Tell Me

“Enjoy the show,” he said and pecked her on the lips.

The stage was dark when Gabe climbed behind his drum kit and Owen started the low bass line of the first song.

Melanie had forgotten how loud rock concerts could be. When the rest of the band entered the song, she forced herself not to cover her ears with both hands. Standing in the wings of the stage to watch the concert was a privilege—she didn’t want to look like an inconsiderate idiot.

Beside her, Madison was gazing at Adam in worshipful awe. The man could play a guitar, but somehow Melanie doubted that was what had his woman in danger of spontaneous combustion. On her opposite side stood Dawn, who wasn’t reacting to the music the way an average spectator would. She seemed to be concentrating on every note, as if dissecting the songs into pieces and mentally reconstructing the arrangement. Melanie couldn’t tell if the classical composer was impressed or underwhelmed by the metal band’s compositions, but she looked interested. Not only in the music, but also in the stage antics of Kellen and Owen, who fed off each other constantly.

Melanie shifted so she could better see Gabe. It was no wonder she hadn’t recognized him as the drummer of the band the first time she’d met him. His drum kit was a behemoth of an instrument. She occasionally glimpsed the blur of his hand or a smidge of crimson red mohawk, but he was mostly invisible from this angle. His sound, however, dominated the stadium. Instead of watching the show as everyone else was doing, Melanie became determined to see more of Gabe. She got a strange thrill of excitement every time an inch of him graced her view.

After the first song ended in a flurry of wailing guitars and rapid drum beats, Gabe shifted to reach for a bottle of water sitting near the edge of his drum set. Excitement raced through Melanie’s body. It really was him back there pounding away on the skins. He chugged from the bottle and when he set it back down, he caught her watching him. He grinned and beckoned her closer with two fingers.

Melanie glanced at the main stage uncertainly. The band was waiting for Shade to stop talking to the audience so they could begin the next song. What could Gabe possibly want with her at that particular moment? Her curiosity got the better of her and she carefully made her way around the stage wing, avoiding equipment and wires on her way to the small open area just behind Gabe’s left elbow.

“What?” she whispered loudly.

“I just wanted you closer,” he said. He pulled something out of his pocket and stretched out his closed fist in her direction. A bit leery, she extended her open palm in his direction and he dropped two small rubbery things in her hand. She stared down at the bright yellow things in wonder.

“Are these for my ni**les?” she asked, flushing at the thought of trying out one of his inventions here on stage. It was true that no one would probably see her back here, but she wasn’t sure if she was bold enough to give them a try in public.

Gabe snorted with laughter. “They’re earplugs, baby. To protect your hearing.”

Melanie’s face flamed. “Oh.”

And before she could thank him, he tapped an upbeat tempo on a cymbal and continued with a rapid progression around his drum kit, both feet stomping the pedals of two bass drums. Melanie crammed the earplugs in her ears and watched him work, astonished by his skill and speed. Though it no longer hurt her ears, she could still hear the music of the entire band, and she could see the audience beyond the stage, but as far as she was concerned, she was privy to an amazing drum solo played just for her.

Gabe was completely entrenched in his music. His face was a mask of deliberation and something that bordered on rapture. She’d seen that look on his face before. He wore it in the moments he was focused on giving her pleasure, just before he lost himself to his own bliss and let go of concentration in favor of instinct. She was pretty sure she was not supposed to get sexually aroused while watching a man thump a punishing rhythm on a set of drums, but apparently her libido had gone into drummer-groupie mode. Her attention focused on the flex of his biceps, the drops of sweat that trickled down his neck, the expansion of his chest as he drew air into his laboring lungs, and the nod of his head as he lost himself in the cadence. For the first time in Melanie’s life, she understood why so many women lusted after musicians. She was certainly lusting after hers.

When the song ended, Gabe wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his T-shirt.

Slightly winded, he smiled at her. She grinned like a fool, only with determination keeping herself from launching onto his lap. He was working, and it would be very bad form to interrupt him in the middle of his job. It was hard to believe he got paid—and paid well—to do something he so obviously loved. She wished she could say the same thing about her accounting job. It paid the bills and she was good at it, but it didn’t make her lose herself. She’d never had that absorbed, rapturous look on her face when she was at work. Not unless she was in the bathroom interacting with Gabe on her phone.

Did he realize how lucky he was to do what he did for a living? But then Gabe was the type of guy who would immerse himself in anything he loved. She imagined he had that same look of enraptured concentration on his face when he was tinkering with his inventions. She wondered what other activities inspired that look.

The band played song after song. Melanie was sure everyone was having a great time, but she was too preoccupied with a certain skilled drummer to notice. When Gabe stood and saluted the crowd from behind his drum kit and then hopped down from the riser, Melanie was surprised that the concert was already over. She’d have been content to stand in her little corner of the stage watching him play forever. On his way past her, Gabe gave her a brief, very hot, very sweaty hug, and then trotted to the front of the stage to take his bows and toss his beaten-up drumsticks into the audience.

Realizing her time to fixate on Gabe while he performed was over, Melanie removed her earplugs and edged her way back to where Madison and Dawn were waiting for the band’s two guitarists to leave the stage.

“You couldn’t see much from back there, could you?” Madison asked.

Melanie grinned. “I saw everything I wanted to see.”

“They’re quite good,” Dawn yelled. “Once the ears become accustomed to the volume.” She touched a finger to her ear and winced. “My hearing will never be the same.”

“Well, Beethoven was deaf and it didn’t stop him from composing,” Melanie teased.

Dawn frowned. “I’m not sure I would want to go on living if I lost music. I can’t imagine what that was like for such a brilliant composer.”