Page 35 of Hot Girl Summer

I glance at the time on the dashboard. “Now?”

He nods.

“It’s 10pm,” I say.

“I see no issue here. I promise not to order a bowl of corn flakes,” he smirks.

I smirk right back. “Breakfast cereal is a superior night time snack, everybody knows that.”

“I don’t disagree.”

My smile mirrors his.

“I need to go and grab my guitar first. You want to wait here?”

“And miss the epic finale? Not a chance.”

I wait in the wing, with a perfectly unobstructed view of the stage, while Danny collects his guitar from the dressing room.

“This last song is about the common fear of opening up to someone.” Monty says, addressing his audience for what I assume to be the final time. “Our basic human instinct is to protect ourselves. But when you find the right person, none of it matters. Because that person will open you up and find their way into your heart. The most important thing in the world is love. Human contact. Connection. Who would we be without it?”

For a moment, he seems to forget where he is. But he quickly snaps out of it. “So, on that note, please welcome back my good friend, Imani Brown.”

The crowd roars as Monty switches his guitar, and welcomes Imani, the lead singer of the first band, back to the stage. She has that kind of all-encompassing beauty, with dark, flawless skin, a megawatt smile and a powerful, yet serene, presence.

“I hope we can do this song justice for you guys,” Monty adds, before launching into the opening bars of James Bay and Julia Michaels’ Peer Pressure.

Their chemistry is off the scale electric, and they’re a match made in vocal heaven, rousing the atmosphere with heart-wrenching emotion. Watching them perform so intimately feels voyeuristic, but I’m completely captivated, and admittedly, a little jealous.

“Are you ready to go?” Danny says, approaching me from behind.

“Wait a minute, I think they’re almost finished.”

“I kind of wanted to sneak away.”

“Why?”

“Because he might steal you away, and then I won’t get my breakfast.”

I throw my head back and force a laugh. “I guarantee that’s not the case. Have you seen her? She’s a freaking goddess.”

“Have you seen you?” he rasps.

Judging by the awkward clearing of his throat, giving compliments isn’t in his repertoire, and in my mind, I’m not sure how to feel about receiving one, but the heat rushing through my body at lightning speed is a pretty solid indicator. Heart racing, I turn to face him.

“What has that got to do with anything? Are you jealous?”

“Maybe a little. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh yeah? What reputation is that?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest, a deliberate attempt to create space between us.

He leans closer, breaking through my boundaries. “Well, there’s my academic prowess, my unmatched confidence and great banter. Oh...and my sharp wit.”

“Not to mention your delightful modesty,” I say, with a smirk. “Anyway, how do you know he’s my type? He is, for the record.”

The song comes to a close, and Monty, Imani and the band join us in the wing, leaving the audience bathed in electric ambience and satisfaction from a spirited climax. Danny retreats, leaving me unsatisfied and unfulfilled from my anti-climax. He smiles at a sweat-drenched Monty, who clocks him as he sips a bottle of water.

“Danny, mate,” he says, offering himself for a bro-hug as the crowd chant, anxiously awaiting their encore.

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