Some guy had trampled into me, fists swinging. As I fell, his elbow caught me behind the ear. I spilled what was left of my second boilermaker and scraped my palm.

"Ass hole!" Morgan screamed and tried to help me up.

This was just as the guy who'd knocked me down—it was the same guy I'd seen with the girl in the beer garden—punched the guy she was dancing with squarely in the face. But then yet another guy I'd never seen before pushed them both right back into us, and we got knocked over again.

An all-out brawl broke loose.

Morgan and I crawled to the edge of the stage, and Bryce Tripp finally stopped playing. A security guard took over the microphone while a handful of rent-a-cops tried to stop the melee. I checked my palm, which was only barely bleeding, and my head, which felt fine, but this may have had a lot to do with how drunk I was at that point.

When I looked up, Morgan was talking to Bryce Tripp. I couldn't believe it.

"Why'd you stop playing?" she yelled out while the scuffle continued on, barely abated, behind her.

I was sure Bryce Tripp would just ignore her, but he actually smiled and said something. Neither of us could make it out over the bullhorn.

"What?" Morgan screamed. I hadn't seen her this drunk in a long time.

Bryce Tripp smiled again and shook his head. I couldn't believe it, but he actually approached us at the foot of the stage and kneeled down to talk to us.

"They won't let me keep playing," he said. "It's actually in my contract."

He had these crazy icy-blue eyes. I honestly don't think I'd ever seen anyone better looking from this close, in person.

"You know," he added, and shrugged. "The 'safety of the performer at risk' and all that."

Morgan was in full flirting mode. "So you always do what they tell you to do?"

She had this weird ability to flirt without making a total ass of herself, no matter how drunk she was.

Bryce Tripp laughed. He was even cuter with a full grin. I actually felt this wave of attraction pass over me when he spoke.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I usually do pretty much what they tell me."

Morgan put on a pout and pretended like she'd lost interest. "Well, that's a shame."

"No, not really," Bryce Tripp shot back, still grinning. "I get paid all the same. This is my third brawl in two months. Just means I get the night off. Which is fine by me."

He stood, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a stack of what looked like business cards.

"Couple of backstage passes," he said, handing one to Morgan and one to me. "Looks like I'm free for the evening. Why don't you come on over and say hello."

Then he just gave us this friendly wave and left.

As soon as he'd left the stage, Morgan clutched her pass and screamed.

"Oh my God! How do we get back there?"

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