Jayce just released an acoustic version of Crossroads Rage. BRB, gracing my ears with musical ambrosia.

Posted by @AudioAiley 2 minutes ago I paused for a moment after hitting send. Was I fawning too much? No, I decided. It was a fact Jayce's acoustic solos were magical.

Slipping my headphones over my ears, not wanting the librarians to come over and shush me, I clicked to start the video of Jayce's live acoustic performance. With the video playing on the left side of my screen, I opened up a fresh Word document on the other and got to work.

I could never write my music reviews at home. My comfy, inviting bed was visible from the computer desk in my tiny apartment. I lacked the willpower to resist afternoon naps. The library was the one place I could concentrate to get work done.

My phone pinged. Glancing at it quickly, I saw a notification from CHATTR, the hottest new social network.

@PointShootNeil: Is there something I should know?

@AudioAiley: About what?

You've been posting about that Jayce guy an awful lot lately. Are there wedding bells in your future?

You know it's not like that. He's untouchable. An icon. A god. My love for him is a fangirl love. It's not real.

Just because he's a rock star doesn't mean he's untouchable.

You think I'm gonna hang backstage at his concerts and try to get his attention like a groupie? You know me better than that.

As much as he liked to tease me about my obsession with the guitarist of Feral Silence, Neil did know me better. We'd never met in person and had only exchanged messages online for six months, but it felt like I'd known him for years. I hoped he felt the same.

@PointShootNeil: Doesn't your boyfriend get jealous when you wax poetic about your fantasy husband?

@AudioAiley: You know I'm single. Thanks for rubbing it in.

I was active on a few social media sites and had a bit of a following in the music scene. When a user named PointShootNeil messaged, complimenting one of my album reviews, I'd been flattered. It was hard to be thorough as well as concise, but he seemed to enjoy my pithy commentary.

I'd checked out Neil's profile and learned he was into films and cinematography. We continued messaging back and forth, getting to know one another. I didn't know much about him aside from what he shared online.

We didn't even know what each other looked like. His avatar was a headshot, blurred and distorted. Mine was a full body shot, my face in shadow. Each of us guarded our private lives religiously, not wanting to open ourselves up to internet trolls. Despite that, I considered him a friend. Maybe it was because he didn't know me in real life I felt like I could open up to him.

Do you want to change that?

I blinked, re-reading the message. I scrolled back up. Realization dawned on me.

Are you asking me out?

Yes.

A smile crept onto my face. Neil and I shared the same blunt attitude. It was refreshing to find someone like that.

My phone buzzed with an email message. I was going to ignore it-this conversion was more important-until I saw who it was from.

Deena.Malik@darksoundstudios.com RE: job application, social media intern Stomach leaping into my throat, a small squeak escaped my mouth. I darted my eyes around, embarrassed, but no one on the third floor of the library noticed.

Hovering my thumb over the screen, I debated whether or not to open the email. This moment, this one moment, could change my life forever.

My heart thumped loudly in my chest, my pulse racing. I was getting dizzy. My lungs burned, having stopped breathing. Wishing I had a paper bag to blow into, I forced myself to wheeze in and out.

Squeezing my eyelids shut, I held my breath and tapped. There. It was done. Decision made.

I opened my eyes.

Dear Aimee Lee, Thank you for your interest in Dark Sound Studios. After reviewing your application, we are pleased to offer you the summer position of social media intern for...

I didn't get any further than that before squealing out loud, a continuous noise rising in pitch with every second. The sound only died down when I ran out of breath. I didn't even care if I was heard from several floors above and below-let them try to shush me.

After what felt like hundreds of internship applications, I'd finally done it. I'd spent days on my application, thinking over every sentence, every word. I wrote and re-wrote a sample social media plan more times than I could count. I debated which examples of my work to showcase in my portfolio for hours.

It had worked. I'd gotten the job. I silently thanked my CHATTR follower who'd sent me the link to the job post. I never would have thought to apply to Dark Sound Studios if I hadn't seen it. My phone buzzed again. A message popped up over the email.

...Did I come on too strong?

Neil. He was still waiting for my answer. He would have to wait a little while longer. This news had to be shared.

I got a summer internship!!

I restrained myself from using more than two exclamation marks.

Oh wow! Congrats!

Thanks!

