Eh...Friday, Thursday...whatever. I'm done proofing this chapter and suck at waiting. :)

Chapter 2

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god," Rosalie screams as Anthony lets go of her hand and reaches out to another crazed fan in the row behind us. "I touched him! He touched me! We touched!"

"I know! I hate you!" I scream back, my eyes glued to Anthony's tall form and broad shoulders as he moves down the aisle, trying to make contact with as many of the audience as possible. We had both thrust out arms when he came down from the stage during an instrumental interlude in one of his songs, but Rosalie was the lucky one of us whose hand he grabbed.

The first half of the concert is everything we imagined. Anthony looks impossibly sexy in black skinny jeans, a blood red tee shirt with strategic rips to show off his rock-hard muscles and bold tats, and wild sex hair that flops over his forehead and drips sweat down the sides of his scruffy jaw. The set list is a perfect balance of rage, lust, anguish, and tenderness. The other members of the band are on fire, and I'm stunned by each one of their performances.

"I could die perfectly happy right now," she says, loudly enough for me to hear over everything else.

"But then I'd be going to the fifth show alone." I tap my chin as if in deep thought. "Although, that would mean meeting the band by myself, so I'd have less competition when trying to get into Anthony's pants."

"As if he'd pick you over me," she sniffs. Her full lips form a pout. "I'm so pissed that Dad couldn't get VIP passes until the fifth show. Think of all those other girls he's meeting before me!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure his jizz supply will replenish in time to give it to you…or me."

The song ends, and we scream and clap wildly. The band takes their intermission, and Rosalie lowers herself into her seat. She gives me a serious look.

"What if he really does want one of us—and not the other?" She raises her manicured fingertips to her mouth and gasps. "Or both?"

"Hey, I'm up…and down…for it, if you are." I raise my eyebrows suggestively and kiss the air in her direction.

"Seriously, Bella. This could really be an issue. I don't think it's just a rumor that he's into all kinds of casual sex."

"Well, I'd be happy if he picks you. I'm excited just to see him up close and get his autograph."

"Hmm" is her reply.

We gush about the band during the rest of intermission, and the second half is even more amazing than the first. My throat is completely raw by the end of the concert, and there's ringing in my ears, but nothing can drag down my soaring spirits. Rosalie and I join a large group of girls clustering around the backstage exit in hopes of seeing our idols one more time.

After waiting almost two hours without any indication of the band's emergence, we agree to call it quits.

"Come on, Bella, let's get back to the hotel," Rosalie yawns. "We have plenty more chances, and there's always the backstage passes at the fifth show."

Our luck is even worse at the next concert—neither of us can reach Anthony's hand when he dashes by. At the third show, however, I strike gold.

We're fortunate enough to have scored front row seats to this one, and I swear Anthony looks right at us during the first half. When he makes his aisle run after intermission, he stops…and then dips me over his arm! My face is flaming red after he jogs away, shaking hands and winking at other fans. Rosalie is hyperventilating.

"You lucky bitch! Now I hate you!" she squeals, jumping up and down while holding my hands.

"Oh my god, I'm dreaming. Am I awake? Pinch me…no! Smell me. Do I smell like him?"

She brings her nose close to my arm and sniffs. "You've got man-smell on there, girl! He left his scent on you!"

I ride my contact high for the rest of the show. I'm dying to haunt the backstage exit, but Rose didn't much sleep the previous night and is grumpy. She whines and moans until I agree to head back to the hotel.

The next morning, we're on the road early to make the next concert, which is in Georgia. Rosalie's a little cool toward me, and I wonder if she's miffed that I got more contact with Anthony than she did. Whatever. If she wants to act like a spoiled princess, that's her problem.

Things are even more tense between us when Anthony again reaches out to me in my front row seat. He squeezes Rosalie's hand, too, as he passes by, but blows me a kiss over his shoulder before he heads back up on stage.

"Are you pissed me?" I ask on the way back to tonight's hotel.

"Of course not," she scoffs, rooting around in her bag for some gum.

"Then why are you acting like a frigid bitch?"

"God, Bella, excuse me for not being a ray of sunshine all the time. It's been a long week, and I'm fucking exhausted. I hope the weather's decent tomorrow. The beach is calling my name."

