“Oh my god there he is!”
I heard some random in the crowd behind me say a moment before the screaming and cheering almost drowned out the intro music. At the edge of the stage, a spotlight hovered, lighting him up as he kept his head down, fiddling with a cord.
He would be breathing deeply right about now, working on calming down. We’d tried meditating before he went on stage but as soon as that spotlight hit he was back on edge.
“Come on baby,” I murmured to myself as I watched his shoulders lift a couple of times, more deep breathing. “Nearly there.” I encouraged as he tilted his head from side to side.
I watched the change overtake him as I had so many times before. His body relaxed, hips loosening, a little smirk taking up residence on his face. Then all graceful swagger he walked out onto the stage like he owned it. The screams, the professions of love, rose to a crescendo as he took his place behind the microphone. Then his fingers danced, his guitar sang, and his voice joined in.
His head lifted and his eyes locked with mine and just like the first time I forgot to breath.
“Oh my god he’s looking at me!” A girl beside me screamed and I sucked in a breath, his spell broken. I grinned and shook my head as he lifted his brows at me then turned away, giving the crowd his back as a guitar solo sounded.
He took a drink from a bottle, stripped out of his jacket and strolled back with perfect timing to sing the end of the song.
I looked at him up there in the spotlight. So intense, so in control. I knew by the end of the night he would be winging it, high on the energy of the crowd, the love of the music, the thrill of it all. I loved watching him go from calm, cool rockstar to hot sweaty musician, loved watching him come undone. Because later? When the spotlights had been turned off and the crowds had gone home, I got to put him back together.