“Miss you, Nana.”
“Don’t be a stranger, child.”
I kiss her weathered cheek. “I won’t. I promise.”
August 28
Back in L.A.
We’ve been back in L.A. for nearly a week now. The week started with paparazzi gathered by our front gate day and night. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’re still hyping up the story of my big screw-up as much as possible. I’m getting really annoyed with how much they’re stalking us. I am seriously not worth this much interest. They’re trying to get a comment from me, but the only comment I’ve given them is a sign I hang from my balcony that reads—in big, black, unmistakable letters—
“Here’s a comment…fuck off!”
That sign went viral, by the way. Now whenever someone wants to flip a royal bird to someone on the web, they use my sign. I think that’s the most flattering thing that’s happened to me on the internet so far.
Anyway, I might as well get used to it. I’m going to be famous for all the wrong things until I release my first music video with Dalton. We met up the other day to discuss audition plans. He was so excited he hugged me before he left. Finally, our dreams are coming into concrete terms. Auditions. Selections. Rehearsals. Recordings. It’s all going to lead to that glorious day when I step on stage and yell:
“How do you like me now, bitches?”
I take a lot of comfort in the words Ana said to me at her house that day.
“You just need to show the rest of the world that drunk singing incident was just a fluke.”
People might be laughing at me now, but someday I’ll be laughing at them. They’ve been judging me by my cover ever since I stepped foot in this town. I can’t wait to show everyone just how wrong they were about me.
Mission RTW: Rock The World is a go. I’m not quite sure what the steps are going to be yet. At least I know Step 1: Find two more people with passion and talent to match ours. It’s going to be a challenge, but I’m fully confident the right guys or girls will come along.
Tomorrow we’re going to listen to some of the top contenders for the drummer position. I think my heart might drown out their sound. I’m already battling sweaty palms.
Gotta try to get some sleep. Damn the Redinger insomnia…
Ttyl,
Mads
Soft track lighting illuminates shiny black leather couches and a cherry wood coffee table. Dad’s open beer bottles sit atop a shiny silver tray that’s probably supposed to house champagne. Red and blue lights liven up the front of the room, where a brand new black drum kit awaits our future drummer. I stand in front of the stage and survey our new rehearsal studio, blinking back tears.
Dad rented this room for Dalton and me. Not only is he going to keep paying for it, but he’s also going to come to our rehearsals when asked and help us get this thing together. Cass is here too, so all four of us—Dalton, Dad, Cass, and me—are going to judge these potential drummers together. Having the Grim Weeper and Black Angel with us as we pick our new band mates makes me certain we’ll find the right people. My dreams have never felt so real, so tangible. It’s like that star with my name on it is right within reach.
Dad and Cass take one couch and Dalton and I take the other. The people auditioning are due to show up one right after another—five-minute auditions, five-minute breaks in-between—and they only get one shot at impressing us. Dad suggests we take notes on our iPads so we’ll remember who we liked and why. I open my Notes app and straighten my back against the couch when the first guy—a grungy, emo type—walks in the door and introduces himself.
Several auditions roll by, and I’m already starting to get names, faces, and styles mixed up in my head. That’s not a good sign…if they’re not memorable to me, the audience isn’t going to be impressed, either. I don’t want to tell Dalton he picked a bunch of duds, but honestly? These people are mediocre at best. I’m starting to doubt his ear for drum beats when a gift from the heavens strolls in.
My eyes roam up and down his stunning personage as he struts into the room with an adorable lopsided grin on his face. His black structured zip-up jacket and the chain around his neck give him a rock star vibe without being too edgy or screaming for attention. He catches my gaze and his smile falters. I can almost see the sweat beading on his forehead.
I swear I’ve seen this guy before. Dark brown hair, green eyes, the face of a Greek god… Ho-ly shit.
It’s my mystery guy from New York City.
I watch intently as Dalton runs up to the guy and gives him a huge guy hug—the kind with all the slapping and grunting and general “trying to prove I’m a man but still show affection” stuff. Dalton turns toward us to introduce our last candidate of the day.
“Mike, Cass, Mads—allow me to introduce my cousin, Logan Caldwell.” I can’t keep my eyes from bulging out of my head. His cousin? This is almost too coincidental to be real. “I saved him for last—partly because I wasn’t sure if he’d be coming—but mostly because I wanted you all to hear how superior he is without thinking
I’m biased and brushing him off. This dude is the shit when it comes to drumming. I don’t think I’ve ever met a better drummer in person. Please look past the fact that he’s my cousin and give us your honest feedback. I think you’ll be pleased.” Dalton gives him a hearty thump on the back and walks toward the back of the room again.
“Hi, everyone.” Logan greets us in a shaky, deep voice as Dalton returns to his seat.
I’ve been rendered speechless, so Dad takes over the situation for me.
“Hi, Logan. Can you tell us a little more about yourself? How did you get into music?”
Logan straightens his posture and addresses us with renewed confidence. “Well, sir, music has been my dream since I was five years old. I had a kiddy drum set I used to play with and annoy the hell out of my mom. She got me a real one when I was twelve and I’ve been playing ever since.”
“And how old are you now?”