So I guess this means you'll be busy all summer?

I bit my lip, debating. Neil had asked me out. I wanted to say yes, but this could be my big break into the music industry. It was the last summer before my senior year of college. I'd been planning on taking summer courses to graduate early if I hadn't gotten the internship. The job description said travel was required. I had no idea where I'd be for the next three or four months.

I like you, Neil. I'd like to give us a try. I really would. But I think I need to focus all my attention on this opportunity. For now.

I understand.

Maybe when summer's over we can get together and you can buy me a drink. See if there's any chemistry?

I'd like that.

I grinned and clutched my phone to my chest. An amazing social media job working with rock stars this summer and a chance to date the guy I'd been crushing on when it was over.

It looked like being an internet-addicted fangirl was starting to pay off.

OFFICIALLY, MY TITLE was Social Media Coordinator. Unofficially, I was the Internet Girl. I'd been hired to work at Dark Sound Studios, posting all the interesting things going on at the fledgling music label on various social media sites. They were just starting out, but one of their biggest acts, Feral Silence, was setting the music scene ablaze. Lead singer Kell, drummer Morris, bassist Ren, and lead guitarist and backup vocalist Jayce.

My fantasy husband.

Jayce wasn't the only reason I applied for the position. I was serious about getting my foot in the door, serious about making a name for myself in the industry. This opportunity was once in a lifetime.

But I couldn't lie. The fact that my idol was one of Dark Sound Studios' major acts definitely helped.

I doubted I would ever meet him. The band was busy working on their sophomore album. Rumor had it they were sequestered away for the summer to hammer it out. That was probably a good thing. I'd been lucky enough to see Feral Silence live more than a dozen times. One glimpse of Jayce on stage was always enough to send me into a fangirl tizzy for months. I didn't know how I'd react if I actually met him in person.

The email told me to show up for my first day at one of the medium-sized concert venues in the city. Dark Sound was throwing me right into it. I wondered if I'd get any training at all, or if I'd be expected to fend for myself.

I'd been to this concert venue many times before, usually to see acts I liked, but sometimes to see acts I'd never heard so I could review them online. That was how I'd discovered some of my favorite music.

It wasn't, however, how I'd heard of Feral Silence. It seemed like one day everyone on the internet was talking about them. I'd had to check them out for myself. One music video was all it took. I went out and bought a physical copy of their debut album immediately. I attended every concert I could. I followed their every move online.

I'd never seen Feral Silence at this venue, though. It was a two-story converted Victorian-style house. It was a novelty, walking straight up to the front door without waiting in line behind a hundred fans.

"Name?"

The intimidating security guard at the front door held a clipboard and wore a headset over one ear. He made me nervous even though I had every right to be there.

"Ailey. No, sorry, Aimee Lee. A-I-M-E-E," I spelled it out. They'd be using my real name on their list, not my online pseudonym.

"Sign here."

I scribbled my signature and received a staff badge in return. The beefy security guard moved aside so I could walk around him, but ignored me after that. Music blasted through the front doors the moment I opened them, a band no doubt practicing for a show that night.

I had no idea what I was doing, and there was no one to greet me. Was this some sort of test? I already knew my way around, so I walked through the front foyer, passed coat check, and took the side stairs down toward the pit.

There were two spots I might have been able to find a member of staff: either backstage or right in front of the stage. Hopefully I'd find someone who could introduce me to Deena Malik, the band's manager and my soon-to-be-boss.

The stage was closer, so I headed down. At least this way I could get a glimpse of whichever band was practicing. I couldn't think of any Dark Sound Studios' bands scheduled for a show that night. I'd done research on all their acts, from the newest and smallest to the most established and popular. Maybe I'd impress my new boss if I showed her I'd come prepared.

I opened another set of doors and came out on the ground floor, in the general admission standing area, right in front of the stage.

My heart stopped in my chest. If ever I was going to die from a heart attack, that moment was it.

The band on stage was Feral Silence.

Chapter Two.

The four-member band was lighting the stage on fire, playing a song I'd never heard before.

I was listening to a brand new Feral Silence song.

