Page 84 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
Ugh, forJosh’sface. I want to see his irritating, gorgeous face.
I find him in the middle of the crowd. That’s where he’s hung out the last two shows, by himself and fine with it, all his attention on the stage. On me.
This time it’s different. He’s talking to another guy, and as I sing, a guy on his other side hits him in the arm and shows him something on his phone that makes Josh laugh. He’s here with friends. And the more I watch, the more guys I see interacting with him, or with each other, but in a way that begins to reveal the size of their group.
It takes less than a minute for me to identify them as fraternity brothers. Not because they’re in matching sweatshirts or anything; you just spend enough time around these guys in college and you get a feel for the vibe.
Josh packed the club with his fraternity brothers. At a minimum, the manager will be happy with their liquor sales.
I stomp across the stage in time to the beat and hit another power pose as we transition to the bridge of the song, and the crowd goes wild. Thewholecrowd. We draw a pretty even mix of genders, but thanks to Josh, it’s a more guy-heavy crowd than usual tonight. And theystilllose it, jumping, fist-pumping, hands in the air, rocking out.
I would sing every song to Josh tonight if they weren’t all about how much you can’t count on men. But tonight, he’s the opposite of everything that went into those songs. So I don’t singtohim, but I do sing for him. My energy amps, the crowd’s rises to match it, and we race each other to the end of the song in a mad frenzy. The final chords of Jules’s guitar meet a roar from the audience.
It’s awesome. So awesome. It’s swooping-down-the-long-slope-of-the-roller-coaster adrenaline. It’s UT-winning-the-bowl-game-with-ten-seconds-left-to-avoid-overtime dopamine. It’s kissing-Josh-in-his-kitchen euphoria.
Whether these guys were coached or bribed or whether they’re sincerely into it, it doesn’t matter. It fires up the whole crowd, the whole band, and it’s exactly the show I’d hoped we’d deliver on such a high-stakes night.
We finish our set with the song that’s been adding thousands of new streams every day, “Walk Away,” and the crowd goes crazy. The energy is insane. We rush off the stage and straight into high fives and back slaps backstage. Carlos from Night View is there, grinning.
“Hey, we came in to catch your show. You killed it.”
“Thanks, man,” Jules says, and they do a bro hug.
“Mighty-mite here gives it everything,” Luther says.
“But so do you guys,” I protest. Honestly, I can barely pay attention to the conversation because I’m already on the lookout for Josh, waiting for him to make his backstage appearance. I don’t see him yet, but it’s a more crowded show than usual, so there are more musicians milling around.
I turn my attention back to my band. Or try to. “You guys are so tight. You sounded amazing. And I’m going to tell you all that a million more times, but right this second, I need to go see Josh and thank him for packing the crowd. We cool?”
Luther waves me toward the floor, and Jules smiles. “Go ahead.”
As soon as I step out of the hall, I’m in the crowd. Music pulses from the PA while Night View’s crew sets up. The edges of the crowd are easy to thread through. I feel the brush of hands reaching for me and what sounds like compliments, barely audible over the blaring music, but I don’t stop.
I press farther into the crowd, and it’s getting harder to navigate. It’s not the first time I’ve wished for six more inches of height, but I keep going, more hands thrusting my way for high fives and knuckle bumps, more shouted compliments.
I’m getting toward the center and finding the outer ring of the fraternity nucleus. When I reach one clean-cut guy, I take a gamble. “Excuse me,” I shout. “You here with Josh?”
He looks at me and his face brightens. “It’s you. Did it work?”
I must have misheard him because his question makes no sense. I point to my ear and shake my head. “Josh?” I call again.
He grins and points farther into the crowd. I press on, my chest buzzing, my palms itchy, anxious to find Josh and hoping the bro-dude behind me pointed me the right way.
I tug on sleeves and shirts of everyone in my way, shouting, “Josh?” and follow their pointing fingers. I make it another ten feet when one guy I ask rests his hand on my arm and leans down to make sure I can hear him.
“You’re looking for Josh?” he asks near my ear.
I nod.
“You happy or mad?” He’s enormous, built like he played on the offensive line for the Longhorns, but his expression is curious, a slight smile on his lips.
“Not sure, but I’m definitely going to kiss his face off,” I yell back.
He grins, turns around, and gestures for me to hop on for a piggyback.
It’s undignified how often short girls get this offer. But at the moment, it’s exactly what I need, and I take it, immediately able to see over the sea of heads. I spot Josh and wave, but he doesn’t see me, so I point my escort in the right direction and he begins weaving us through the crowd.
“Lady Mantha, you rocked,” someone yells, and I grin and wave but don’t take my eyes off the prize.
