Page 15 of Don't Think

I was a wreck because Amber Lillard—theonegirl I had a silent crush on all throughout secondary school—was in the front row.

And here I am, ten years later doing the same bloody thing. History has a sick sense of humor.

Maybe if I tripagain, people will think it’s part of the set.

I glance over at Gareth, who’s giving me a raised brow and a look that saysYou good?

I shrug, brushing it off like I didn’t just completely embarrass myself in front of a hundred people—and one redhead I apparently can’t stop thinking about.

We close out the soundcheck with one last song, and I’m so antsy it feels like it drags on forever. It was probably only thirty minutes total, but it felt like a full set.

“So,” I say into the mic with one brow raised. “You guys wanna hang out until the doors open?”

When the crowd responds with loud whoops, we take that as a yes and head toward the stage stairs. As soon as we step off, we’re thrown into a sea of fans. They circle around us like sharks, but thankfully, they’re respectful enough to keep a little distance.

I hang toward the back, just like with any other social event. It makes more sense to let the others dive in since I’ve always been the shy one in the group. Put me on stage with a guitar in my hands, and I’m fine. Better than fine—I’mme. But in moments like this, with small talk, expectations and everybody suddenly standing way too close, I start looking for exits.

But then I see her again, and a flutter in my chest kicks into overdrive the second her eyes flick from her friend to me. It’s subtle, but I don’t miss it. And suddenly, I’m barely hearing whatever someone in front of me is saying because every part of me is tuned intoher.

The urge to just say fuck it and walk right over to her is strong enough to make my legs restless. If it weren’t for the fact that it would put a target on my back, and that it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else, I would. So instead, I stand here, one hand folded over the other, and wait as patiently as I can.

“Hey, man! When did you learn to play like that?” a guy with shaggy, black hair and shredded, yellow Converse asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Exits. Exits. Exits.

I nervously scratch the back of my head. “I, uh, started when I was about thirteen,” I reply sheepishly. “Didn’t start singing until I was about sixteen though.”

“That’s so cool!” He beams, then nods toward the stage. “Is that the same guitar you started out with?”

I nod, offering him a tight-lipped smile, waiting for him to tell me I should drop it and get somethingcooler.

“Sure is. Started with it, and I plan to end with it,” I finally answer.

His smile grows. “That’s awesome! I have the same one at home and was worried about it not lasting.”

I stammer, and my smile quickly matches his. “Yeah, no need to worry about that. The Ibanez is a great beginner guitar, so it’ll last you. Just be kind to her.” I pat him gently on the shoulder before continuing to move through the line.

We stop every few feet, talking with so many people that my head spins. Some just want to chat while others want a photo with us.

That’s the part that feels the most surreal. People want pictures. Withus.

What started out as Gareth, James, and me needing something to do after school somehow snowballed from jamming in my garage, to adding more members into the mix, playing local pubs, and eventually taking a chance to play a festival in America. And now? Now we’re signed and about to go on tour. As. A.Headliner.

I still wake up and have to pinch myself before I realize this is real and actually happening.

We make our way down the line, and then, out of nowhere, the smell of roses hits me full force. It crashes into me like the best fucking freight train I could ask for. There are no more nervous jitters, no more fears of failing, just pure ecstasy carrying me like I’m on a cloud.

Then, I’m finally standing in front of her. My smile widens while my brain tries to process a normal thing to say.

“Hit anyone with your trolley lately?”

My eyes widen, and my smile drops, already feeling the familiar burn creeping across my cheeks.

That’s the first thing that came to mind? Really? Not even a decenthello?

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest while I stand there, frozen like a statue, wishing I could rewind the last five seconds.

Her blue eyes sparkle before she looks down and lets out a scoff—or maybe it was a laugh? Then her eyes meet mine, and she quickly licks her lips, biting back her growing smile.