“I just turned twenty-one a week ago.”
My heart flutters. Twenty-one isn’t too bad. I was worried he was a lot older than me.
Dad nods at his admission. “Why are you not in a band now?”
“I was in a band—a metal band—and we were about to get signed, but then the lead singer knocked up his girlfriend and our label decided we were too much of an insurance risk.”
I can see the pain in his eyes when he talks about
his previous band. It must have been hard to be so close to your dream and have it ripped away like that.
“This is my second chance, so I swear I won’t let it go to waste,” Logan continues. “If you accept me, this band will be my number one commitment in life. I live in New York City with my girlfriend right now, but I’d drop everything and move to L.A. in a heartbeat if you asked me to.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The amount of disappointment I feel at learning he has a girlfriend is unreasonable and frightening. I chastise myself inwardly at my attachment to a guy I’ve only met a total of two times. “All right, let’s hear what you can do,” Dad says. He leans back on the couch and starts on his final beer as Logan steps behind the drum kit.
Logan sits down and rolls his shoulders out. The sweat beads on his forehead grow and trickle down toward his eyebrows. I can see the labored movement of his chest as he picks up the drumsticks. Not only is he hot—in more ways than one—but his
movement is restricted by that jacket. I really want to see that green dragon tattoo again. I can see teasing hints of his biceps under his sleeves, but I’m left wanting more, and it’s driving me crazy.
Come on, take it off. You know you want to. Take the jacket off.
“Take the jacket off.”
Logan freezes mid-strike and stares at me openmouthed. So does everyone else in the room. I’ve gone and shocked everyone by acting like a total dumbass yet again. I really can’t do anything right, can I?
Fire ignites in my cheeks and neck.
I gulp down saliva and stammer out the first follow-up I can think of.
“Free up your arms. That structured jacket is limiting your arm movement. You need to be uninhibited right now.”
I hear a collective “oh” in the room and feel relief rush over every tendon in my body. Logan unzips his jacket and shrugs it off. I’m gratified that he’s wearing a plain black tank top underneath. His arms truly are stunning. The dragon tattoo on his left arm starts with the head down near the crook of his elbow and continues up onto his chest. I can’t help but wonder what the rest of it looks like.
Logan rolls his sturdy shoulders once again and sighs with relief. “That does feel a lot better. Thanks.”
I nod, smile, and thank my lucky stars my brain is quick on its feet.
After taking off the jacket, Logan pounds the drumsticks together four times to time the beat and starts into his set. Dad, Cass, and I exchange looks of pleasant surprise as Logan plays his rendition of the drumbeat from “Hot for Teacher.” I can hear myself playing the guitar riffs and Dalton howling out the lyrics along with him in my head. He fits us, and I think his level of skill might even challenge us and propel us forward.
He’s not just good, he’s phenomenal. Freeing up his arm movement really did make a difference. I don’t mind having a drummer that makes my heart race, either. He’s wild, unrestrained, and so damn hot I just can’t…
Shit, Mads. Pull yourself together. He has a girlfriend.
Dalton taps me on the shoulder. I lean over so he can whisper in my ear.
“What do you think?”
I grin and nod. Dalton pulls in a victory fist pump.
At the end, we all stand and run over to the drum kit to voice our enthusiasm. Logan’s bronzed cheeks redden slightly at the attention. Dad asks him to step outside for just a few minutes while we talk it over. He looks pleased to even be given consideration.
The four of us sit down on the couches together again. Dad rubs the back of his neck and chuckles.
“I never thought I’d say this, but that boy might even have Squillo beat. Where have you been hidin’ him, Dalton?”
Dalton’s low-pitched laughter booms through the studio. “Sorry, Mike. I probably should have had him go first.”
“I thought he sounded incredible,” Cass adds from her place beside Dad. “My only concern is he said he has a girlfriend in New York. Is he really going to want to move away from her?”
“Claire and Logan are very serious. She’s trying to start a modeling career, which could be done here.
As far as I know, she’s very supportive of Logan’s music dreams and Logan himself. I think she’d probably follow him anywhere.”
I’m still feeling sick to my stomach whenever the topic of Logan’s girlfriend comes up. I’ve barely even said ten words to the dude. I really must be desperate for a distraction from Gio.
“Well, as long as he’s willin’ to move here and give it his all, I think we have a winner. The fact that he’s your cousin puts me even more at ease,” Dad says.
Cass notices my thoughtful silence. “Mads, what do you think?”
I shake off my burning disappointment and smile my approval. “I thought he was awesome. Anyone who can pull off “Hot for Teacher” or almost get signed with a metal band is good enough for me.” Everybody nods and mutters their agreement. “Well…can I tell him he’s in?” Dalton looks at me, begging me with his eyes.
I grin, enjoying my position of power. “Totally.”
Dalton whoops in my ear and squeezes me within an inch of my life. I laugh and hug him back. He lets go of me and runs out of the studio to congratulate his cousin. Dad, Cass, and I follow closely behind. When we meet them in the hallway, Logan’s sea green eyes are wide open with shock. “I’m…I’m in? Already?”
“Yes.” I steel myself and stretch out my hand to shake his. “Welcome to the band, Logan Caldwell.”