There is a three-day hiatus until the next concert in Florida, and we use the time to lie out on the sand and hit the night scene in Miami. Rosalie hooks up with a guy one night, and we both get plenty of offers, but I'm disenchanted with everyone I meet. I know it makes no sense to compare real people to a fantasy, yet every guy I talk to falls short of my romanticized ideal—E. Anthony Cullen.

By the end of the Miami concert, Rosalie seems to have gotten over whatever ailed her. She grabs my hand tightly as we wait in the VIP lounge to have a meet and greet with the band.

"Do you think I should slip him my number?" Rosalie asks, her eyes glued to the backstage entrance door.

"Why not? There's nothing to lose." For some reason, I'm completely calm now. I mean, on the inside, my guts are playing Twister, but the fanatical excitement isn't spewing out of me like usual.

Rosalie's surprised, too. "What's wrong with you, Bella? This is it—our dream come true! You act like you're standing in line at the grocery store."

I shrug. "I know. It's so weird. I am thrilled to be here, it's just…I dunno. Maybe I'm worried that meeting him in person will be a disappointment."

She looks at me like I'm a complete stranger. "Okay, you're scaring me a bit. You have been waiting for this moment for, like, your entire life. You know every piece of information—true and false—ever published about the guy." She narrows her eyes at me and then inhales deeply. "Did you smoke up in the bathroom or something?"

I chuckle. "Not this time."

The furrows in her brow deepen. "Maybe you should, then."

It's not a half-bad idea, but when the backstage doors open, everything is forgotten but the sight of the six band members sauntering into the lounge. Jake Black, the drummer, is first to appear. He's wearing tight dark clothes that show off every one of his many bulging muscles. His eyes scan the room and seem to give a personal greeting to each individual as he flashes a brilliant white smile. I feel a shiver of desire tingle down my spine.

The lead guitarist, Laurent Renault, follows Jake. His walk is so smooth and graceful that he seems to be gliding over carpet rather than stepping down on it. I adore the chocolaty smooth darkness of his skin and have the urge to bite down on it. He's known for his insanely fast riffs and wailing solos that leave me shuddering and breathless after they're over.

Next out is Seth Clearwater, who plays the keyboards/piano. At 17, he's the wunderkind of the group with a Bachelor's degree in Performance from Berklee College of Music in Boston. Off stage, he's always smiling and is known to go out of his way to cater to fans. While I think he's very handsome, he's the only band member I'm not sexually attracted to. I just want to bake him brownies or give him noogies or something.

Then comes Jasper Whitlock, master of those smooth, moving bass lines. If I was only allowed one word to describe him, it would be honey. Golden, flowing, dripping honey. That's the color of his thick flaxen hair, it's the sound his guitar pours over your ears to envelope them, it's his voice that enriches the musical line when he sings background vocals. It's also what he would find in abundance between every woman's legs should he choose to honor her with his presence there. But sadly, he's a taken man, and for that, I won't think twice. When my dad cheated on my mom, he left me with very strong opinions regarding fidelity.

The lone player of wind instruments, Tyler Crowley, is one cool cat. He steps through the door wearing black-as-night sunglasses, an untucked and half-unbuttoned light gray collared shirt under an open black corduroy vest, and slate-colored linen pants. He's the quintessential jazzman and rips sweet licks on his three saxes and two flutes that rival those of "Bird" and "Trane." On its own, a well-played saxophone can move my soul with passionate force. Under Tyler's masterful fingers, the feeling I get is nothing less than orgasmic.

There is a collective intake of breath in the lounge as twenty-two eager women and two enthusiastic men (the six tolerant males who were dragged along by their significant others barely glance up from their electronic devices) prepare themselves for the final band member to appear. It is whom everyone was waiting for, even if he isn't that individual's favorite of the group. That's because E. Anthony Cullen is larger than life, a megastar, a personality that captures the attention of an entire room the minute he arrives.

Even though I appear freakishly calm, my heart flies in anticipation of his entrance. So it's no surprise that, along with the other VIP ticketholders, I let out an audible groan when the door opens and a statuesque blond woman walks out instead of him. She's punching away at a phone in her hand and muttering something that I assume is intended for the Bluetooth earpiece she's wearing. Even without the badge to identify her, I easily recognize her as Irina Denali, the band's head manager. The gossip rags label her a bitch, but I have a strong feeling she's just really good at her job and doesn't take any shit from the myriad of people who surely try to give it to her.

