Double Time (Sinners on Tour #5)(9)

Reagan bristled. "What are you going to play, dildo? 'Mary Had a Little Lamb?'"

The guy rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust. "It's not like they're going to want to hire a chick guitarist anyway. Who'd you sleep with to get an audition, baby?"

Reagan gave him a once-over and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Not you, old man."

Pyre chuckled. "Ouch."

"You got a problem, douche bag?" Hair Band grumbled.

Pyre's stance turned threatening. Reagan supposed she could let the two of them get into a fistfight. It might make it easier for her to outplay them if they broke their fingers on each other's faces. Might. But she stepped between them to try to defuse the bomb instead. Pyre looked like he hadn't seen a protein-containing meal in months, and Hair Band had apparently subsided on a beer diet since he'd given up on wearing snakeskin-print spandex. It probably wouldn't have been an interesting fight. More likely pathetic than anything. Reagan figured she was tougher than the two of them put together. "Easy, guys," she said. "We're all a little on edge here. No need for you to get your panties in a bunch. Mine are bunchy enough for all of us." She pressed a hand to the center of Pyre's chest. Though his stance was confident, his heart hammered out of control against her palm. Pyre wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her closer. Using her as a human shield, no doubt.



       
         
       
        

"Are you the finalists?" a deep voice asked from somewhere behind her. Its low tone seemed to caress Reagan's back. A shiver of delight streaked up her spine.

Reagan turned to identify the speaker and almost fell on the floor. Trey Mills, the rhythm guitarist of Sinners, stood just beside the studio door. He checked her out a little and then a little more. Just enough to make her want him to inspect her closely. And naked.

Black-haired, green-eyed, and exuding sexual energy, the man was gorgeous onstage, but up close his sensual charm overwhelmed her. What was he doing here? Not that she wanted him to leave or anything. More than anything she wanted to challenge him to one of Sinners' dueling guitar solos. The ones he and Sinclair performed onstage together. She always wondered if she could outplay Trey. At every Sinners' concert she'd attended (eleven and counting), she'd wanted to charge up on stage and challenge both of Sinners' guitarists to a little competition. Somehow, she'd managed to keep herself in the mosh pit instead of storming the stage.

"Fuck. If Mills is in this contest, we're all screwed," Hair complained. "Nepotism much?"

Trey grinned and Reagan's heart dropped into her combat boots. "Nope, I'm not in this. I'm helping with the judging. Good luck." He opened the door and disappeared into the studio.

Reagan sighed in feminine bliss. Freakin' gorgeous man. And then his words sunk in. Trey Mills was going to be listening to her play?

She grabbed Pyre by the front of his ripped-up, electric blue T-shirt and gave him a panicked shake. "Hey, do you have any more of that Dramamine on you?"

***

The four members of Exodus End sat in the small recording booth facing a large window that overlooked Dare's music studio. Trey took a seat next to his brother in front of the soundboard and immediately had a set of headphones thrust in his direction. Trey held one earphone up to his ear.

"Listen to this guy," Dare said and played a demo for Trey.

Trey's heart skipped a beat. Six-stringed perfection filtered into his delighted ear. "Is this a joke?" Trey asked.

"A joke?" Dare asked. One dark eyebrow lifted over a piercing green eye.

"This is Brian," Trey said. "I'd know his playing anywhere."

"It's not Brian. Some guy named Elliot." Dare tapped on the empty CD case. It had a plain white insert with the name Elliot scrawled across it in black marker.

"El-li-ot," Logan, Exodus End's golden-haired bassist, said in a perfect impression of E.T.

"Phone hooooome," their drummer, Steve, added.

"Are you guys fuckin' bored or what?" Max, their lead singer, asked. "You need to take this shit seriously." He had a brace on his left wrist and a scowl on his devilishly handsome face. Not that Trey noticed. He wasn't interested in men anymore. Not even ones who looked as good in a black tank top as Maximilian Richardson did. Besides, Max was straight. Trey didn't bother with straight guys. What was the point? 

"Frieeend," Logan said to Max and pointed at him with one finger. Trey could almost picture it glowing at the tip.

Steve snorted with laughter.