Apollo (Contemporary Mythos Book 2)

A rock concert. It’d been decades since I went to one. Making my way to the bedroom, I did my usual shimmy past an abandoned easel in the corner near the doorway. A dusty canvas with a half-done painting of a rising sun in the sky stared at me, chastising me for not finishing it. Throughout my life, the need to express myself artistically was a never-ending itch. I tried it all—painting, music, writing, all of it. Nothing ever seemed enough. Dancing was the closest to complete satisfaction, but still not enough to feed the greedy muse swelling inside me.

There were thirty plus shirts in my closet, but none of them stood out. The black and white Metallica shirt begged me to wear it in defiance, but I didn’t want to be that guy.

Apollo. Greek myth.

Pushing a violin with snapped strings out of the way, I found the abysmal part of my closet and slipped the Hades shirt from its hanger—the Disney version. I could imagine Kate’s eye roll already when she saw it.

It was rare when my hair got a chance to be down in its golden wavy glory. If it wasn’t in a bun for dance, it was in a high ponytail for work. I took the opportunity to accentuate the waves and told myself it was for me. It was certainly not for some cocky rock star. The mascara, charcoal eye shadow, liner, and lip gloss was also for me.

When Kate arrived downstairs, I grabbed my cropped leather jacket and met her at the curb. She stuck her body halfway out the driver’s side window, cupped her hands over her mouth, and yelled, “Are you ready to rock?”

Several people passing by on the street scrunched their faces at her. I couldn’t help but laugh.

She slapped her hands on the car roof. “Look at you. Wow. So, you do intend to flirt your pretty ass off with a rock star, huh?”

I rolled my eyes and got in the car. “I’m going for you. I never get to dress in anything but leotards, tights, and an apron. Give me a break.”

“Suit yourself.” She pulled herself back in with a huff. “But if you change your mind, the drummer’s all mine.”

Kate’s hair was in two French braids on each side of her head. She wore a red Apollo’s Suns shirt, jeans, and minimal make-up per her usual. They always had to tell her to put more blush and lipstick on for performances.

She started up the car and glared at my shirt. “You’re wearing a Hades shirt to an Apollo concert?”

“Funny, right?”

Her eyes shifted. “If you say so. Let’s do this.”

She took off and pressed a button on the console. Apollo’s Suns music blasted over the speakers, and Kate sang at the top of her lungs. How had I not known she liked this band so much?

We left early enough to avoid traffic. Kate wanted time to shop for souvenirs, and as soon as we parked, she leaped from the car, forgetting to turn it off. I leaned over the gear shift and grabbed the keys from the ignition. After locking the door, I ran to catch up with her.

She stood in front of a souvenir hut with a dozen different over-priced shirts and tank tops pinned to the backboard with price tags in gaudy text. There were coffee mugs, stickers, license plate frames—all with the band’s famous sun logo. She bounced on her heels, waiting for her turn. There were just as many men in attendance as women, not unlike any other rock concert I’d been to when I was younger. At least that hadn’t changed.

A group of girls walked past giggling. They all wore shirts with Ace’s face plastered across their chests. They couldn’t have been more than eighteen, possibly younger.

“If he looks at me, I swear to God I’ll die. Legit. Die,” one of the girls squealed.

Kate grabbed my jacket. “We’re up next.”

“I don’t want anything. Knock yourself out.”

She yanked me in front of her. “Pick one. My treat.” She jostled my shoulder and grinned so brightly I’d have felt like an ass refusing her.

“You’re too kind,” I attempted to say with enthusiasm. “Excuse me, do you have anything that doesn’t say the actual words Apollo’s Suns?”

A worker pointed at the corner of the display. “Only thing is that women’s tank top.”

It was spaghetti-strapped, white, and had only a golden version of their sun logo. Perfect. “I’ll take that one. Small, please.”

“You should put it on, Laur.” She slipped the handle of her gift bag over her wrist and handed me mine.

