Bullet(5)

Anyway, as we started walking from the gravel-lined parking area toward the building in the dark, I asked Ethan, “So…it seems like you love all metal…new and old and of all kinds of intensity. Anything you don’t like?”

“Oh, hell, no. You got it right. I love it all.” I liked that, but I just smiled. He probably couldn’t see it in the dark. “But my biggest influences are probably eighties metal and metalcore.”

Influences? I couldn’t ask him what he meant because we walked inside the big doors at the front of the building and were immediately blasted by loud, heavy music. Ethan handed our tickets to one of the guys at the door, and we stepped into what really did look like a big, dark cave the size of a small gymnasium. There were laser lights and other small lights here and there so we wouldn’t trip or fall, but it was dark. There was a huge stage at the back, but there was also a large open area in front of it for moshing, then tables and chairs all along the sides, and we walked through an aisle between some of the chairs to get closer to the stage.

I realized the music that was playing was a recording—a CD, maybe, but the song wasn’t familiar to me, so I wondered if it was a song of one of the bands playing. I felt Ethan’s hand on the small of my back, as though he were guiding me forward. It caused an electric charge to buzz up my spine, and I almost wanted to stop walking and press into him. He got closer to me and shouted so I could hear, “Do you like to mosh?”

I stopped walking as we neared the moshing area and turned to face him. “Depends. You?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

Yeah, well…suddenly, I wanted to go back to his truck and make out with him. No way was I gonna say that, though. “Can we kind of hang back for a bit and see how crazy it gets?” He nodded. “Either that or can we get close up so we can headbang without getting jostled all over?”

He smiled and repeated himself. “Whatever you want.”

The venue was filling up quickly, lots of bodies behind and around us, so I made a judgment call. His hand was no longer on my back, so I grabbed it and pulled him closer to the stage. It wasn’t as dark there because of all the lights spilling on the band and its equipment. One of the bands was already up there, doing mike tests and scales on their axes. When we first got there, Ethan gave me a look, something I couldn’t quite identify. His eyes were dark and stormy, but a small smile began to creep up on his face. Then he looked up on the stage to watch the band get ready to play.

Two gigantic monitors hung above the stage so people at the back of the room could still catch the action, but we’d decided we wanted our metal up close and personal. This particular band had five members—two guitarists, a singer, a drummer, and a female bassist (which I personally thought was badass). While women in metal weren’t unheard of, they were rare, so I celebrated inside at seeing her up there playing with the boys. The monitors were flashing ads for local businesses, upcoming concerts, and info about the two bands playing that evening, but I caught the words Name of My Killer on the bass drum that faced the audience.

Ethan shouted, loud enough so I could hear, “Someday soon I’ll be on a stage like that.”

“That would be awesome. I fantasize about stuff like that too.”

“Fantasize?” His brows furrowed. “I have a rock band. We just need to get our shit together.”

“You’re in a band?” Holy crap. I’d liked Ethan before, but that just made him an even more desirable commodity as far as I was concerned.

“Yeah. My band’s called Bullet.” His eyes scoured mine. “I never told you?”

I shook my head. “What do you play?”

“Guitar…but I do some of the vocals too.”

Don’t ask me where my sudden forwardness came from. “Wow…guitarists and vocalists are my favorites. You’re setting yourself up to be a girl magnet.” As soon as I’d said it, I felt the warmth and redness from blushing crawl up my neck to my cheeks. Good thing it was dark in there.

He didn’t seem embarrassed at all…or even shocked. Instead, he said, “You have class, Ms. Quinn.”

“As do you, Mr. Richards.” I giggled.

But then our smiles faded, and I would almost swear the volume of the music decreased too. He ran his hand over the side and then the back of my hair, resting his palm on the nape of my neck.

Oh…this was it, wasn’t it? Feeling his hand brush over my hair and the top of my ear had sent electric chills down my spine. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his, and I figured my gaze was dreamy, as though I were looking through rose-colored glasses, my head tilted, my lips slightly parted in an innocent yet desirous fashion. And as his head tilted toward mine, I felt my heartbeat increase, and I awaited the touch of his lips on mine.

It never happened, though, because the frontman of the band started talking, announcing their first song. Right after, one of the guitars screeched, and they began to play—a hard, driving, heavy yet melodic song. Ethan kept his eyes on me still, though, and smiled. He moved his hand over so that his arm was now draped over my shoulder, and then he turned to watch the band.

His arm didn’t stay there long, though, because we had some serious headbanging to do.

And that was okay, because we’d had a great moment, and I knew there would be more of them. The music, of course, would always take precedence.

* * *

When it was time to leave, we were exhausted and shouting at each other because we couldn’t hear a thing. The music had been so loud. It had been an awesome show, and I was so glad I’d gone with Ethan. “Thanks for inviting me,” I said on the way back to his truck.

“Yeah. No problem.” He unlocked the truck and opened the passenger door for me. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” He closed the door and walked to the other side. I felt some relief that he wasn’t—so far, anyway—talking about the second band, because—even though I was a little naïve and unworldly—I was pretty sure the guitarist for the second band was making eyes at me. He was pretty damned good looking, too, but my heart was set on Ethan. It had started before they even got onstage. He’d stood beside me for the last three songs Name of My Killer performed, getting a little too close, but that was okay because we were in a moshing area and that kind of thing is expected, especially with more people. He smiled at me more than once. Problem was, aside from not being Ethan, he had to be in his mid- to late twenties, and that was a little out of my comfort zone. At first, though, I just thought he was being friendly. But as soon as his band had set up onstage, he made sure to make eye contact with me before the house lights went down again. Yeah, the guy was hot. His arms were covered in tattoos, and he was pretty cut. He was a bit too extreme for me, but it worked on him. He had snake bite piercings that ordinarily I didn’t go for, but not only did it work for him, it made him even cuter. And his dark brown hair was longish, in his eyes until he’d flick his head to the side.

I didn’t even know the guy’s name. I only knew he was the guitarist of a kickass awesome local band named Last Five Seconds, and for some reason, the guy had taken a shine to me.

But…that didn’t matter. I was with Ethan, and he was the guy I wanted. “McDonald’s okay with you?”

Had to pay attention. “Yep. Sure. That’s great.”

The drive to the fast food restaurant only took a few minutes, and even though Ethan was playing the music loudly in his truck, my ears felt like they were getting a rest. When we got there, I was surprised at how empty the place was, although there were a couple of cars in the drive-through. When we got up to the counter, Ethan said, “I got yours.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have to. You already paid for my ticket.”

He scowled. “I want to.”

I sucked in a little breath. “Okay.” Didn’t want to argue with that and besides…if it helped him feel more comfortable getting closer to me, then I definitely didn’t want to stop him. So we ordered, and they made our food quickly. We found a booth next to a window and sat down. I took my jacket off and set it on the seat next to me. As Ethan unwrapped his burger, I asked, “The name Bullet’s awesome for a band, but are you sure it’s not already taken?”

He looked up at me, sandwich not quite to his lips, and said, “What do you mean?”

“Well…I mean…look. There are thousands of bands out there, lots of ‘em unsigned, right? And I was just thinking—you’ve got Bullet for My Valentine, right, and they’re really famous. Why didn’t they just use the name Bullet? Was it because it was already being used by somebody else?”

Ethan’s brows furrowed, and he almost looked angry, but then he said, “That would totally f*cking suck if someone already took that name. We tried all kinds of names and Bullet just fit, you know? And it encompasses the attitude we have—we’re lethal, deadly, but only in the right hands. We’re the ammo for your anger, your pain.” He took a sip of his Coke. “Goddammit. That’s gonna piss me off if it is already taken.”