Free My Heart's Blood (Hard Love & Dark Rock #1) by Ashley Grace

told you, you look super hot.  Girl, you owe me big time!"
    I felt the blush creeping up across my cheeks and the front of my neck—embarrassment, but excitement too.  I hadn't been imagining it.  Trace really had been looking at me.
    But then I looked up at the empty stage, the keyboard stand still lying on its side, the keyboard itself upside down.  The lights were still on bright, and that just made it look even emptier.
    "Well," I said, "even if he was checking me out—and I'm not saying that he was—but even if he was," I gestured up toward the empty stage, "I guess it's all over now."
    "Uh uh," Becca said.  "No way.  It is not over."  Her face grew hard, a determined look coming into her expression.  "Belletrists are coming back.  They still haven't played 'Sexcat,' which is my very favorite song.  And after all the googly eyes that Trace was giving you, he doesn't get to just disappear like a fucking cock-tease, even if he is the big-sexy-famous tortured artist."
    She crossed her arms in front of her chest, nodding her head as if she felt firm in her decision.
    "They're gonna get back up on that stage.  And after that, they're gonna take us with them for the after-party.  They have to."
    I shook my head.  "Becca, I've got to hand it to you: you're optimism is awe-inspiring.  But even though I think it'd be rad if the fantasy you're describing somehow became reality, I can't see any way it's going to happen.  I mean, the way they left the stage made it seem like they won't be back on it anytime soon."
    Her face went thoughtful, her eyebrows pinching down.  A moment later, the corner of her mouth quirked up in a mischievous grin, her eyes flashing.
    "Anne, look around and tell me what you see."
    I looked at the people standing near me.  People all around were chattering to each other, their voices fast and animated, the murmur of conversation filling the air.  The initial shock of the band's abrupt departure seemed to be wearing off, and an elated excitement was taking its place.
    "They look excited," I said cautiously.
    "They're more than excited.  They're turned on!  The Belletrists just got them all hot and bothered, and then ditched out, leaving them hanging.  The crowd's got a serious case of blue balls, and if they don't get to shoot their load, they're gonna flip out!"
    Suddenly Becca's eyes looked huge, and her smile even huger.
    "You're cooking up some crazy idea, aren't you?" I said.
    "Crazy like a mother-fucking fox !" she replied.  "Here, I'm gonna crouch down, and you climb up on my shoulders.  And then you gotta flash your tits to the crowd."
    "What?  No!"
    "C'mon, Anne!  This crowd is jonesing for action.  All we gotta do is channel that energy the right way, get them cheering, and maybe we can get the band to come back on stage for an encore."
    "First of all," I said, "there's no way you're going to be able to hold me.  I probably weigh like thirty pounds more than you do.  And secondly, how is showing my boobs supposed to help anything?  It's mostly a bunch of women in here, you know."
    "Anne, everybody likes tits!  Even uptight bitches like these."
    The passive-aggressive Amazon scowled over at us.
    "Well, maybe not everybody," Becca said.  She pursed her lips, thinking, and then smiled again.  "Here, I got another idea.  Come closer."
    Before I could reply, she'd grabbed hold of my shoulder with one hand, and the barrier with the other.  Using me as a brace, she got her feet on top of the barrier.  For a moment she crouched there like an awkward cat on a narrow fence, and then—with one hand digging into my shoulder—she raised up into a half crouch, her feet and legs wobbling like crazy.
    "Oh, crap." I said, trying to brace her legs.
    Becca looked back at the crowd behind us, her eyes wide and wild.  "YEAHHHH!" she screamed.  "YEAHHHH, BELLETRISTS!"
    A few voices in the crowd responded—mostly men, cheering and yelling.  The bouncer we'd met