Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(68)

“News alert. We have one hour,” Ren said, glancing at his watch.
“What about Trevor?” I suggested.
Trevor lived with the Weston pack. He and April were best friends, and he seemed like a cool guy. I’d walked by his door a few times and caught him putting together model airplanes, but every so often, he would be strumming his guitar.
“I don’t think he plays bass.”
“Maybe you should ask,” I said.
Jericho pulled out his phone and dialed a number, stepping away from the table with his finger in his other ear.
“We’re really fucked now,” Joker said with a sniff. “I may need one of those pink ones.”
I slapped his hand and closed the box when he reached for a donut. “How is it that you have diabetes? I’ve never heard of that with a Shifter.”
“I’m a human.”
I blinked in surprise. “Really?”
Joker laughed and flipped his sandy-blond hair out of his face. It was wavy and past his ears. “Jericho’s an equal-opportunity kind of guy. They kept it a secret from me for almost a year before filling me in. I’m tighter with these two guys than my human friends. I guess I’ll stick with the band until I become an old dog or they get sick of me.”
“We’re the old dogs,” Ren said. “You’re the old human. Get it straight.”
“Shut up, Lord of the Lip Rings.”
Jericho filled the space beside me and spun his phone on the table. “Looks like we have someone to fill in.”
“Trevor knows how to play bass?” I asked in surprise.
“No. They’re swinging by a pawnshop on the way and he’s going to practice in the car.”
A slow laugh began to build in Joker and he wiped his eyes. “This should be fucking magical. Why don’t you call him up and hum the bass line for Another One Bites the Dust? We’ll open and close with that one.”
 

Chapter 15
After stuffing my face with five donuts, I napped in Jericho’s truck while he drove us to the music event. It reminded me of old times, before he’d formed a band. Now he was a talented rocker who could take on the world if he chose to. I knew he could have rocketed to superstardom because he was smart, talented, and wrote his own music. But that kind of fame puts a target on the backs of men who don’t age at the same speed as humans.
I moaned and stretched, nestling my head against something soft.
Then hard.
My eyes widened when I realized my head was in Jericho’s lap. I bolted upright. “Very funny.”
“You’re the one who laid down, Isabelle. I tried to wake you up, but you bit my arm.”
“I did not.”
He held up his arm and showed me the teeth marks. “I know you don’t like being forced awake, so I let you snooze.”
“Thanks.” I rubbed my eyes and saw people walking everywhere.
Jericho sighed. “Hope this goes well. If not, we can probably wing it without a bass player.”
“So Chaz has been a problem?”
Jericho honked the horn, and a few people moved off the road and out of our way. “You could say that. He’s a junkie. It’s been getting worse, and the rest of the guys don’t want that shit around. We party, smoke a little weed, girls—you know. But Chaz started in with some of that hard-core shit. I let it slide at first because who am I to talk? But he’s been rolling in late to shows and not pulling his weight. That’s bringing us all down.”
“He’ll be back. He’s just throwing a tantrum so you’ll be stuck in a bind.”
Jericho tucked a cigarette behind his ear. “He’s the one who’s going to be stuck in a bind, because we’re replacing him. I have two good men I don’t want influenced by his bad habits. Come on.”
He reached behind the seat, unzipped a bag, and handed me a pair of comfortable shoes.
I walked a pace behind him as we worked our way through the crowd. I’d never seen so many Breeds in one place. Vampires watched me with their onyx eyes, and I saw a few Sensors transferring emotions with their hands to someone’s chest. I could always tell by the red glow.
Jericho peered at me over his shoulder and gripped my hand.
Onstage, a singer was winding up a cover of an Elton John song. When the music stopped, laughter and loud talking erupted from all directions. A sea of different Breeds filled the grounds, and I couldn’t begin to guess how many there were. Some wore glow sticks around their necks. Two blond Chitahs were racing each other by a thicket of trees. Chitahs were tall, fair-haired, and built for speed. They weren’t a Breed you messed around with because of their deadly instincts. Shifters were easy to spot because they stood in large huddles, and Packmasters usually marked themselves with special tattoos. I recognized a few regulars from the bar and waved.