Johnny Scott.
Citizen’s lead singer would be on that very stage tonight—right in front of her. That voice that had growled the most beautiful words in her headphones would be coming from a place she could see and almost touch.
It wasn’t that she had a crush on world-famous Johnny Scott. No, that wasn’t quite it.
All the girls who’d come tonight were probably a little bit in love with Johnny. Who wouldn’t be? His lyrics haunted, his eyes spoke of complicated, untapped depths, his voice was pure seduction of the senses.
So yes, there was no denying he was an insanely gorgeous man. But Hope’s infatuation with him was purely about the music. Sometimes late at night, she popped in her headphones and closed her eyes really tight, letting Citizen’s lyrics spin entire worlds in her head, with Johnny’s voice as the conductor. It was well known that Johnny wrote all the songs himself and Hope could feel triumphs, disasters and honesty in every breath, every note. They were masterpieces—and she couldn’t wait to be in the presence of that genius tonight.
Hope swayed to the ballad being sung by the opening band’s female lead singer, surprised when they ended so soon and roadies dressed in black rushed out to change the equipment. The crowd swelled around Hope, carrying her forward as they pushed toward the stage, anticipating Citizen’s arrival. Energy snapped and crackled in the air, excitement fluttering in the pulse points at her wrists and neck. This was it.
When the lights went out and the crowd screamed, Hope registered vaguely that Wyatt wasn’t back yet with his beer, but oh God, then she couldn’t think at all, because the two-story screen hanging in the background of the stage flickered with white and red graffiti and the audience roared, smoke emerging from unseen sources as the band took the stage.
Four spotlights came on at once, highlighting the four members of Citizen—
And as Hope’s eyes landed on Johnny Scott for the first time, her body was attacked by a hot, full-body shiver.
“Oh my,” she whispered, the words swallowed up by the crowd’s deafening cheers.
On the screen of her computer or on the pages of magazines, Citizen’s lead singer was breathtaking. In person, he was…a god. He didn’t smile or acknowledge the crowd as he picked up his white electric guitar, slinging it around his neck, testing the pedal. Shadows highlighted his prominent cheekbones and furrowed brows. A lock of black hair fell into his eyes, but he flicked his head to shoo it away.
Hope wasn’t prepared for the sight of his hand, so huge and long-fingered as it tickled the strings of his guitar. She sucked in a breath when her nipples turned hard beneath the thin material of her dress, goosebumps breaking out on every inch of her skin.
What is happening to me?
Her reaction to Johnny Scott was unexpected to say the least.
She’d expected to be in awe.
But she’d never expected her thighs to become pliant. Or her stomach to dip and shudder so intensely, she had to press the heel of her hand there, which only made the strange sensation inside of her worse. This wasn’t hero worship. This was attraction in the basest sense. Was everyone around her feeling it, too?
It took an effort to tear her eyes from Johnny, but she did it in order to look around. No one seemed frozen to the spot like her. They were laughing and trying to guess which song Citizen would play first. Meanwhile, invisible hands ghosted over her body, coaxing parts of her to life that had never been touched by hands, save her own.
The first song took flight, pumping like a jet engine, Johnny’s voice melting in the air like butter on a pan, and Hope felt it go straight through her body. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, the subtle way he rocked side to side, eyes closed while he released velvet words into the microphone. All the while, Hope had never felt more exposed, more naked. More aware of her flesh, her breaths, her fingertips. They skimmed up the fronts of her thighs—
And Johnny Scott’s eyes popped open, landing squarely on Hope, almost as if she’d called his name out loud. As if he was confused. He stumbled over one of the lyrics and in the midst of the crowd’s curious murmurings, his sculpted, male hand fell away from the guitar strings, the song fading out into a discombobulated cluster of bad notes.
Hope’s breath rasped in her ears, her heart rapping against her ribcage.
Johnny stared back.
What is this? Am I dreaming?
Without moving her head to confirm, she could feel everyone nearby in the crowd turn to look at her, their speculation causing prickles to climb her spine. She couldn’t really blame them. The lead singer of the world’s most famous rock band had literally stopped mid-song to stare at her. Her. Hope Wilder. And maybe it was the insanity of the moment, but…she couldn’t tear her gaze from him either. Her heart fluttered and danced, insisting she get closer. Needing to get closer to the source of its excitement.