luck for the night - rl.

4. hopelessly romantic- no, hopelessly horny- thoughts.

"Can I offer you these?" The dark-haired man next to me said, holding up a bouquet of red roses.

I blinked in surprise. "You just have those laying around?" I asked, hoping he could decipher the playful tone in my voice.

"It's just a thing we do, every show," he explained, his cheeks getting rosy, "we have them on stage, then we hand them out to the fans, at the end. And well, I figured you were our biggest fan tonight."

"Yeah, tough crowd," I looked around the room, nervously running my thumb around the rim of my beer bottle, "but honestly, you guys did not seem that fazed by it. You still gave so much energy, it was contagious."

"I just tried to focus on someone who looked like they were having a good time and sing just for them."

My gaze went back to the individual next to me, our eyes meeting. Something sparked in the darkness of his gaze.

"Oh, you mean me?"

"Who else! Have you seen this place?" He held up the roses in my direction.

I extended my hand to take them. "Well, then I kindly accept your offer. I'm Rylin, by the way."

His face softened, a smile appearing. "Remington."

He took a sip from his beer, and I took this moment to glance over at him. Up close he was different than on that stage. He seemed softer, calmer.

Dark eyeshadow surrounded his eyes, and his hair, despite being slicked back, was messy. It contrasted his face, which was all perfect angles and perfect arches. It was calming to lay your eyes on a face like his, where nothing seemed out of place.

And although he was terribly overdressed, compared to all the men in their suits, he had not changed between the gig and now. He was still dressed in just a skirt and a jacket, combat boots and socks to finish off the look. He seemed perfectly comfortable being the odd one out, leaning with his back against the bar.

As he finished his sip and lowered his face to look at me, a strand of black hair fell in front of his face. I raised my hand a centimetre, wanting to touch it, but immediately stopped myself. I had only been talking to him for a few minutes. Do you really want to come off that creepy, Ry?

I realised it was my turn to talk. The same panic rose in my chest as when Mel had left me here alone, and I was grabbing at straws trying to think of something to say. I too, took a sip of my beer to give myself some time to think.

"So, how did you get here," I asked after the coldness of the drink had passed through my throat, "playing for a room of uninterested, and quite frankly, uninteresting people?"

"I see you're not hot on business people either?" Remington grinned, his chin going down a bit. Now that he got closer, I could imagine him leaning over to kiss me. I pushed away my hopeless romantic– no, hopelessly horny– thoughts.

"But honestly, It's kind of an obligation. We're going to be touring Europe, and if it wasn't for this room full of people, we wouldn't have. They are the brain behind it, the designers, the marketers. And of course, the people who financed it all. This is nothing more than a thank you to them."

"They don't seem too thrilled with your gratitude though. I think most of them just came for the open bar."

Remington laughed, "you're probably right." After a short silence, he took another swig. "How did you get here, though, Rylin? Most names of the people here I've at least heard once or twice. But not you."

I looked down at the red roses in my hand. I was not used to people saying my name so casually in conversation. Most of the time it made me feel very uncomfortable, but this time, it made me feel heard, seen. Important.