I looked in the bag and then stuffed it in my jacket pocket. “I’ll wear it to sleep or something.”

“Testing 1, 2,” echoed over the external speakers from onstage.

Kate’s hand beat at my shoulder with the speed of a hummingbird. “They’re doing mic check. Let’s get to our seats.”

“Why are you never this excited for ballet?”

She pulled me by the hand. “The severe lack of hot guy eye candy may or may not have something to do with it.”

“You’re disgusting,” I teased.

She gave our tickets to the attendant.

“Front row seats and backstage passes. You two are in for a treat,” the attendant said, handing us both a piece of plastic dangling from a lanyard.

Kate slipped one over my neck, and I held mine up. The words “Backstage Fan” stared back at me in bold black text.

“Right this way, ladies.” The attendant motioned with his hand for us to follow.

He escorted us to our seats, which were not only front row but right in the center. For whatever reason, my heart rate increased. I hadn’t been to a concert since high school, and the seats had been so far away from the stage the band looked like ants. Here, we were so close there was a legitimate chance of getting rock star sweat on our faces. Several roadies were on stage, plugging in guitars, playing random chords, and adjusting the amps.

“This is nuts, isn’t it?” Kate asked with a grin that hadn’t left her face since we arrived.

Highway to Hell by AC/DC lightly played in the background as row after row filled up with fans.

“It’s certainly something.”

She grabbed my arm with a gasp. “I totally forgot about your nachos. I’ll be right back.” She shoved past me.

“Kate, I was kid—” She’d already made it out to the aisle. “—ing.”

I hugged my jacket around me and flopped into my seat. The rhythm of the bass drum as one roadie tested it timed in beat with my thumping heart.

Why was I so nervous?

The lights dimmed, and I sat up straight. Kate wasn’t back yet. Fog flowed over the stage, and the audience went wild. Whistles, whoops, hollers, and screams flooded my ears. Everyone around me stood, but I remained in my seat, slouching down as far as possible. The drummer appeared first, starting a steady rhythm that reminded me of wrestling entrance music. The crowd’s rowdiness increased.

Where was Kate? She was going to kill me—stupid nachos.

The lead guitarist walked on stage next. He had black hair down to his hips, wore a black t-shirt with a Punisher skull, and a baggy pair of shorts. He stuck his tongue out and raised his fists in two rock symbols. The crowd answered him by throwing their fists in the air. I wanted to curl the jacket over my head.

The bassist did a front flip onto the stage, with the bass guitar strapped to his chest. He had spiky short brown hair and enough charcoal around his eyes to put Jack Sparrow to shame. The drummer picked up speed, his arms flailing from one side to the other. A sun appeared on the farthest left jumbo screen behind the stage and transitioned to the middle one. The crowd screamed so loudly, I winced.

Ace appeared in the middle of the stage within a burst of flames. With his guitar strapped to his back, he kept his head held low. A retro unidirectional microphone on a stand rose from the floor. He wrapped a tanned hand around it. The drums stopped, and the lights went out.

I gripped my armrests, not being able to see my hand in front of my face. A shimmery orange bow and arrow floated on stage. The arrow pulled back and shot into the audience before exploding in a spray of orange glitter. I held my hand out, expecting it to collect in my hand, but it disappeared as if it never existed. The lights blared back on, making me squint.

Ace lifted his head and threw a fist up. “How are we doing tonight, Buffalo?”

Why did he have to be so disgustingly attractive?

He had pale blonde hair that fell just past his collar bone, bright blue eyes, and an insanely strong clean-shaven jawline. He wore golden skintight pants and a golden vest, giving a clear view of his upper half—tanned. Muscular. Cut.

He smiled. The stage lights glinted off his pearly white teeth. And then his gaze dropped—to me.

I shifted my eyes.

He kept his electric grin but narrowed his eyes as if taken aback at my lack of enthusiasm. Not to mention I was in the first row.

