The concert venue is electric, pulsing with flashing lights and the deafening roar of the crowd. You’re near the barricade with JJ, swaying to the music, fully immersed in the energy. The band is insane—every note, every lyric, every beat pounding straight through your chest. But it’s the drummer who has everyone’s attention. Rafe Cameron. He’s in his element, head down, muscles flexing with every strike of the drumsticks. You try not to look, but it’s impossible. He’s too… effortless.

You barely register when the lead singer speaks.

“Alright, you guys know what time it is! Every show, our boy Rafe picks one lucky fan to sit with him for a song!”

The crowd erupts in screams. Your stomach sinks.

Wait—what?

Your confusion turns to sheer panic when a spotlight sweeps the front rows… and lands on you.

JJ starts freaking out beside you, shaking your shoulders. You’re shaking for a whole different reason. You barely have time to process before security is guiding you up, heart pounding as you climb on stage.

Rafe is grinning when you reach him. Up close, he’s unfairly attractive, sweat-damp hair falling over his forehead, blue eyes flickering with amusement.

“You good?” His voice is low enough for only you to hear.

You nod, but it’s a lie.

Then—oh God—his hands are on your waist, steadying you as you awkwardly settle onto his lap, the warmth of his body making it so much worse.

“Relax,” he chuckles, twirling his drumsticks. “Just hold on.”

Easier said than done.

The music starts, vibrations rolling through you. He plays like he was born for this, all skill and power, arms brushing against you every time he moves. You feel the amused glances he sneaks at you between beats, see the knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

You don’t even realize you’re gripping onto his forearm until he leans down, lips close to your ear.

“Having fun?”

You want to die. But the worst part? A tiny, traitorous part of you kind of is.