Right on the hem of her dress, so close that he slips through the door as it closes behind her without needing to touch it, is a young man I can't identify. He's tall, but the way he walks—with his shoulders hunched and his eyes focused on his feet—makes him seem so much shorter. His clothes are much too large for his frame, which is impossible to gauge under the inches of extra fabric. I forget about him almost immediately.

Finally, the moment arrives, and Anthony bursts through the door. Really, he only pushes it open like everyone else, but it seems like an explosion occurs in the room. There are squeals—Rosalie makes one of the shrillest—and the volume of excited chatter increases as he dazzles us with a smile, smacks his bandmates on the back, and takes a seat at his table.

"Listen up, ladies and gentlemen," Irina calls out in a commanding voice.

We all quiet at once.

"You will get a chance to meet each member of Hidden Summit. One autograph and one photo are allowed per ticketholder. We have headshots available for autographs, or you may use something brought with you. Have your cameras ready to go, and if you wish, one of our assistants can take a shot of you and the member."

"I'd like to take a shot with Anthony's member," Rosalie snickers.

"Unfortunately, there is not time for conversation other than a quick greeting. Our schedule allows for an hour, and we will be moving those along who try to linger."

"That gives me two minutes with him. I can get him off in that amount of time." Rosalie is cackling manically under her breath.

I just roll my eyes.

We're near the back of the line, and I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. We may have to rush to meet everyone if the session runs close to the deadline. On the other hand, Irina might relax a bit if there are only a few of us to go and plenty of time left.

The queue moves along at a good pace, and soon, Rosalie is flirting with Jake. I don't know why she's bothering given how he's practically married to that bartender chick (he might be for all we know). Nevertheless, my girl's got her charm turned up to full power. Jake puts his arm around her for the picture, and after the flash, she plants a kiss on his cheek. It's obvious that he's very used to this sort of thing; he simply smiles and nods his head at her.

It's my turn with Jake, so I push my magazine photo forward for him to sign. It's not one of the glossy official album cover shots, though. The picture accompanied an article in Rolling Stone magazine and is a casual photo of the band during a jam session at Jasper's house. Everyone seems to be their PJs, and they all look so carefree and, well, normal.

Jake raises an eyebrow at the picture. "Of the many things I've signed, this pic has never been one. Good choice, though."

"Thanks."

"What's your name?"

After I give it to him, he scrawls "Much love to a beautiful Bella" and signs his name. I stand beside him for my photo and then look ahead toward Laurent. Rosalie is sitting in his lap for her photo as he whispers something in her ear. She giggles, kisses him full on the lips, and then hops off. He watches her depart with obvious desire in his eyes.

"Rose is a lot of fun," I say when I pass over the photo for him to sign. I know she'll appreciate any and all efforts I make on her behalf.

"I'm sure." His voice is smooth silk with a slight erotic French accent woven in. I can't help but stare at his dark plum lips as they move. "She is your friend, oui?"

"Yeah, college roommates. We just graduated, actually, and are following you guys on tour this summer."

"Oh?" The gleam in his eyes brightens. "Maybe she would like to go to a club later? You must come, too." He glances down to scribble under his image in the photo.

"That sounds like fun," I reply nonchalantly, even though I'm shrieking on the inside.

"It will be." He beckons for me to stand beside him. After an assistant takes our picture, Laurent points toward the backstage entrance. "There is a door to the parking lot from in there. I will meet you outside when I am finished."

"Sure, thanks," I say, barely keeping it together. He smirks at me as I move toward Seth's table.

Rosalie is already with Jasper, so Seth is waiting for me, a patient grin on his boyish features.

"Hey, Stalker Girl Number Two."

"What?" I ask, my mouth gaping open.

"You and your friend—I've seen you at all the concerts so far. I really liked that shimmery green top you were wearing last time."

I can't believe this kid is making me blush, but there it is. "Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

He shrugs. "Nah, but it's good enough. I just like to look around during concerts. It gets boring otherwise." He glances at the photo dangling forgotten from my fingers. "Want me to sign that?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I'm Bella." I thrust it forward, and his face lights up when he examines it.