“The line was insane. Oh my—how much did I miss?” Kate scooted past several people and, thankfully—blocked my view of the staring rock star.

“Not much. Ace appeared in a burst of flames after shooting a glittery bow and arrow into the audience,” I said monotone.

She shoved the nachos in my face. The smell of liquid cheese and jalapeños wafted through the air.

“He did what? Oh, man.” She pouted but quickly recovered when Ace started to sing.

I remained seated, eating enough nachos to appease Kate before shoving the remainder under my chair.

Ace swung the guitar from his back to his front, sliding his left hand down the neck of it like caressing a thigh. It was white pearlescent with chrome accents and the fretboard, underneath the strings, had glowing orange suns. He dragged a hand through his semi-long hair before moving in front of the mic and strumming his guitar as he sang. His eyes never left the audience, moving from one person to the next.

He sang about being born from the sun and something about sharing the warmth. It should’ve come as no surprise the lyrics were as if he thought he truly was a god.

Kate grabbed my arm and hoisted me up. “At least pretend like you’re having a good time.”

Ace swung the guitar to his back and removed the mic from the stand. He started at the end of the stage farthest from us, holding his hand out for anyone who wanted the privilege of touching his clammy fingers. Kate leaned forward, her chin barely above the stage. She waved her arms, stretching her fingers as far as they’d go while I folded my arms.

When he got to us, he brushed Kate’s fingers, and I thought she’d pass out on the spot. He continued to sing, squinting at me again as he passed.

He keeps looking at me. Move along, rock star.

He moved back to the stand, repositioning the mic on it. He took his guitar off, resting it on the floor, and stepped to the edge of the stage.

Kate had the hand he touched in the air like she was a prepping surgeon.

“Please tell me you intend on washing that hand again,” I yelled over the music.

She shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

Ace pumped his leg in beat with the drum, biting down on his lower lip. He grabbed both sides of his vest and raised his brows.

Women in the crowd yelled with such high-pitched shrills it could shatter glass. One woman next to us shouted, “Take it off!”

Ace slid one side of the vest over his shoulder, followed by the other, and let it slide down his forearms until it was in his hand. He swung it around several times before throwing it into the audience. One woman caught it, but another near her latched on, and a catfight ensued.

My God. Was I even on planet Earth anymore?

He stood in all his bronzed skin, shirtless glory, the lights casting the perfect shadows over every piece of taut muscle. Scooping the guitar, he threw the strap over his head. Without missing a beat, he played the interlude.

My head started to nod. I couldn’t help it. The song had a nice beat, and the rhythm always took control of my soul. The nod turned into a full-on head bob.

Ace walked in front of us and dropped to his knees. He held the guitar vertical, and his fingers flew feverishly over the strings. His muscles twitched and flexed, and veins popped out over his forearms.

I gulped.

“Oh my, God!” Kate squealed, jumping up and down and clamping her hands over her mouth.

The concert went on for another hour, and the audience persuaded them to play not only one but two encores. Something told me Ace had no issue with it. He didn’t even seem out of breath. He made eye contact with me five more times throughout the performance and did his shirtless guitar playing in front of us another three times.

No exaggeration. I counted.

Once they said their goodbyes and the clapping and screaming died down, they walked off stage, and a security guard appeared in front of us.

“You two ready?” He asked.

“For what?” I asked back.

He cocked a bushy eyebrow. “You have backstage passes.”

“Don’t mind her.” Kate shoved me to the aisle. “We’re so ready.”

My heart rate increased the closer we got to the stairs leading backstage. Sweat soaked the back of my neck, and I wanted to turn away, but Kate had me trapped in her damn arm curl. Ace stood in the distance, chatting it up and laughing with the bassist. A female fan with a bosom twice the size of her head bounced in front of them. She handed Ace a sharpie. Without batting an eyelash, he signed her cleavage. He was still very shirtless.

