[18+] When Sienna's first major account at her dream PR job turns out to be a reformed metal band, she isn't thrilled, but she knows her boss is putting a lot of faith in her, and she wants to prove she can handle anything. But lead singer Devon, ta...
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I wished I wasn't so acutely aware of how differently I looked at Devon since that night by the pool. I mean, how could I not? From the way his shoulders would sway just slightly if he'd heard even the faintest tune, to the way he'd absentmindedly reach up and run his thumb down the faded silvery scar engraved in the tattoo in his neck when he was deep in thought. Everything he did seemed so calculated and intentional and yet so natural. This was just the way he was.
I knew things about him that maybe I wasn't supposed to know, but I couldn't unlearn it all now. It cast a different light on him - what was once a dark and angry red was now a deep, enticing blue, like the kind of ocean water you feel compelled to jump in from a cliff, and I felt the call of the void pull me closer and closer to the edge.
As if the universe was keyed into my every turbulent thought, the lights on stage quite literally changed to blue as Devon stood off-center where Evie normally stood, and he strummed along on her white bass guitar while she took her place in front of the microphone and crooned out her version of The Grey.
I did it to myself, tried to be someone else
I let it tear me down and I'll never be the same
Even though it was Evie singing now, I knew they were Devon's words (and I knew them all by now), and it was impossible not to hear him differently now, too. I wondered what really happened to him in that Upper East Side penthouse that galvanized all his angsty lyrics. I wondered how many more instruments he could play with such finesse and ease. I wondered what made him decide to turn away from it all.
The other problem with learning things you weren't really supposed to know was that the chase for information became addicting. I wanted to know more about him now than I ever did, and I wished I didn't. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but curiosity would give me and whatever this feeling was that horribly irritated my insides away, and honestly, I would rather it just kill me like the cat.
This was Devon McCall we were talking about here (it even felt wrong to call him by his real name) - attitude problem extraordinaire, the Prince of Darkness himself, and decidedly not someone who would return my curiosity anyway.
He was also, technically, my employer, however temporary that may be, and I reminded myself of that fact as I wiggled through the thin crowd to get close to the stage at the Iron Horse, camera in hand. Out of the three venues we'd been to so far, this one was the most intimate. It was a narrow room with a low stage, putting you up close and personal to the band. I could reach up and pinch the hem of his t-shirt between my fingers. If I wanted to, that is.
They finished another song to a smattering of applause, but most of the patrons were either back by the bar, or sitting up on the second story balcony that overlooked the small space that the stage and general standing admission occupied. Dim string lights were wrapped around the railings and hung from the ceiling, and they'd flicker as surges of music filled the air.
