by T L Dasha
Fighting Chance
By: T. L. Dasha
Copyright © 2020 by T. L. Dasha
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2020
*
Book Design and Cover Art by T. L. Dasha
More Books by T.L. Dasha
I Do (Not)
(A Male Male accidental marriage RomCom with a love triangle from all three Points of View)
Devil in the Details
(A Male Male Paranormal Cozy Mystery)
But Why Him?!
(A Male Male Arranged Romance with a little bit of heat)
ALL IN series
(A Male Male Dark Romance with a sexy game of poker)
Game One
Game Two
Game Three
The Dating Game: Unkept Secrets
(Scandalous Male Male Reality Show Erotica)
Love Convention
(Male Male Romance with Sex and Cosplay)
Lock Me Up In Your Love
(An erotic medieval cross dressing Damsel in Distress romance)
The Zodiac Werewolf Series
(Female Male Shape Shifter Erotica)
Transformation of Aquarius
Transformation of Capricorn
“Where words fail, music speaks.”
Chapter 1
My heart was beating in perfect time with the crowd’s applause. Quick, loud, chaotic, completely out of control. A bead of sweat slid down my cheek, catching on my jawline, and dripping off my chin. I don’t know if it was from my nerves or the heat of the blaring neon lights overhead. I can barely believe we’ve come this far. Would I be here if not for him?
No. Don’t think about him right now. I can’t. He doesn’t deserve a place on this stage with me. He never did. This is my one chance, and I’m not going to screw it up because of him.
I gripped the mic firmly and swallowed hard.
“I hope you’re ready to rock, Los Angeles!”
###
Three Months Ago
“Habanero Marmalade? What kind of a name is that?” Logan shoved another bite of garlic bread in his mouth, mumbling words between chewing.
“It’s the kind of name that people will remember. A little ridiculous, but also… deep. Poignant. Clever.” I leaned forward over the table, my eyes sparkling as I mentally deconstructed all the signs in the food court to spell our name. Using the ‘Habanero” From Habanero Juan’s, and the ‘Ma’ from Mama’s Pizza actually made for a fairly respectable logo.
“And fucking stupid.”
My guitarist had no class at all, clearly.
“Well what do you want to call us then? If you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”
“How about ‘Death Ringer.’ Or ‘Dragon’s Fury.’ Or something badass like that?”
“What? No. We’re not a metal band. We’re supposed to sound edgy, not like we eat children.” I stole a piece of garlic bread out of his tray and crushed it between my teeth as a symbolic display of my disappointment. Also as a less symbolic display of the fact that I couldn’t afford lunch that day. “Look, as the writer and lead singer, I think I know more about what sounds good to people than you do.”
“Whatever, Roland.” Logan waved a hand in the air, as if to knock away my self-importance. “You can have all the say you want as soon as you come up with something better than Hot Orange Jelly.”
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “But we need to have this settled by Friday if we’re really going to audition for the Battle of the Bands.”
“That’s four whole days away. Plenty of time.” Logan crammed an impressively large spindle of spaghetti into his mouth before standing up to toss out his tray. “Alright, back to work. “ He ran a hand through his hair, and retied his bun to make sure it was neat and kempt enough for the jewelry shop. He was so tall, lean, and good looking, I could only imagine how many diamonds he sold with his smile alone. Or how many relationships he broke up with a well-placed wink.
He gave me one last grin before he headed back. “The girls’ volleyball team has a game today. Go walk on over and find something more inspiring than your grandma’s pantry.”
Right. Because a bunch of jocks knocking a ball around is so inspiring. But despite my protests, we were going to have to agree on something if we were going to enter this competition. The Battle of the Bands was more than just a silly reality show. It was a chance at a dream in a world convoluted with fellow dreamers. If we could stand out there, we could stand out anywhere. But I needed Logan to take it seriously first. And I needed to figure out a name.
We had been through a couple of names already – Cheese and Cracker (my idea), Log Rol (his Idea), Raining Soup (my idea), Dos Vikings (his idea), PIE-tastophic (my idea. In hindsight, I should probably stop coming up with band names while I’m starving) – having had no success with building a fan base, we both agreed that it would be good to get a fresh start. But I swear to god, coming up with names is the hardest part of being an artist.
I shook my head and grabbed my notebook. He was right about one thing, anyway. A walk would do me some good.
I left the mall and strolled back toward campus, cutting through the park on the way. I always liked this park. Birds chirped and whistled in the trees, creating the perfect ambience for deep thinking. Birds are what inspired me to sing in the first place. All those days sitting in my mother’s garden, listening to their high pitched calls, watching them fly wherever they wanted to go. Their voices were the battle cry of freedom. Singing is freedom.
I glanced at the trees, and whistled my best mockingbird call. Almost on cue, a mockingbird took to the sky. It flapped its wings to the music. Beautiful. I whistled again, and it came toward me. Closer. Closer.
