Working tech for a bunch of local bands was arguably the easiest job you’d ever had.

Besides the fact that some of the shows were held outside. In the summer. In Florida.

It was easy work—plug in a few amps, move some drums around, and gaze longingly at either the lead singer or the guitarist.

Or, in one particular case, both—because they were the same guy.

It was terribly distracting from your work, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him; he’s played in a few bands in the area, so you’d seen him around, but had never worked as closely as you have been for the past few months.

The shows went smoothly, it usually took a few minutes to set up and then the band did their thing for the set before it was time to break it all down and pack up for the night. Recently, you’d been more distracted while you worked, this particular band member occupying most of your brain space as the nerves over asking him out twist and knot in your stomach.

This was his last summer in Florida; he was accepted into the drama program at Juilliard. There might not be many opportunities left to make a move. So, while the band packs up from the day’s show, you figure it’s now or never.