“Oh my God, Madison! How fucking hot is he?” Keri yelled while holding her cell phone in the air to record him.
I simply nodded in response and let a wide smile spread across my face. Was it possible that Walker sounded better live than he did on his albums? I started to think he did. Hell, I would have believed anything in this moment. Being this close to him in his element was beyond hot. He was charming, charismatic, and sexy as hell. The way he moved with a rhythm all his own was mesmerizing. I didn’t want to be charmed by him, but I was. It was like being back in junior high, a twelve-year-old girl again, smitten by every expression, every little gesture he made. My gaze followed him around the stage as he crooned into the microphone and cast meaningful glances at individuals in the crowd.
Walker sucked in a deep breath as the next song started, and he rapped as the entire arena sang along with him. I found myself drawn to the way he closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his body moving against the beat in his own rhythmic time. Not with it, necessarily. It was as if the music moved through him…within him…like every riff of the guitar, beat of the drum, and keystroke of the piano flowed beneath his skin in a way that only he could feel. He was affected by every sound that enveloped him; moved by it. And in turn, he moved me as well.
Girls screamed and he flashed a large smile, surely knowing how that single action would elicit more ear-piercing wails. His all-white jeans and sleeveless shirt cast an even brighter glow in the spotlight as he fell to his knees, clutching the microphone tightly and singing lyrics filled with so much longing and want, it appeared as though he felt every single note in the depths of his soul.
My breathing hitched as his eyes squeezed shut and he delivered the last two lines of the song, his head bowed forward, his chin nearly touching his chest.
If I hadn’t known all the crappy things about Walker, I would have thought he felt things with more intensity than other people, was a better human being. Watching him in these moments was like seeing him completely vulnerable—stripped down, raw, and completely exposed for everyone to dissect and pick apart. The emotions that radiated from him seemed so real, I was certain I could reach into the air and pull them into me.
“This is intense,” I whisper-shouted toward Keri, who still happened to be recording.
“He’s fucking amazing.” She looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “I’m shocked he’s this good,” she added and I silently agreed, my head still moving slowly with the beat.
• • •
Halfway through the show, Walker Rhodes did something I’d never seen any other performer do before. A circular stage lowered from the ceiling and he walked out onto it, slowly and with purpose. He addressed the entire audience in a practiced way, talking to the crowd, mentioning girls and guys by their outfits, waving at and addressing every single fan holding a hand-drawn sign for him. The fans were overjoyed. By the time he got to the floor section where we were seated, I was ecstatic.
That had been one of the coolest things I’d ever seen an entertainer do. Watching him interact with his fans that way was both heartwarming and mind-blowing. I hated to admit I was impressed, but I was. My mind drifted as an elbow greeted one of my ribs.
“Ouch, Keri. Shit. What?” I tried to yell over the music that played in the background of Walker’s salutations.
“He’s staring at you,” she whisper-shouted against my ear.
“What? Who is?” I said absentmindedly before looking up toward the elevated platform. I hadn’t realized my gaze had shifted away from him, I had been so lost in my own thoughts. Walker Rhodes stood directly above me, speaking into his microphone about how he “sees the girl in the black shirt with the sparkles on her head.”
Instinctively, I touched my forehead and was met with the coolness of faceted crystals against my fingertips. I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. I stared back at Walker, but I didn’t smile, move, or even breathe as my heart pounded against my chest.
Then he smiled at me, and I swear part of my heart melted on the spot. I knew if I looked down at the floor, I’d see a small puddle of heart goo mocking me. For fear of looking down and having my suspicions confirmed, I simply stared into Walker’s hazel eyes. At least I thought they were hazel. It was hard to tell for sure in the stadium lighting.
“Yeah you, Sparkles,” he said as he pointed at me. Then he sang, “I’m looking at you. I’m talking to you. I see you,” in the same melody as the background music that played. “I see you.”
The Earth shifted in that moment; it must have. Because there was no other plausible explanation for why I lost my footing and almost fell straight to the floor. He broke eye contact with me and finished his endearing back-and-forth with the crowd, but my mind was reeling.
“What the fuck, Myers?” Keri shouted again, calling me by my last name.
I shrugged. It was all I could muster at the moment because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he said, “I see you.” It wasn’t creepy, like the way a stalker would say it, but it had the same intensity.
Wait.
Not stalker intensity. It was simply intense. I shared an intense personal moment with one of the world’s biggest music gods right now. As much as I wanted to hate everything about it, I reveled in the moment. So what if I worked for a talent agency and saw celebrities every day. This was completely and utterly different.
A tap on my shoulder interrupted my reverie and I turned in that direction, only to be faced with a twenty-something-year-old girl wearing next to nothing. “Do you know him?” she asked, her clearly collagen-plumped lips puckered like she just ate something sour.
“What?” I yelled at her over the screaming surrounding us. Taking in her tiny, barely clothed frame and the ridiculous amount of makeup painted on her face, I stopped myself from rolling my eyes.
“Do you know him? Why was he talking to you? Why does he keep staring at you?” The girl’s voice was irritated and bitchy. Clearly, she hadn’t dressed this way to not be noticed by Walker.
“I don’t know him, sorry,” I answered politely before turning away from her.
Still rattled by my interaction with Walker, I found myself wondering why he had focused so much of his attention on me. Breaking myself out of my own head, I glanced back toward the stage, my eyes searching for him.
Walker sat on one of the stage steps, his chin in his hand as he spoke to the screaming crowd. “I need a volunteer for this next part.” His head raised slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Keri jumped up and down like a crazy person, waving her arms and screaming his name. I laughed at her antics and sat perfectly still, not wanting to bring any more unwanted attention to myself.
Another tap on my shoulder caused my irritation to bubble as I turned to what was sure to be that annoying overly made-up stupid girl again.
It wasn’t. I came face-to-face with a giant of a man wearing all black and holding a walkie-talkie. Intimidated, I took a half step back and looked around for Keri.
“Come with me.” His tone implied a demand, not a request, and I suddenly wondered what I’d done wrong.
Who the hell was this guy? He’s not the boss of me. He’s not going to tell me to come with him and think I’ll just obey. I frowned and said quickly, “Uh. No, thanks.”
He flashed his VIP backstage pass in my face as if it were the only credential he needed. “Miss. It’s part of the show. Can you come with me, please? You’ll be onstage with Mr. Rhodes.”