Rock My Body

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A big band in a small town was an easy story to sell, and the fact that I was a fan of the band was a bonus. The paper provided me with two free tickets and a backstage tour.

"Thanks for the freebie, Sam! I didn't notice Conflicted was coming to town until it was too late, and the last tickets were ludicrously expensive."

Rebecca, my long-time bestie, was right by my side. I was thankful I had held onto a friend from college. We had been through a lot, and she still loved me despite it. You couldn't beat that.

"You're the music nut," I said. "I wouldn't deny you a live show." She was the type who said she liked all music and meant it. In fact, she was the only Black girl I knew who actually enjoyed country western music. To each their own, I supposed.

Conflicted had been big for years, but they still liked to play smaller venues here and there. Our town's downtown was tiny, yet it was still known for giving many successful acts their start. The Flophouse, as the bar was called, was where I'd spent many of my Friday nights over the years.

"Small bar like this, you get to see them up close and personal," Rebecca mused aloud as we walked toward the bar. "That’s gonna be great. I've had a low-key crush on Perry for years."

Justin, Perry, Shawn, and Adam were the guys in Conflicted. All twenty-somethings, all undeniably attractive to some degree. I've never been one to fawn over celebrities, though. They were unattainable beauties who would never want someone like me. After all, you'd never see Brad Pitt with a short and pudgy Black woman, usually in glasses because she can't be bothered to put in her contacts. Why should I entertain being with someone like Justin Jones beyond as a late-night fantasy?

As we approached the bar, the show was still being set up. Roadies bustled back and forth, hustling instruments and speakers onto the stage. Rebecca and I found a table close to the front row. We'd probably be deaf after the show, but that was okay. If we wanted up close and personal, we couldn't get much closer. My press credentials would also let me go backstage after the show and get a short interview with someone in the band. It didn't specify who, but someone. I had my preference, but I kept it to myself. Anyone would be fine, honestly.

Rebecca and I placed our orders, and she gave me a sideways glance.

"Water, huh? No booze, Sam?"

"Hey, I'm working. Getting toasted on the job is highly unprofessional," I shot back with a grin.

As more people gradually filled the bar, it finally looked like the show would get underway. The bar's MC walked up to the microphone and did his usual pumping-up of the crowd. Finally, he got to the main event: "Now introducing the hottest band to ever pass through this town, Conflicted!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the band took the stage. Adam Kirk was on the drums and a bit burly, but you had to be to hit things really fast for a living. Shawn Green, the bass player, had a solid, well-groomed look. He seemed steady and reliable, good qualities for a bassist. Guitarist Perry Knox was out next, and Rebecca hollered extra loudly for him. With a shaved head and plenty of tattoos, he definitely lived up to his reputation as a bad boy. But they saved the best for last. Justin Jones, the singer and, in my opinion, the hottest of the bunch, strode out.

The audience went wild; many people, particularly women, shared my opinion. As Justin took the stage, shaggy hair bobbing along with his strides, I was struck with a strange feeling. I'd seen him countless times in photographs and videos. I knew what he looked like, and in ludicrously high resolution. But seeing him with my own eyes and not through the filter of a camera was entirely different. Butterflies flit around in my stomach, and a fire was lit a bit lower than that.

Justin's bright eyes scanned the crowd as he approached the microphone. His undershirt showed off muscular arms, making me want to see even more. His tight black jeans didn't leave much to the imagination, but I imagined anyway, and the heat between my legs grew hotter by a few degrees.

"The Flophouse, huh?" Justin shouted, kicking into rockstar mode. "Are you guys ready to have some fun tonight?"

The building echoed with cheers, whistles, and claps. I was a latecomer, too stunned to react. I couldn't take my eyes, or my mind, off him.

"Then let's get this party started! Let's..."

Justin's eyes had fallen on me. Our gazes met. He went silent, and his face registered shock, if just slightly. I mirrored his expression, disbelieving that he could have felt the same thing I had. That couldn't happen...could it?

But Justin was a professional and managed to shake himself loose. "Sorry, bit of a brain fart there, ladies and gents," he said, laughing, and the crowd joined in. "Let's get started, huh? We know what you came here for! You want some...Sweet Things!"

Justin and his band went into their song, but I was left thinking about our shared moment. Or, it seemed like a shared moment...maybe I had a huge stain on my shirt, and that was what he had stared at. I looked down at my clothes to double-check. Nope. Nothing unusual.

"You okay there, Sam?" Rebecca asked, noticing how weird I was acting.

"Are any of us really okay?" I retorted, trying to dodge the question.

"You're being philosophical, so something's definitely up."

Yeah, something was up. And after the show, I would see what was up face to face. So much for an easy story.