by Lisa Suzanne
It might’ve been my father, but I never knew him.
“Chop it.”
Her brows both raise almost to the ceiling. “All of it?” she asks. The scissors nestled between her fingers move upward, and my eyes catch on the silver as they glint in the light.
Once she makes the first snip, there’s no going back.
And you know what? I don’t want to go back.
I shrug. “Let’s just say I got an opportunity and I need a cleaner look.”
“An opportunity?” she asks. She narrows her eyes at me. “Is this for a girl?”
I laugh. “No, AJ, it’s not for a girl. I’m going to California.”
“And you waited to tell me this? When are you going? And why?” She grabs a one-inch section of my hair and tugs.
“Ow!” I whine. “I leave Thursday. I’m auditioning for a band.”
“And if they pick you?” she asks, tugging again.
“Then I’m moving to California.”
Maybe I’ll do that even if I don’t win.
“Oh, Gage,” she murmurs. “I want this for you, I do. But for me, I don’t want you to leave.”
I sigh. Leaving the band certainly isn’t the hardest thing about leaving Las Vegas. “You’re the only reason I don’t want to do this. But it’s a huge opportunity for me, and I can’t pass it up.”
“Sunday evening dinners won’t be the same without you,” she says softly.
I’m the oldest of my six cousins, and they’re like siblings to me. And Auntie Jean has invited me to dinner every Sunday since I moved out of her and Uncle Norm’s place. I haven’t missed a Sunday—even when she’s had to hold it earlier than usual because of my gigs. “I know. Sundays won’t be the same without you guys, either. You’re my family, and I love you.”
She reaches around me and bear hugs me from behind, and I already know how damn much I’m going to miss this woman.
And her cooking.
I pat her arm as it clings to me, and she lets go and swipes some tears.
“Okay, then. Clean cut it is. You ready?”
I press my lips together and nod resolutely, and then she makes the first cut.
By the time she’s done, the floor is covered in my long locks and I look like a totally different person.
“I always knew you were so handsome under that mop,” she says, and I grin. She presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, be still my heart. That smile is going to just kill those California girls.”
“I don’t want to kill ‘em, but I wouldn’t say no to having a few of them in my bed.”
She smacks my shoulder but laughs anyway. “Don’t talk like that in front of me.”
I laugh along with her, and she pulls the cape off my shoulders and dusts the hair from my neck. “I love you, Auntie Jean.”
“I love you too, Gage. Come to dinner tomorrow night before you go, okay?” She leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I nod, and the hardest part is over.
Mostly.
I still haven’t told Kelly.
When I get home, she’s at rehearsal. I pack up what I’ll need for the next month or so and fit it all into one suitcase, and then, just in case I’m not coming back, I pack the rest of my shit.
I fit most of my meager belongings into a couple of suitcases and a few small boxes. I guess I’m just not sentimental enough to hold onto shit I don’t need, and that includes my old wigs. I shove the suitcases and boxes into the closet. I can unpack when I come back, or if something actually happens in the next few weeks, it’ll make for an easier exit.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating some grilled chicken and fresh vegetables when Kelly walks in.
Her jaw drops as she kicks the door shut.
“Your hair,” she murmurs. She follows that with, “Holy fuck, you’re hot.”
I laugh, and she shakes her head.
“The face, the little bit of stubble, the nice haircut, that firm chest and those wicked biceps, those abs of steel, and that happy trail that leads to the best dicking I’ve ever had...” She trails off, and the signal is clear that she wants to fuck.
But, oddly, I don’t. I want to talk.
I need to tell her I’m leaving.
“The best dicking?” I ask.
She sets her bag down then nods. “Oh, yeah. The best.”
I laugh.
“Why the haircut?” she asks.
“I, uh, have something I need to talk to you about.”
Her eyebrows draw together and she slides into the chair beside me. She grabs a piece of broccoli off my plate. I narrow my eyes at her, but she doesn’t give it back.
“Go for it.”
“I’m heading to California in a couple days and potentially staying there.”
She drops the broccoli and it lands on the floor. “You’re what?”
“I was invited to be on a reality show and filming starts this weekend.”
“But...but...” she sputters. She pouts a little. “But you can’t take away the dick.”
I laugh. “Sorry, babe. It’s kind of coming with me.”
She sighs. “I knew it was too good to last. When will you know if you’re staying there?”
I shrug. “A month or so. Maybe longer. There’s a lot that’s up in the air but this has the potential to change my career.” And, sorry, but I’m not passing it up because you like my dick.
I only say that last part in my head, obviously.
“So what does this mean for me? Should I rent out your room?”
“I packed and stuck all my shit in the closet until I know more, but I understand if you don’t want to be here alone. Rent it out if you want. I’ll still cut you a check for my share until I know for sure.”
She sighs. “This isn’t the news I was hoping to hear today.” She looks down at the broccoli on the floor, and I bend over and pick it up. I set it on the table.
I’m curious what news she was hoping to hear...but I’m not curious enough to ask. I don’t want to put myself in an awkward position if I don’t have to. “Sorry,” I say instead, even though I’m not really all that sorry.