Logan bypasses my hand and engulfs me in the same crushing hug his cousin just did. I hug him back, trying not to think about his sculpted, muscular back or the way his body fits me like a glove.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Logan says into my ear with a catch in his voice. “I swear you won’t regret this.”
I squeeze his core. “I’m sure I won’t.”
Logan releases me and takes a deep breath to calm himself. He drags his hands down his cheeks. “Oh my God…I can’t believe this. Thank you all so much. I’ve got some stuff to figure out, but I’ll be here as soon as I can.”
“Take all the time you need, son.” Dad grips his shoulder. “You wanna join us for dinner on me?”
“Hell yeah!” Logan beams with excitement as the five of us turn to walk down the narrow hallway.
Dad invites Carl a.k.a. Kite and James a.k.a. Squillo, and all seven of us gather at an Irish pub thirty minutes later. Logan freaks out like a fanboy when he gets to shake James’s hand. The two of them talk for a while before he settles into a booth with Dalton and me. W3 takes the table across the aisle from us so the three of us can get to know each other better.
Logan opens his drink menu to the beer section and peruses it intently. “Looks like they’ve got some good local ales here. I might try one of those.” “Try whatever you want, it’s all on my dad,” I inform him.
Logan chuckles and pinches his forehead between his thumb and fingers. “God, I’m drinking off the Grim Weeper’s tab. I’m in his daughter’s band. I really must be dreaming.”
I smirk and reach across the table to pinch his tight forearm. He flinches and jerks it back, but he’s holding back a smile. “Shit! What was that for?”
I shrug. “Somebody had to prove you weren’t dreaming.”
Logan breaks into a smile and chuckles. “You are deadly strong.”
“My fingers are. It comes with being a guitarist.”
Dalton stands from his place beside Logan in the booth. “Be right back, guys.” He heads back toward the bathroom.
Logan leans across the table to speak quietly to me. “Hey, by the way, thanks for what you said at the audition. I meant to take my jacket off when I sat down. I just forgot because I was so nervous.”
I smile at the sweet vulnerability in his eyes. He is so cute, it’s dangerous. When he smiles, it lights up his face and ten feet in every direction around him.
“It was nothing, but what were you doing wearing a black jacket in Los Angeles in the summer, anyway?”
“Honestly? I was trying to look like a badass,”
Logan admits with a chuckle. I laugh along with him. “I’m such an idiot, but you saved me. I owe you big time.”
“I’ll remember that.” I grin at him as he leans back in his seat. The pretty blonde waitress brings his beer back and Logan thanks her politely without lingering on her.
“I also remember you,” I tell him pointedly.
He responds with a sheepish grin, gnawing on the inside of his lower lip. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Of course I do.” I lean toward him and whisper,
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Dalton’s cousin?”
He shrugs. “We didn’t really have time to chat. Your sister was screeching at you to get inside the club, remember? I was about to introduce myself when she called out to you.”
“Oh yeah…” I grin at him. “Fate is funny, huh?”
He beams back at me. “Tell me about it.”
I relax into the booth and chat him up. “So I know you’re Logan Caldwell, you’re twenty-one, you like Amber ale, and you can tear up a drum kit. What else should I know about you?”
Logan reaches up to scratch the tempting hint of stubble on his chin and his eyes roll up toward the ceiling. “Let’s see…I’m a bartender, which you already know…I love to cook, I have a mother who loves me a little too much, I’m obsessed with World of Warcraft—”
“You play WoW?” My excitement springs to an unmanageable level. I haven’t met a whole lot of people in person yet who share my love fo
r the game.
Logan’s dark eyebrows pull up, making creases in his forehead. “You know the acronym?”
“I know the game. Inside out, backward, and forward. I bet you couldn’t beat me in a duel.”
He grins, leans back, and folds his arms over his chest. “That’s a bet you’re sure to lose.”
“Oh really? What server are you on?”
“Silvermoon.”
My heart skips a beat. “Me too. Alliance or Horde?”
He scoffs. “You insult me. For the Horde, obviously.”
“Thank God. I’ll take you on any time, any place. Just give me your BattleTag.”
“Will do.”
I hand Logan my phone and he types his BattleTag into my Notes app. Just at that moment, Dalton returns to the table and plunks down next to Logan.
“Good, exchange numbers,” Dalton says. “I hope you two are ready to get serious about finding a bass player.”
“Totally. Right after I kick his ass in mortal combat.” I flash Logan a wicked grin.
Dalton cocks an eyebrow and looks between us.
“Did I miss something here?”
With a sidelong glance, Logan explains, “It’s a gamer thing, dude. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Dalton, you don’t play games?”
Pain flickers in Dalton’s eyes for a split second. “I don’t really have time anymore.”
Logan and I exchange a glance and I immediately know we both feel like jerks. With the passing of his mom, Dalton became the provider for his sister and his good-for-nothing uncle. Working hard to support them has taken away all his free time for anything except this band. Logan nudges him with his elbow and Dalton’s head snaps in his direction.
“Sorry, man,” Logan mumbles.
D.O.R.K. Series Box Set Page 27
