"I'll call you tomorrow."
Shit. Trey was going to have to get his number changed. Again. He honestly didn't understand why some people couldn't take a hint. He didn't want to be in a relationship. Why was that concept so difficult for his sex partners to grasp?
Chapter 2
Reagan leaned against the brick wall and clung to the neck of her red, electric guitar as if it was her lifeline. Breathe, Reagan, breathe. If you don't win this competition, it's not the end of the world. Maybe you were meant to be a barista for the rest of your life.
"You should have taken some Dramamine like I did," an emo-punk hybrid, who was wearing more eyeliner than a three-dollar whore, said. He was also a finalist and set to go into the sound booth right after her. "You look like you're going to hurl."
She felt like she was going to hurl. Why was she here? She'd sent in that demo tape never thinking Exodus End's manager would actually call her to audition for the band. Over five thousand guitarists had sent in a demo tape, too. How had she ended up in the top five? They were fucking with her. Had to be. She was a complete unknown. Of course, Dramamine guy was an unknown too, but that confident son of a bitch in the corner looked familiar. She was sure he'd been in some popular eighties band at one time.
Dramamine turned to look at Hair Band Hasbeen and sighed remorsefully. "We made it this far, at least."
"I think I must be dreaming," Reagan said. Dramamine's hair definitely looked like something out of a bizarre dream sequence. How did he get it to stay sticking straight out to one side like that? And who thought the burgundy and green stripes through his jagged-cut bangs were a good idea? "How often does a mega-famous, amazing band like Exodus End let unknowns audition for their group?" Reagan continued.
Dramamine opened his mouth to answer, but Reagan prattled on. "Never, that's when. I can't believe I'm actually here. In Dare Mills's house. Doing an audition with Exodus fucking End." She checked a clock on the studio wall. "In twenty minutes." She swayed and Dramamine grabbed her shoulder to keep her on her feet. She removed her guitar and set it against the wall. It didn't usually feel heavy, but today if felt like she had an elephant hanging over her shoulder. She massaged her temples with both hands. "I think I'm going to pass out."
"You're hyperventilating. Breathe more slowly."
"I can't help it." She needed to keep talking about something to keep her mind off things. She patted Dramamine on the chest. "Hey, what's your name?"
"Pyre."
She lifted an eyebrow at him. "No shit?"
"Well, that's my stage name."
Lame.
"It's short for Vampyre," he added.
Wow. Okaaaay.
"I'm Reagan. It's short for Reagan. I'm not into vamps. What are you going to play, Pyre?"
"The three Exodus End songs we all have to play."
"'Bite.' 'Encore.' 'Ovation.'" She ticked the song titles off on one hand. She'd been practicing them for days. And every other Exodus End song ever released in case they threw a surprise at her. Like a pop quiz. They probably wanted to make sure whomever they hired could really take over the duties of rhythm guitarist-and what better way to do that than to request a surprise song? Reagan would rather play lead guitar than rhythm, truth be told, but Dare Mills wasn't the one being replaced. Maximilian Richardson was giving up rhythm guitar and just sticking to vocals. At least, that's what she'd been told. She hadn't actually met him or anything. In fact, they'd been ushered into this studio and hadn't had the opportunity to meet any of the band members. So much for her plan to win them over with her sweetest smile. Probably for the best. At the moment she doubted she could produce a decent grimace, much less a smile. "What about the solo of our choice? What are you going to play for that?" she asked Pyre.
"'Temptation.'" Another Exodus End song. A great solo, heavy on technique, but not speed.
"Nice choice."
"What are you going to do?" Pyre asked.
"Sinners' 'Gates of Hell.'"
"Are you foiking insane?" Pyre asked, his eyes wide in astonishment.
"What do you mean? That solo is awesome!" she said, her heart thrumming with excitement. She hearted Sinners. Their lead guitarist, Brian Sinclair, was an absolute god.
"That solo is impossible," Pyre said. "Foiking Master Sinclair has seven fingers on each hand or something. No mere mortal can do that solo justice."
Reagan grinned. "You can't play it?"
"No one can play it like Sinclair does. You should pick something easier."
"Let her play it." Hair Band Hasbeen saw his way into their conversation. "If sweet-tits blows her chance, it's one less piece of competition for us to worry about." He grinned to himself as he stared at her ass.