on assault on those drums? Even Jared and Quinn were struggling to stay with him and this was their music. He was their drummer.