I share my dinner with her, and we talk about her rehearsal, and she shares all the gossip about the other dancers with me, and when we’re done eating, I pour us each a shot of tequila. We stand in the kitchen and take it, and then another, and then she closes the small gap between us. She links her arms around my neck.
“You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had,” she says. “Certainly the hottest.”
I laugh, and then because I don’t know what else to say—she’s not the best roommate I’ve ever had, though as a real, true Vegas showgirl, she is among the sexiest—my mouth crashes down to hers.
She moans into me in the way she always does, and then she wraps her arms around me and her nails skim up and down my back while we kiss.
“God, you’re like a different person without all that hair,” she says.
“I feel like a different person, too,” I admit. And then, from out of nowhere, I say, “And maybe that’s why we shouldn’t do this tonight.”
She pouts.
Kelly is one hell of a good time. But that’s all we are to each other, and I can’t feel bad about leaving her behind when I leave town.
CHAPTER 8: GAGE
You know those guys at the airport who hold up signs with names on them?
We all look at every name wondering who these people are, or maybe hoping our name will be on one of them sometime.
Mine never was.
Not until today, anyway.
I walk up to the man carrying the tablet with Gage Hoffman splashed across it in dark lettering.
“I’m Gage,” I say, and I pull out my license to show him because I don’t know how the hell this shit works.
“Mr. Hoffman, I’m Tony and I’ll be driving you to Ashmark today. Do you have all your luggage?”
I nod at the small suitcase I brought, my bass guitar in its case and slung over m
y shoulder. That’s all I brought. Tony attempts to take the suitcase handle from me.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” I say. “I’ve got it.”
He nods. “Of course. Follow me.”
We wind through the rather large airport and eventually we end up outside. He leads me to a big, black Yukon, and I slide into the backseat. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but he’s here to do a job, and that’s fine with me. It gives me time to get into the right headspace.
I’m nervous as fuck as I look at the tall buildings of Los Angeles. The weather on this first day of August is about thirty degrees cooler than Vegas when I left, and yet I’m sweating.
It all came together fast. I got my travel itinerary and a whole shitload of information from Ashmark as soon as I signed the contract, and I’m basically at their mercy from now until MFB decides they’re no longer interested in me...unless they don’t decide that. Then I’m at Ashmark’s mercy permanently.
And that’s a place I’d love to be.
There’s something magical about this city even as we’re stuck in traffic. The palm trees are lit with the light of the sun in a cloudless sky and there’s a hint of ocean in the air even though it’s miles away. There’s valleys with green and mountains of brown and hillsides with homes.
It’s so unlike Vegas where I grew up, and yet there are so many similarities. I guess Vegas has its own magical air to it, but this feels like a land of opportunity.
As Tony pulls up to the curb in front of a skyscraper with Ashmark’s logo on the top, this feels like the epicenter of those opportunities.
My heart races and my hands are clammy, but I’m here. And I’m ready for whatever’s about to happen.
Tony opens the back door. “Mr. Hoffman, please enter the lobby. Olivia is waiting for you and will direct you to the right place. I’ll check you into your hotel and drop your luggage in the meantime.”
Wow, the actual royal treatment. Quite a step up for this cover band boy. “Thanks for everything, man,” I say, and he nods.
“Best of luck to you.”
With those words trailing me, I open the front door to the building that will change my life. Because no matter what happens, this is the place where it all starts.
No matter what happens, I’m not going back home to take my place in Sin City Crue.
Those guys might’ve been my best friends during our run, but I feel a strange sense of freedom without them. Maybe they weren’t always the best influences...and maybe I was heading down a dark road. This opportunity might’ve saved me from things I don’t even realize.
I glance around the lobby, and I see a gorgeous brunette holding a clipboard. I walk over to her. “I’m looking for Olivia,” I say.
Her brows furrow. “I’m Olivia.”
“I’m Gage Hoffman.”
Her furrowed brow deepens. “Gage?” she asks. She glances at her clipboard and then back at me. She squints a little, looks back down, and then back up again. “Huh. The shorter hair is a nice look on you.”
My first compliment from a California girl. I’ll take it. “Thanks,” I say.
“I would never have guessed you’re the same guy as this mug shot,” she says, flashing her clipboard at me. It’s not an actual mug shot, just a phrase. It’s a picture from a show a few months ago.
“One and the same,” I say. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her cheeks redden just a little as our gazes catch, and I have a feeling I’m really going to like it here. “Follow me,” she says, spinning on her heel and walking quickly toward the elevator. My eyes drop to her ass as I follow. The blue fabric of her dress is stretched tightly across it, and I could just imagine what that peach looks like with her dress hiked up around her waist.
Yeah, I’m definitely going to like California.
The elevator car is loaded, and we get off on the top floor. She leads me through a series of glass doors, down a few hallways, and to a conference room with a gorgeous view that overlooks the city.
The room is huge, but there are five men sitting at a table waiting for me.
