Seeing Quinn should have surprised me even less since she was Paige’s best friend. Both Quinn and her boyfriend, Ryson, were actors, although neither of them were represented by my agency. Which was a damn shame, if you asked me, because they were both incredibly talented and we’d have been lucky to have them.
“I absolutely love Quinn and Ryson. They are the cutest couple ever, I swear. They better not ever break up. Ever.” Keri rattled off her opinion at warp speed, and I half smiled as I listened to her. “Are you listening to me? If you have any control over that relationship at all, you will never let it end.” She stomped her foot to emphasize her seriousness.
“How on earth would I have any control over their relationship? We don’t even represent them!” I tossed my hands up in the air and shook my head at her silliness.
“I’m just saying,” Keri huffed. “I think they’re my most favorite young Hollywood couple. I’m invested.”
“You’re insane is what you are,” I said with a snort.
“But I’m fun,” she shot back before sticking out her tongue.
After the warm-up band had finished and a brief intermission had passed, the house lights dimmed and the sound of deep drumbeats thumped, vibrating the floor and drawing excited shouts from the audience. Walker’s voice boomed through the sound system, testing the mic as the white curtain dropped to the floor and disappeared altogether. The screams were deafening as his silhouetted frame appeared to rise from the floor. I found myself shouting along with everyone else without meaning to. It was hard not to get caught up in the moment, especially when you were three rows from the stage.
Slow bass beats continued as Walker sauntered from one side of the stage to the other, the rotating spotlights hitting his tanned face every so often. When the music sped up, I recognized the tune and smiled. I thrust my fist in the air, rocking my head back and forth as he stripped off his long-sleeved jacket to reveal a sleeveless V-neck T-shirt, and a pair of well-toned, muscular arms. I screamed unabashedly along with the crowd as my gaze took in every sculpted muscle, and drank in every inked tattoo. Apparently I was more excited than I realized. He gripped the microphone with one hand, dancing to his own cadence while he sang the lyrics in his signature style.
The rest of the band remained below eye level in the stage design while Walker strutted around on an elevated platform, front and center. Usually lead singers were surrounded by a plethora of backup dancers and background vocalists, as well as several musicians. But Walker had none of those things. It was him, a microphone, and nothing else. There was pure beauty in the simplicity of the staging, and I realized I’d never seen an entertainer be more entertaining with so little before.
“Oh my God, Madison! How fucking hot is he?” Keri yelled while holding her cell phone in the air to record him.
I simply nodded in response and let a wide smile spread across my face. Was it possible that Walker sounded better live than he did on his albums? I started to think he did. Hell, I would have believed anything in this moment. Being this close to him in his element was beyond hot. He was charming, charismatic, and sexy as hell. The way he moved with a rhythm all his own was mesmerizing. I didn’t want to be charmed by him, but I was. It was like being back in junior high, a twelve-year-old girl again, smitten by every expression, every little gesture he made. My gaze followed him around the stage as he crooned into the microphone and cast meaningful glances at individuals in the crowd.
Walker sucked in a deep breath as the next song started, and he rapped as the entire arena sang along with him. I found myself drawn to the way he closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his body moving against the beat in his own rhythmic time. Not with it, necessarily. It was as if the music moved through him…within him…like every riff of the guitar, beat of the drum, and keystroke of the piano flowed beneath his skin in a way that only he could feel. He was affected by every sound that enveloped him; moved by it. And in turn, he moved me as well.
Girls screamed and he flashed a large smile, surely knowing how that single action would elicit more ear-piercing wails. His all-white jeans and sleeveless shirt cast an even brighter glow in the spotlight as he fell to his knees, clutching the microphone tightly and singing lyrics filled with so much longing and want, it appeared as though he felt every single note in the depths of his soul.
My breathing hitched as his eyes squeezed shut and he delivered the last two lines of the song, his head bowed forward, his chin nearly touching his chest.
If I hadn’t known all the crappy things about Walker, I would have thought he felt things with more intensity than other people, was a better human being. Watching him in these moments was like seeing him completely vulnerable—stripped down, raw, and completely exposed for everyone to dissect and pick apart. The emotions that radiated from him seemed so real, I was certain I could reach into the air and pull them into me.
“This is intense,” I whisper-shouted toward Keri, who still happened to be recording.
“He’s fucking amazing.” She looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “I’m shocked he’s this good,” she added and I silently agreed, my head still moving slowly with the beat.
• • •
Halfway through the show, Walker Rhodes did something I’d never seen any othe
r performer do before. A circular stage lowered from the ceiling and he walked out onto it, slowly and with purpose. He addressed the entire audience in a practiced way, talking to the crowd, mentioning girls and guys by their outfits, waving at and addressing every single fan holding a hand-drawn sign for him. The fans were overjoyed. By the time he got to the floor section where we were seated, I was ecstatic.
That had been one of the coolest things I’d ever seen an entertainer do. Watching him interact with his fans that way was both heartwarming and mind-blowing. I hated to admit I was impressed, but I was. My mind drifted as an elbow greeted one of my ribs.
“Ouch, Keri. Shit. What?” I tried to yell over the music that played in the background of Walker’s salutations.
“He’s staring at you,” she whisper-shouted against my ear.
“What? Who is?” I said absentmindedly before looking up toward the elevated platform. I hadn’t realized my gaze had shifted away from him, I had been so lost in my own thoughts. Walker Rhodes stood directly above me, speaking into his microphone about how he “sees the girl in the black shirt with the sparkles on her head.”
Instinctively, I touched my forehead and was met with the coolness of faceted crystals against my fingertips. I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. I stared back at Walker, but I didn’t smile, move, or even breathe as my heart pounded against my chest.
Then he smiled at me, and I swear part of my heart melted on the spot. I knew if I looked down at the floor, I’d see a small puddle of heart goo mocking me. For fear of looking down and having my suspicions confirmed, I simply stared into Walker’s hazel eyes. At least I thought they were hazel. It was hard to tell for sure in the stadium lighting.
“Yeah you, Sparkles,” he said as he pointed at me. Then he sang, “I’m looking at you. I’m talking to you. I see you,” in the same melody as the background music that played. “I see you.”
The Earth shifted in that moment; it must have. Because there was no other plausible explanation for why I lost my footing and almost fell straight to the floor. He broke eye contact with me and finished his endearing back-and-forth with the crowd, but my mind was reeling.
“What the fuck, Myers?” Keri shouted again, calling me by my last name.
I shrugged. It was all I could muster at the moment because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he said, “I see you.” It wasn’t creepy, like the way a stalker would say it, but it had the same intensity.