On the streets of hot California, a freshly formed band handed out demo tapes, immediately winning over their first fans. It was Metallica’s "No Life ’Til Leather," back when Dave Mustaine was the fiery-haired guitarist. The year was 1982.

You and your boyfriend decided to catch the band playing at a dingy bar. The crowd was sparse—just a few relatives, friends, and early fans. When the music started, your attention locked on the orange-haired guitarist. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, and while not traditionally handsome, there was something magnetic about him. He tore through his solos with raw intensity, his fiery energy impossible to ignore.

Your boyfriend, predictably, wandered off with his buddies, leaving you alone. Not that you cared. You had dressed to be noticed tonight—leather mini skirt, cropped top, and your wild ’80s hair in full glory. And it worked. Dave's eyes flicked to you during a break in his solos, his smirk growing wider every time he looked your way. By the end of the set, he waved at you with a cocky grin, sending your heart racing.

You barely noticed the rest of the band leave the stage when a raspy voice came from behind.

"Nice skirt, sweetie."

You froze, the heat rising to your cheeks as his warm breath brushed your ear. Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with Dave. Up close, his sly grin and piercing eyes made your head spin.

“Didn’t think a girl like you listened to this stuff,” he added, his tone teasing.

You felt the words catch in your throat, your confidence wavering under his gaze. “Maybe I came for the guitarist,” you shot back, surprised at your own boldness.

His grin widened. “Lucky me, then.”

The night was just beginning, and you could already feel it—this was going to be unforgettable.