What If #justwriteit #fanfic

Chapter Two: Jesse

I've decided this isn't necessarily fanfic for a particular band. It could be any band, whichever one the reader loved or loves. Many of us harbored secret fantasies about meeting the band member of our desire and an instattraction was formed to the point where we'd ride off into the proverbial sunset. So, this is for that.

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Chapter Two: His Side

Fans are a funny bunch, they either throw themselves on you or play nonchalant while stalking you with their body language. It can be an unnerving situation to be on the receiving end of those affections. And quite overwhelming, especially when all of it happens at once, the way it did whenever we arrived anywhere. Sure, after awhile we got used to it but it still hurt on reentry.

I saw her huge almond eyes through the window the minute I stepped onto the sidewalk. The way they widened and then looked away made me think she wasn't like most of our groupies, there was something, I don't know, safe about her. Then again, maybe I was having 'ridiculous romantic notions" as Stephen liked to call them when I pointed out girls that I thought wouldn't be like the rest of 'them'. He figured them to be all alike and, on the most part, he was right. Hooking up with band members was to them what playing my bass was to me. Satisfying a passion. And stupid us, we inevitably fell into it. It was hard not to.

Stephen was engaged to an actress. She knew and understood the lifestyle the band had and it wasn't that she was okay with it but she loved Stephen enough to allow him his freedom but only when we were on tour. He was one of the lucky ones. Relationships during tours met untimely deaths due to suffocation. I chose to remain free. That way, the only one to really get hurt was me. I kept it simple, sex for sex. No strings, no chains, no heartache.

As to be expected, we spent quite a bit of time signing various body parts and taking photos. It was just another thing that made each city and day blur into the next. Each new stop, I had to write on my hand where we were. Tonight, we played the Motor City. Detroit. One of the warmest welcoming cities. These people loved their music.

The Joint, a bar at the hotel, was swarming. I needed to sit down, I was tired and really just wanted to be left alone. She was there, sitting alone while her friends joined the fray. Without the glare of the glass skewing my vision, it was hard not to notice how understatedly beautiful she was. Her curly hair was so black that it looked blue and those eyes, those were what sucked me in from outside.

I broke away from the crowd and ordered two beers, hoping she liked beer. She was so engrossed in her phone that she didn't notice when I approached her, even though there were quite a few sets of jealously blazing eyes watching me. And then tearing through her. Let them stare, maybe they'll see how ladies should behave instead of throwing themselves out there the way they do. Yes, I felt a bit ashamed thinking that way, it's our fans that made us who we are. Even though sometimes I don't like what I've become. I want to trust, I really do. I just find it hard to believe that any of these women could really love me for me, instead of what I am.

When her elbow made contact with my ribcage, it shocked me, "Hey, not nice!"

Those eyes, so impossibly green, looked me up and down before recognition registered and a blush swept prettily across her cheeks. Without a word, she awkwardly motioned for me to take a seat. I offered her a beer, which she accepted and then I sank into one of her friends seats.

"Hey there." I lifted my beer, toast-style, before pouring the cool liquid down my dry throat.

She cleared her throat a little, "Hey." Her eyes flitted over to the bar and I could only assume she was looking for her friends.