The lead singer, clad in ripped blue jeans and a black t-shirt with cartoon wolves on it, growled in the microphone. The shirt stretched tightly over his broad shoulders, but fell loosely over the rest of his sinewy frame. Curly, messy blond hair flopped over his handsome face, the strands falling just barely into his eyes, dark blue and glittering. His expressive face radiated a bevy of emotions, from anguished to furious to wistful, all within moments of each other. There was no audience, but Kell Pierce sang as if there was a crowd of thousands.

The tall bassist looked down at his feet as he played, long, stick-straight dark hair falling over both shoulders. His lean body was made even leaner by his perfectly tailored suit. The stark white of his collared shirt made his pale skin look tanned in comparison. His body jerked violently to the beat, skinny tie trying desperately to fly free of the silver tie clip holding it down. His high cheekbones and angular jaw would have been called pretty on a girl, but his furrowed eyebrows and thin lips transformed his face into an aggressive sort of elegance. Feminine was the last thing anyone would call Ren Sada, the bassist and all around musical prodigy of Feral Silence.

The drummer was mostly hidden behind his large drum set, but I could see thick eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he beat the drums, the motion fluid yet manic at the same time. His plain white t-shirt molded to his burly frame, the short sleeves showing off massively muscled upper arms. With his strong physique combined with a military-short hairstyle and square jaw, Morris Edwards seemed more suited to being a bouncer or MMA fighter instead of a drummer in a rock band.

Then there was the guitarist. Shirtless, abs on display, pants slung low on his hips, just barely showing off the waistband of his black boxers. His dark complexion went well with his ever-present black leather jacket, complete with ornamental silver zippers. Fingers caressed the strings of his white guitar, the instrument glinting in the harsh spotlights of the stage, throwing off an almost blinding sheen. He scanned the empty concert hall, his full lips tilted into a smirk as if he had a secret you were dying to know.

Jayce Evans, rock star god.

I had walked in on a rehearsal for Feral Silence.

The barest hint of stubble graced Jayce's strong jaw, lending him the air of a rebel, tough and wild. I watched, mesmerized, as deft fingers flew over strings, fervent and fierce, dark skin a contrast to the pure white guitar. His eyes wandered from one side of the venue to the other, as if enjoying the adoration of invisible fans.

Those fingers. Those hands. Those lips. I'd spent many a night dreaming about them. I couldn't help but wonder what those fingers would feel like on my skin, what sort of pleasures they could wring from me.

I didn't consider myself a hopeless groupie. I would never chase after a rock star, desperate to gain their attention-or more. There was something about Jayce, though. When he was on stage, he was much more than a musician, more than just a rock star. He had a brilliance to him, something that shone from within, something that captivated and enthralled all who saw him perform.

His eyes fell on me. That wandering gaze froze.

Jayce was looking at me. His warm brown eyes turned hot, blazing, sending sparks through my body. I had caught his attention somehow. My heart fluttered, my nerves catching on fire.

Smirking, Jayce ran his eyes all over my body. A slow, sweet throb pulsed through me, straight to my core. My thighs clenched unconsciously, my lips parting. I inhaled a shaky breath, unable to look away.

Then he flicked his eyes away and I was free.

I immediately whirled around and ran.

Out in the hallway, away from the band, away from Jayce, I leaned against a wall, catching my breath.

That man possessed way too much presence. It had been as if the rest of the world fell away, as if we were the only two people in the room. In the world. In the universe.

I was shaken. I'd attended so many of their concerts, but I'd never seen Feral Silence that close up before, almost touching the stage. I had been close enough to Jayce to see each individual hair on his stubbled chin.

Had he really been staring at me?

I had no idea how long I stood there. Long enough for the music to stop. I was lost in thought when the door leading to the pit swung open, making me jump.

Jayce appeared in the doorframe. His leather jacket was gone, having traded it for a tight white t-shirt.

My breath hitched.

The body sweat he'd worked up during rehearsal made the cotton fabric cling to every deliciously muscled ab. I had the sudden urge to lift up that shirt, reveal his toned stomach, and lick every inch of it.

Let's reiterate: I wasn't a groupie. I wasn't just taken with him because of his good looks.

Jayce Evans was a musical genius. The songs he composed were brilliant. His guitar solos were unparalleled. His stage presence was magnetic. He was destined to be the next rock star god. I just knew it.

But his unbelievable good looks didn't hurt.

"Who are you?" His voice was low, deep in his chest and almost rough.