Catfish and the Bottlemen Imagines

Under My Skin - 4 - Bondy

"How bout a competition for best front-person?"

When I'd told Johnny how adorable I found Van and Cassie, we'd started one-upping each other with wild tour stories, trying to see who had the craziest lead singer. Between Cassie doing the splits and Van kicking a mic over the barrier, we'd both ended up in stitches.

I eyed him over the rim of my glass, grinning.

"Hmm, we'd need a good measure...most pints of sweat exuded? Most audience members concussed from falling from shoulders?"

Johnny laughed loudly, that earthy, deep laugh that filled my veins with delight.

"Ah, I've got it!" He smacked the table. "Most times the mic stand falls victim to a flailing body part!"

I snorted so hard into my beer that droplets of it blew into my lap and onto Johnny's. Between peals of laughter he swept the liquid from his jeans, then did the same to my skirt.

The sultry touch of his fingers sweeping across my thighs made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

"Perfect. Winner gets a year's supply of bananas!"

Johnny cackled and poked my shoulder with a forefinger, sending me reeling dramatically sideways. He caught me round the shoulders and made a show of setting me upright again, his arm still slung round me as he leaned back against the table.

I sipped smugly at my beer. Could have seen that coming a mile off, the old whoops-my-arm's-around-you-now technique. Artemis had a point, didn't she: men really were all alike.

But then I felt him graze my bare upper arm, a whisper-light touch as his fingertips traced a few small circles, then came to rest. It wasn't much, but it was all it took to send my head spinning into places I couldn't understand.

I glanced over at him shyly. He smiled gently, warming me from the insides.

Why did this guy mesmerize me so? One moment I felt like my typical flirtatious self, cultivating options for what could potentially be a very satisfying fuck.

Then his baby blue eyes would land on me, and I was done for, my body seizing into a nervous teenager with a crush the size of Chicago. Unsure how to even talk to him, worried I'd say something stupid that would put him off, or worse, let on that I was falling for him, and hard.

"You guys were class tonight, don't know if I told you. Like Swamp Ophelia out there," Johnny was saying.

I was shocked that he knew my favorite girl punk band.  "Wow, that's the highest compliment you could give me. You know their music, then?"

Johnny nodded. "Aye, saw them back in...what was it, 2016? Fucking class, so rhythmic and with those dirty riffs, loved it."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed you know them, most people don't. Well, most men don't." 

He just smiled and shrugged, and I found my courage returning. I dropped a hand to his thigh and squeezed.

"But I guess you're not most men, are you?"

For the first time that night, he seemed to hesitate, at a loss for words. A cloud passed behind his eyes, and he licked his lips, swallowing. I held his gaze. Finally the cloud cleared and he leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

"Y/N!! It's Rebel Girl, come on let's dance!"

Before he could speak Cassie appeared from nowhere, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. I'd been so caught up in Johnny's gaze I hadn't noticed one of my favorite punk anthems blasting through the speakers.