Wait a second- too close! The bird swooped down, knocking into me with its wings. My notebook flew from my hands as I instinctively swatted it away. I always forget that mockingbirds are assholes.
Once the bird flew off, I collected myself and looked for my notebook. A man stood before me, tall, poised, and sophisticated. He had frameless rectangular glasses that sat on a perfect nose, framed with light brown hair that fell stylishly unkempt around his face. One of his black leather dress shoes sat pointedly atop my open notebook.
He reached down and picked it up. I watched on, dumbfounded, as his sharp blue eyes move back and forth over the pages.
“Don’t read that- that’s private!” I heard my voice ringing entirely too loudly in the air, causing the remaining nearby birds to scatter. Something about the sky full of fleeing sparrows surrounding this dark figure felt like an image out of horror movie. Like he was an evil sorcerer learning all my secrets before promptly taking over the world.
“I can see why.” His voice was deep and smooth. “I wouldn’t want to share this drivel with anyone either.”
“It’s not…” I was too shocked to figure out how to respond. There were months of work in that notebook. My prized lyrics. My potential band names. Hand scrawled sheet music. Everything that made up my hopes and dreams.
“I’ll shoot right past the goalie of your love. My puck in your net. Points on the headboard… Are you fucking serious?” He shut my notebook and tossed it over his shoulder, shaking his head in dis
gust all the while. Hearing my lyrics recited out loud was triggering all of my fears and insecurities. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
“It’s supposed to be provocative…” I mumbled under my breath, averting my gaze so he couldn’t read the hurt in my eyes. “T-that’s just the first draft. It was going to get way better before the competition.” I don’t know why he was being so harsh anyway. Any words would sound like garbage if you said them like that. Any words… Right?
He walked past me with his hands in his pockets, his eyes hidden by the glare of the sun on his lenses.
“Find another hobby. You’re wasting your time.” He gave me one last kick in the heart before he stepped out of earshot. I watched as he walked away.
###
“Did you think of a good name yet?” Logan’s voice rang through the receiver. He was chipper as always. Ordinarily that would have cheered me up. But not today.
“No.”
“Whoa, there. You sound like someone just stole your last cup of instant ramen.”
“My writing is garbage.” My chin dropped to my chest, and my eyes fell to the floor.
“Yeah, but that never got you down before.” Real supportive there, buddy. “So what happened?”
“I ran into some guy in the park.”
“Cool? Why is that a big deal? Did he flash you or something?”
“What? No! He picked up my notebook.” I bit my lower lip and ran my tongue over my lip rings, trying to calm myself down.
“And?”
“And he hated everything in it.”
“And?”
“And he was right.”
“And?” For saying only a single word, Logan was impressively annoying.
“And maybe we’re wasting our time.” I was barely audible, but I know he heard me.
“Because some total stranger who has never even heard you sing made fun of your notebook? Why does his opinion matter? Do you have a crush on him or something?”
“What? No! Of course not! H-he’s a guy. I’m not-”
“Of course, of course.” He didn’t even let me finish my protests. The doubt in his voice was palpable. “Well, shake it off. When we win the Battle of the Bands, you can hunt him down, and rub it in his face.”
“Right. Thanks, Logan.” I hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed before heading into the bathroom. I ran a hand through my hair, letting my fingers create natural spikes in my black faux hawk, then splashed water over my face. The water slid down my cheeks and gathered on my lip rings, highlighting the metallic flavor before dripping into the sink. Shake it off. Logan was right. But I couldn’t get his words out of my head. I couldn’t forget his narrow eyes or his cruel grin.
DAMMIT.
I need to see him again. Give him a piece of my mind. But I don’t even know who he is…
###
I sat on the park bench, arms crossed, ignoring the beautiful bird songs, and focusing on the cobblestone walkway. I had arrived and set up my stake out point about a half hour earlier than I had yesterday, and I was certain he would come through here again. It’s a beautiful park, after all. Why wouldn’t he?
An hour and a half went by, but there was still no sign of him. I let out a dejected sigh and stood up. I don’t know why I was so worried about this. What was my plan here exactly? See him again and yell at him? Yeah, that would change a lot. Nothing makes people change their mind quite like yelling at them. Maybe I should leave a strongly worded letter for him to critique.
I started walking back to the dorm, when my shoe caught on the cobblestone just wrong. I threw my other foot forward to catch myself, but the momentum of my loss of balance needed a few more steps to fully save me. One, two, three- Thud!
My cheek pressed into a soft, silky fabric, and long arms wrapped around me. I looked up to meet those sharp blue eyes on the other side of his spectacles.