"This was such a great time! We were really feeling it that day." He does his duty to the photo and then pats his lap. "I saw Stalker Girl Number One sitting on Laurent. Wanna make my day?"

I laugh at his playful expression. "If that's all it takes, then of course." I lower myself across his long legs and smile toward the girl who's taking our picture.

"So I'll see you in two days?" Seth asks as I'm standing up again.

"Actually, you might see us sooner. Laurent invited Rose and me out with him." I pause and study him for a moment. "Um, I'm assuming they'll let you in, even though…"

"Though I'm ridiculously underage?" he finishes for me. "Of course. I'm not a big drinker anyway, not that they would care if I was. Gotta love the power of fame."

"I'll take your word for it," I say over my shoulder on my way to Jasper. "Hope to see you later, Seth."

"Later, SG2," Seth replies cheerfully even as he's reaching for the next picture to sign.

Like Seth, Jasper waits for me to arrive. He smiles, but the dark circles under his eyes and sagging shoulders belie his welcoming attitude.

"You look you just pulled an all-nighter during which you were single-handedly defeating a zombie invasion."

He blinks at me. "Are you saying I look like shit?"

"Uh…" Even at his worst, he'd still be more gorgeous than the majority of guys on the planet. But compared to every other photo or video of him I'd ever seen, he does, indeed, look like shit.

Jasper rubs his eyes and then stretches out his hand for the photo I'm holding. "My baby girl isn't the best at sleeping through the night. She's got a set of lungs on her." He chicken-scratches some jagged lines across the picture and then yawns. "'Scuse me," he mumbles through the hand that covers his mouth.

I get a quick picture with him and hurry away. Poor guy looks like he's going to keel over any second. Reason number one hundred twenty-four why it'll be a long time before I have kids of my own, if ever.

Rosalie is laughing with Tyler, so I lean against a pillar and wait. They seem to be hitting it off pretty well, and I wonder if Laurent's going to have some competition. I think Tyler's a bit too laid-back for anything long-term with her, though. Not that there's much chance of anything serious happening with any of the band members, but it's always nice to dream. Jake's bartender chick did, and it seems to be working out well for her.

Anthony's table isn't free yet, so I grab Rosalie's wrist when she steps away from Tyler.

"Guess what? Laurent wants us to go out with him tonight!" I whisper excitedly in her ear.

She stares at me. "You're shitting me. There's no way…are you fucking serious?" Her voice creeps up in volume.

"Shh!" I hiss. "He seems really interested in you. I'm just along as the pity invite."

"Holy fuck. This is unreal. I don't even know what to do..." Her dark blue eyes are wide and unseeing.

I pinch her arm, hard. "Right now, you're going to get your shit together and sex up Anthony!" I give her a little nudge toward his table. "Go do your thing."

"Okay, right. My thing." She rubs absently at the red spot I put on her skin and then takes a deep breath. "Here I go."

I squeeze her hand and walk over to stand in front of Tyler, who's doing something on his phone.

"One sec, babe, okay?"

"Sure," I reply and glance off to the side to give him a little privacy.

A minute later, the phone goes in his pocket. "So, Sweetness, is that really your name, or do you go by another?" He uncaps a Sharpie and pulls my band photo in front of him.

"It's Bella," I chuckle.

"Get out! That's even better!" He seems really pleased by my revelation and sketches something by my name. "I would draw a rose, but that's the name of the other young lady who seems to be your friend. So instead, I give you a beautiful swan for a beautiful woman."

It's my turn to be tickled. "You're never going to believe me when I tell you that "Swan" is my actual last name."

He shakes his head. "You're right, I don't believe it."

I whip out my driver's license from my clutch purse and show it to him.

He laughs loudly in amazement. "I'm quitting the band to become a fortune teller!"

I'm still giggling when I leave Tyler and step toward Anthony's table. But as I watch Rosalie walk away from him with a dreamy look on her face, it hits me. I'm about to meet and talk to the man of my dreams, the one I've lusted over for years, the person who has touched my soul like no other. My earlier calm is nowhere to be found. Almost shaking from excitement, terror, and lust, I move closer to the place where one E. Anthony Cullen is waiting for me with a sexy smirk on his face.

*kiss kiss* Love you all!