any more than the hundreds who’d flooded the comments, so my roommates and I drank two bottles of wine to banish the thoughts.
Staring at my phone screen and the most recent Instagram notification, I realized I had a direct message from someone but not just anyone.
[thebassistLo]: good show, baby fawn
Before I could think of what to say, though a simple thank-you would have been the most appropriate, Loren messaged again.
[thebassistLo]: But are you a vocalist, or are you a guitarist?
Growling as if he could hear me, I quickly typed a response even as my heart pounded, my skin flushed with heat, and cinnamon filled my nose. Thanks to the electricity buzzing through my body, it took me longer than usual to type a coherent response.
[BraxtheFawn]: I thought you were watching? I’m both.
[thebassistLo]: But you performed like you couldn’t decide.
Once again, another message from him came through before I could respond.
[thebassistLo]: What color panties are you wearing?
My ears burned, and my nostrils flared as the smell of something burning filled them. I read the message and then again—three more times.
I was shaking with a different emotion this time.
Anger.
Who the hell asked for his opinion? Why did I care even though I hadn’t? I was mortified and disappointed, which pissed me off even more.
[BraxtheFawn]: Get fucked, you narcissistic, fragile, small-dick debutante! I didn’t ask—
Inhaling deeply, I erased what I’d typed before starting again and hitting send. Loren wanted to get under my skin, and I’d cut my own arm off before I let him.
[BraxtheFawn]: Thx. I’ll work on that. See you Monday.
The asshole responded with a smirking emoji.
Monday came too quickly.
Even after having my jalopy break down yesterday and the shop quoting my kidney to fix it, the last twenty-four hours seemed to fly by, giving me no chance to reconcile with my fate. By the time dawn broke, I’d gone through seven outfit changes. They were all either too bold or blatantly underdone. Either way, Bound would see right through me.
With less than five minutes to spare, I decided to keep it genuine with a gray Guns N’ Roses T-shirt just long enough to wear as a dress and black fishnet stocking. For accessories I wore two chokers, one studded and the other black, and my usual ten rings stacked on three of my left fingers. I then slipped my feet into black thigh-high boots with heels even though I’d be on my feet for hours. I never wore sneakers. When I wanted to be comfortable, I wore combat boots, even in summer.
Today it wouldn’t matter what kind of shoes I wore. Bound would be judging me on how well I played.
Grabbing my guitar case, I headed out. Since my car and my cash flow were both out of commission and neither Maeko nor Griff had a car, I’d have to take the bus instead of an Uber.
I used the walk to the bus stop to clear my head and find the nerve to be alone with three of the most notorious men in the world. I desperately wanted to channel the same energy from Friday night if only I could pinpoint the source.
Two buses and forty-five minutes later, I was standing on Sunset Boulevard, a mile downhill from the Beverly Hills address. I guess public transportation wasn’t allowed near the rich and fabulous.
Fantastic.
I’d only been to Beverly Hills once out of curiosity when I first arrived in the city and haven’t been back. Why would I when any check I wrote would bounce?
Forcing my shoulders to square and the pep in my step, I started the trek, feeling like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.
The only difference was that she hadn’t been wearing high heels. I imagined doing this every day for the next three months, and by the time I reached the halfway point, I was seriously considering investing in a new car. Or at least a pair of decent sneakers. I couldn’t afford either.
I was limping by the time I arrived, and to make matters worse, no one had notified the guard at the gate that I was coming. Convinced that I was just a crazed fan, it took me ten minutes to convince him to call one of the assholes inside. I was forced to stand on my blistered feet, my freshly styled hair plastered to my head from sweating, and my thighs burning from the winding walk uphill while the guard tried several times before someone picked up.