“I see your balance is as bad as your writing.” He looked down at me, deadpan, as he pushed me back to an upright position. As the man I had been waiting for all day stood before me, every angry sentiment I had started running through my head. I played out a long drawn out argument in a matter of seconds, where he stood there and listened to all of my grievances. Then I realized in all that internal chaos, I was just standing there, staring at him, saying nothing.
Awkward. Say something, Roland.
“Who the hell do you think you are!” Alright, not great, but that’s a start. “You have lots of opinions about my writing, but who are you and what the hell do you know about music? About art? About love!” I felt more emboldened with every word.
“What do I know about love?” His smirk crushed my confidence right back to where it started. His eyes held me forcefully, his gaze pushing into me and laying claim to all my thoughts and feelings. He laughed the most chilling laugh I’ve ever heard, and he took a step toward me.
I took one back, and he took another.
“Y-yeah. You heard me!” My words sounded more like a dare than a comeback. One more step, and my back was against a tree. I looked up into his eyes, trying to hide my intimidation with obstinance. “If you know so much more than I do, why don’t you prove it.”
“You’re bold.” He looked down at me, keeping our gazes locked. “And reckless.” He put a hand against the tree, placed beside my head, cutting off my escape route. “So let me ask you the same question. What do you know about love?”
My heart was beating at a thousand beats per second as I pressed myself harder against the bark, making millimeters of distance between us. I tried to look away, but his fingers lifted my chin, keeping my attention on him. A rush of heat took over my body, just imagining what he might do next. My eyes drifted down to his lips. They curled upward in a grin as that heat made its way to my cheeks.
Why was I thinking about these things? About what it would be like to-
His lips pressed against mine, ending the suspense. First softly, then with increasing force. He released then took my mouth again as I tried to make myself speak, taking my parted lips as an invite for his curious tongue. My body moved on instinct, grabbing hold of his suit jacket, tasting his hot wet tongue in my mouth as it slid over mine, sending electricity through every eager muscle. Fuck.
He stepped away, and a rush of cold air took his place. I stared at him, unable to move, unable to speak.
“If you can turn that kiss into a song, I’ll tell you exactly what the hell I know about music.” He laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time, same place. Don’t disappoint me.”
I held onto the tree behind me as I watched him walk away. My knees were still shaking. My heart was still racing. Did that really just happen or was that some kind of dream? Why was I reacting so strongly? To this man. This stranger. This asshole.
As I sat down at my desk that night, my pen was moving furiously, writing with a mind of its own. The words were pouring out of me. It was like the floodgates had been opened on my brain, and nothing could slow me down.
I’ll show him. I’ll show him a song like nothing he’s ever heard.
The next day, I stood in the park and held my notebook tight against my chest. As that tall, lean, dark figure entered my field of view, I couldn’t say if my insides were clenching out of spite or excitement. I didn’t give him a chance to open his mouth before I shoved my notebook in his face, propped open to my latest lyrics.
He took the book out of my hands, feigning reluctance while his eyes fell over the words. The corners of his mouth slowly crept upwards, higher and higher as he finished each line. I can’t even begin to describe how satisfying that felt.
But then he laughed.
“Passable. For a kid. You still have a long way to go though.” As he returned his attention back to me, he reached out, and I cupped his palm in a firm shake. “Jay McClintock, writer for ALIVE Records.” What?! Is he serious?! The Jay McClintock?! His voice was cool, collected, and official, while I was internally screaming.
“Roland Finley, vo
calist for...” My voice tried not to break under the pressure of his name and credentials. I froze for a moment, as I realized I still didn’t have a band name. I was talking to a man who could make my career. Was I about to tell him I sang for a band named after a spicy condiment? I shook my head, swallowed, and began again.
“Vocalist for Fighting Chance.”
Chapter 2
Logan fingered his guitar while leaning against the wall of the auditorium, knocking out a melody that sent chills down my spine. It was perfect for our new song.
“This song, these lyrics, the band name- what did you do with Roland, and where did all this inspiration come from?” He chuckled as he emphasized a final strum.
Where? A tingle ran down my body as my mind played back the taste and feel of Jay’s tongue sliding over my lip rings, pulling me into him. His fingers teasing my neck, while his hard body moved into mine…
I turned away so Logan couldn’t see my reddening face.
“I guess all that criticism just got me fired up. That’s all.” I tapped keys on the keyboard to sync with the notes of my voice. Maybe I’d tell Logan about Jay eventually. Maybe this was going to be our big break- the connection we needed that would take us from simply being talented to being known.
But I wanted to win the Battle of the Bands first. I wanted to prove we were worth his time. Even if I won him over with my lyrics, I still wanted to win him over with my voice. That was the one strength I had that I was truly proud of, and the one talent where my confidence never wavered.
We hadn’t even made it to the chorus when a slow clap from the entrance of the room shot through my ears. I looked over to see my great day getting instantly more annoying.
“Did you steal a twelve year old’s diary for that opener? Good to see you’re upgrading.”