“These are the two backstage pass winners, guys,” the security guard said, holding his hand out for us to approach them. He motioned for the buxom woman. She frowned, and he led her off stage.

I dug my heels into the ground, but Kate pulled me right along. For such a tiny woman, she had the strength of a rhino.

Ace glanced at Kate but concentrated on me, flashing one of his trademark grins. “Ah, the two beauties from the front row.”

I looked at the rafters, the ground, the roadie bent over and showing his butt crack, anywhere but at him.

Kate giggled, draping a hand over her mouth. “You all put on an amazing show. And those pyrotechnics? They looked so real.”

“We have an amazing crew,” Ace replied.

Kate gasped. “Oh my God, the drummer. I’ll be right back, Laurel.” She ran off.

The little traitor.

The bassist looked between us and then snapped his fingers. “I’m going to go—over here,” he mumbled before walking away.

“Your name is Laurel?” Ace asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that name?” I finally found the will to look at him but tried not to stare at his nipples.

He smirked, and his pecs bounced. “Not at all. Did you enjoy the show?”

His physique was something I’d have fallen for in the past, letting the carved to perfection muscles and bronze skin cloud my judgment. No amount of gym time could mask the arrogance.

“It was alright,” I lied.

He laughed, and his damn pecs danced again. “I saw your head bobbing. You were into it.”

“Music is music.” I turned my head away, focusing on Kate flirting with the drummer.

Hurry up, Sprite.

He dropped his face near mine. “Why can’t you look at me?”

“You’re standing here half-naked.”

He dragged his hands over his chest and abs.

My stomach flipped. Ace knew he was attractive and had no problem exploiting it. Red flag number what—three?

“Does this bother you?” He asked.

I pressed my lips together, unsure of a proper response.

“Wait. Are you a lesbian? Not that there’s anything—”

“No. I’m not a lesbian. You’re so full of yourself.” I crossed my arms in a huff.

He put one hand on his hip and pointed at me with the other. “And you’re snooty.”

My jaw dropped. “Why? Because I didn’t drop my pants at first sight of you?”

“Amongst other things.” He rubbed his hand over his chin, eyeing me like one would eye up pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

“Not used to having your ego bruised, are you?” I asked half-smiling.

He chuckled. “You think you’re bruising my ego?” His golden hair fell in a perfect frame over his face.

“Definitely.” I pulled my shoulders back.

He pointed at my shirt. “What’s the cartoon supposed to be?”

“Hades.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Real cute.”

“I thought so.”

Our battle of wits bordered on amusing—we were dipping into treacherous territory.

Kate, my unsung hero, appeared beside me. “They’re saying we have to go,” she groaned.

“Have to go already?” He leaned forward. “Such a shame.” Sarcasm laced his tone.

Was it horrible I felt the urge to stick my tongue out at him?

I lifted my chin in the air and grabbed the crook of Kate’s elbow. “Come on, Kate. It’s getting stuffy in here.” I glared at him over my shoulder.

She whined. “But I don’t want to go.”

“Would ice cream help?”

She perked up. “Soft serve?”

“Is there any other kind?”

Her pace quickened, and I stopped at the stairs to risk a look back. Ace stood in the same spot we’d left him, rubbing his smooth chin. He stared at the ground before catching my gaze. He made a ‘shoo’ gesture with his hands. It took every ounce of my willpower to not throw one of the nearby stage lights at him. Not that I could throw it that far anyway. I blew air out of my nostrils like a bull and scrambled down the stairs.

“So, you and Ace were alone.” Kate nudged me in the rib.

“I don’t like him. He doesn’t like me. So, stop whatever fantasy is rolling around in that crazy brain of yours pronto.”

Her grin widened into a maniacal one.

“Why do you have that look on your face?” I leaned away.

“Because all the best romances start that way.” She raised on the balls of her feet and skipped toward the parking lot.