nodded. “Yeah, that's right.” Didn't he say he talked to the band's manager earlier? This must be her!
Considering me in a new light, one I wasn't sure I liked, she slid her sunglasses back onto her nose. The pen was loud as she wrote something down. “Stay here, it'll take maybe twenty minutes before you get in.”
My jaw slid open as I understood. I wanted to thank her, but she was moving down the line that had formed behind me. Many more people would be kicked out before she was done.
I'm actually going to get in there, I'm doing this, I thought in amazement. A laugh sprung free, making me cover my mouth to stifle it. Holy shit. This is really going down.
I'd been so nervous, so unsure about trying out. It was funny, thinking about arguing with my brother over even bothering to try. But when that woman had appeared, when my opportunity looked like it would be crushed to bits, I'd felt genuine sadness.
Even if it meant standing in the boiling sun for a bit longer, I'd do it.
I'd stand here until I was burnt to a crisp and my fingers fell off from how hard I was squeezing my guitar. This was it. This was the chance I'd always been waiting for.
How could I have almost let it slip by?
- Chapter Three -
Drezden
I drummed my fingers on the table, studying the bandage wrapped around the skinned markings from the night before. Maybe I should just wrap the other hand, too. People are already acting like I boxed Johnny, might as well roll with it.
“Drez?”
Looking up, I met Porter's eyes. He was peering at me, reminding me of what I was supposed to be doing. In the middle of this filthy backroom stood a kid whose name I'd already forgotten. He was standing there wearing a stupid grin, eager to hear what I had to say about his playing. He'd strummed for a few minutes, but I'd formed my opinion about his skill on the first pluck.
Still, I'd let him keep going. Maybe that had been cruel.
“Drez,” Porter said again, prompting me. “What did you think about Renold's playing?”
Renold. Huh. I'd already forgotten his name the second he'd mentioned it. He just wasn't worth remembering. With a quick scan of the room, I said, “Next.”
The guitarist's face morphed, falling low. I wondered if he was going to argue with me—he wouldn't have been the first. In the end, he just limped out the door and didn't look back.
The moment we were alone again, my band was on me. “What the hell, man?” Colt asked, his fist slamming down on the table. “That guy was good!”
“Seriously,” Porter sighed, bare arms flexing as he folded them tight. Even with the tattoos crossing his dark skin, he looked like a pouting child. “We need to get on the road, pick a damn guitarist already!”
“None of them have been right,” I said, reaching into my pocket for my smokes. A glare from Porter stopped me. “Look, sorry, but I already said I wouldn't replace Johnny with just any fucking kid who can tug some strings.”
Colt snorted, pointedly turning his head so I could see the bandage stuck by his ear. Someone had managed to tear one of the drummer's gauges in the brawl last night; just another casualty from my decision to banish Johnny. “You need to find someone, Drez. I'm not exactly keen on letting a new scar be all I gain from this tour.”
Wrinkling my nose, I went to argue, but a knock on the door interrupted us. We'd been auditioning people for over an hour. I knew we needed to get back on the road, and I also wondered if we were hitting the end of the pack. Is Brenda even weeding out the time wasters?
What if she was, and this was really the best the roadie and groupie riffraff had to offer?
“Come in,” I grunted.
Her fingers came first, curling around the edge of the door. Then it was her too-big and too-blue eyes that joined the party. She was lean in all the right places, round in the rest. There was a hint of pink on her bare shoulders from an abundance of sun.
On impulse, my gaze fixated on the way her jeans fit her tightly. They were torn in places, a sign of someone who was used to working hard. They also hinted at the perfect curve of her ass.
But ultimately?
I was busy staring at her guitar