When The Living Room Sessions take the stage, my stomach is full of butterflies, and my heart is pounding like a wild animal in a cage. I focus in on one person, and one person only. Jax swaggers onto the stage with his guitar slung across his back.
Jax can say what he wants. He can call himself a musician. A guitar player. Whatever it is he calls himself which is anything besides a rock star.
Tonight he is a freaking rock star. He looks like a god standing on that stage. Celestial blue and purple lights wash over him, casting a deep night sky tinted hue across his black hair that falls so effortlessly across his forehead. A thin cloud of foggy mist drifts at his feet making him look like he’s just arrived from some kind of rock and roll heaven.
When he spots me standing just feet from the stage, he winks and blows me a kiss. I don’t even know how hard I blush, but I’m thankful for the darkness. I throw one back at him, wondering what the cat squad at the bar would be saying about that.
“CHICAGO,” Luke calls into the microphone, followed by the cheers of the audience. “It’s fucking good to be home. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done and blow the roof off this motherfucker tonight.”
They start to play and, holy shit, they’re incredible. I haven’t heard him play, like really play, in ten years. It’s hands down the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
The music is pounding and ear-splitting. It’s hard and intense, but so rich and thick with dark melodies that I’m completely mesmerized. The vocals shared between Luke and Jax are profound and poetic. I’m hypnotized.
Jax moves around the stage, his guitar thrusting forward with his hips. His black hair is falling across his forehead only to fly backward with one flip of his head over his shoulders. It makes me think of sex. The look on his face and the way he moves. It’s like he’s fucking everyone in the audience, seducing all of us who are lucky enough to be caught in his web.
Mid-show he takes off his white tank top, which is undoubtedly wet with sweat like his entire torso is. The fine sheen of it glistening under the purplish lighting makes every muscle on his body stand out. He keeps looking at me and smiling from the stage, filling my stomach with anxious butterflies, and the black lacy panties I have on with a warm wetness.
Towards the end of the hour-long set, Jax grabs the mic in front of him and winks at me. “My amazingly fucking beautiful girlfriend, Autumn is here tonight,” he calls out, pointing to me in the audience. I’m glad it’s dark because tingling red heat fills my cheeks once again. “I wrote this song for her about five years ago when she still hated my fucking guts—”
The crowd cheers and whistles.
“If you know it, sing along. It’s called, ‘Rocking Autumn.’”
*Rocking Autumn lyrics*
It has the same haunting, dark and melodic tone of the rest of their songs. But it’s softer somehow. Instead of screaming the lyrics, Luke sings them in a drawn out ethereal sounding murmur. Jax hammers away at his guitar and stares at me the entire time. I have to gulp down a breath of air.
In fact, he makes such a show of staring at me that I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me by the end of the song. Still, I can’t tear my eyes from the electric blue ones that hold me hostage from where he’s standing. When the song is over, he slings his guitar across his back and jumps off the side of the stage and stalks towards me.
Before I know it, one of his hands is clutching my ass closer to him, and the other is clinging to the side of my face. “I fucking love you, Autumn.” He grins before kissing me.
Around us, people are going crazy cheering us on. But I’m too lost to Jax to pay them any mind.
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