Her words made me feel like my chest was cracking open—it hurt, but in a good way. I’m so proud of you. God, had anyone ever said those words to me before? Before I could dwell on that too much, something about Kiera caught my attention. Pushing her slightly farther away from me, I raked my eyes down her shirt. She was wearing one of the original T-shirts Griffin had made for us, a solid black shirt bearing the full name of the band—Douchebags. She must have gotten hot out there in the crowd, she had the sleeves rolled up her arms, but the kicker, the part that had stolen my thoughts and knocked my focus completely on its ass, was the bottom of the shirt. It was tied into a knot high up her waist, exposing her stomach. And now all I could think about was undoing the knot, stripping the shirt off her, and running my tongue up her salty skin…

Peering up at the tease, I seductively told her, “I like your shirt.”

She flushed all over in that adorable way that I just couldn’t get enough of. I felt my blood surging in response. I couldn’t wait to get her home. Or go home with her. Wherever. It didn’t matter as long as we were alone. And we could be alone all night, since the D-Bags weren’t performing later, and Kiera had the night off from Pete’s. For the next several hours, she was mine and mine alone. As soon as we got out of here, of course.

Almost as soon as I thought that, I was bombarded by fans. Hands grabbed my arms, physically begging for my time. Since I owed the fans ten times over for all they’d given me, I tore my attention from Kiera and turned to face them. “Ladies…how’s it going?”

A busty brunette started fanning her face. “Oh my God, Kellan Kyle…I love you so much.” Her face flushed brighter than Kiera’s after she said that. “Can I have your autograph?” she squeaked.

“Sure thing,” I said with a smile. As I grabbed her pen and signed a Bumbershoot flyer, I asked the group, “Did everyone enjoy the show?”

There was a lot of tittering, followed by gushing praise that almost embarrassed me. Laughing at their passionate display, I signed more flyers and posed for photos. Then a girl in a tank top pulled down her shirt, exposing her ample cleavage. “Sign me here? Please, please, please!”