The rest of the show was all about him. At least for me. He played, staying in my line of sight, if not directly in front of me the whole time. I watched him, a sudden hunger for him growing inside me. I gave myself a mental shake. Cut that out, I commanded myself. He’s a famous musician. There’s no way he’d be interested in you. Besides, he was most likely married or had a girlfriend or something. I watched him play noticing that he didn’t wear a ring. But you never knew these days. Sometimes people didn’t wear their rings. I sat back, deciding to pretend for a while that he was playing just for me. That he was mine and when he finished making the crowd happy, then he’d come to me and play my body like his instrument. He’d wring the notes from me, pulling a response from me as he was doi