I recognize all of them, and I’m immediately intimidated.
Adam Wilson, who I recently spoke with. Dax Hunter, the lead singer of MFB. Brody Jensen, MFB’s drummer. Mark Ashton, Vail’s lead singer and the CEO of this label. Ethan Fuller, Vail’s drummer and Mark’s best friend.
All idolized.
All heroes of mine.
My hands get clammier and my heart races faster.
MFB’s keyboardist, Will “Rascal” Rascowicz, is missing from the line-up, but I heard he’s been playing temporarily with another band.
A woman rushes into the room. I don’t know her. “Sorry I’m late!” She slides into the open chair next to Dax.
“This is Gage Hoffman,” Olivia says to the group, cool as a cucumber, and I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to just stand here like this is normal.
“Where’s your hair?” Adam asks. He stands and reaches out a hand, and I walk over to shake it.
I gather my wits, and I laugh. “On the floor of my aunt’s salon in Vegas,” I say. “Nice to meet you in person, Adam.”
I shake each man’s hand individually, introducing myself and making it clear I know who they are. When I get to the woman last, she smiles. “I’m Kylie, MFB’s manager. Please take a seat and we’ll get started.”
I sit in the only open chair, and they all stare at me for a few beats.
“Dude, that hair was epic,” Brody says. “How long did it take you to grow it?”
I laugh. “A few years.”
“Before we begin,” Dax says, “do you have any questions on the paperwork we sent?”
I shake my head.
“Great, then this will be quick,” Dax says. “You’ll head to wardrobe first, and then you’ll go into the studio to film your introduction. That should take an hour or two at the most. We’re only doing a few of these a day and you’re first. Since you’re here a few days early, we’ll put you up in a hotel until the house is ready on Sunday. You’re free to do what you want until Sunday morning.”
“But don’t do anything to fuck up your chances,” Brody says.
“Noted,” I say. I may go out to explore LA a little, but more than likely I’ll just hang at the hotel.
Mark and Ethan go over some of the finer details of what I should expect, and then I’m released to wardrobe, which doubles as the hair and make-up place, so they can get me ready for my interview.
When I walk into the studio, a photographer snaps a few photos for promotional purposes and then I’m asked to sit on a stool in front of a green screen.
And then a producer who introduces himself as Ben fires questions at me, and I’m supposed to sit and answer them as honestly as I can.
It’s all totally surreal that this is even happening.
“Tell me about your musical background,” Ben says.
“I started on electric guitar when I was twelve. I didn’t have anyone close to me that played, but I thought playing guitar would make me look badass. I liked it, but I loved the sound a bass guitar made. When I picked it up, I never put it down.” I look into the camera while I talk as instructed, which feels weird...but apparently viewers—including the MFB guys—will feel like I’m talking to them if I do it.
“What do you love about bass?” he asks.
“The way I can watch people while I play, and they’re moving to my rhythm, not the lead guitar. The way it provides the steady backdrop to every song, but it’s not showy and it doesn’t have to be loud and obnoxious to stand out.” I think of Vince’s little act he puts on as our guitarist.
As their guitarist.
I’m no longer part of that equation.
“Is there a special woman in your life?” he asks.
I use that smile Auntie Jean calls my lady killer. “Still looking for the right one,” I say, which is a total lie. I’m much more into friends who fuck sorts of situations.
I’ve done the relationship thing. It wasn’t for me.
Ben asks me more questions along the same lines—some personal, some professional—and then he nods toward a row of bass guitars sitting on a stand. “Choose one and play us your favorite song.”
I’ve done these isolated bass exercises before, and I know not to choose my actual favorite song. I need to choose a song that’s going to impress. I go with “My Generation” by The Who, notoriously one of the hardest tracks to play on bass.
Ben doesn’t give anything away even though I play my heart out.
After the interview, I’m released to Tony, who drives me to a hotel not far from the Ashmark office.
When we arrive, he opens my door and hands me a keycard. “Room twenty-two-seventy-one,” he says. “Your luggage and bass guitar are already there. You’re free to do whatever you’d like for the next couple days. I’ll be here Sunday morning at nine to pick you up.”
“Thanks, Tony,” I say, and it’s weird having a personal driver...but I have to admit, it’s something I could get used to.
CHAPTER 9: LEXI
When I step into the front lobby of Ashmark Records, I feel incredibly underdressed.
The white sundress covered in daisies and paired with white cowboy boots felt sexy and adorable when I was looking in the mirror, but now...
I’m not dressed for California. I’m dressed for Nashville.
I’m out of my element here.
The woman standing by the door wears a sleek, navy dress. Her dark hair is stick straight and falls in a perfect curtain to the middle of her back.
“You must be Lexi,” she says to me.
“Olivia?” I ask, and she nods and smiles.
“Welcome to Ashmark. Follow me.”
I follow her to the elevators. We get on one with a crush of other people and take it to the top floor.
We step off the elevator, walk through the most important level of this building, and end up in what she calls the conference room...but it’s definitely not like any conference room I’ve ever seen.
