by Lisa Suzanne
“Look, Gage, I’m here for this competition. For no other reason. Whatever happened is in the past now.” She flattens her lips resolutely.
Her words dig and cut into my chest. It’s in the past? Fine. Let’s bury it all the way there, then. I try to come up with the one thing I really think will piss her off—even though I fully believe it’s not true and I already know it’ll make me look like an ass for even saying it. I don’t care, though. I want my words to hit her as hard as hers just hit me. “You think you can beat out the men in this room for a spot? Chicks can’t play bass.”
Her eyes light with a ferocious fire at my words, and it’s in that moment I stop seeing the innocent, sweet woman I got to know over the weekend and I see a firecracker who may actually have a shot at fitting in with a rock band.
With both hands on her hips, she squares off at me. “Did you really just say that? Because you’re wrong. And I’ll prove it when I beat you. I’ll prove it when I’m the reason you’re sent packing.”
I didn’t even notice the room had fallen silent while we screamed at each other until I hear the responses to her words.
Oh, burn!
Damn, she fucking roasted him!
Snap!
She just put me in my place in front of this entire room.
She just told me she’ll be the reason I’m kicked out of this competition in front of everyone we’re competing against.
You know what? Maybe I will be the reason she is sent packing.
Especially if I can find a way to sabotage her chances.
It shouldn’t be that hard given how well I actually did get to know her in our few days together. I was listening.
She hates tuna and tomatoes.
She can’t stand the smell of cinnamon.
She’s allergic to shellfish.
She hates butterflies—thinks they’re just bugs with bigger wings.
The first thought that hit me when I walked into the house today comes back once more: I’m not here to make friends.
I’m here to win.
CHAPTER 22: LEXI
A cheer rises up followed by clapping, and when I turn from my conversation with Tyler, I see the four current members of MFB walk into the room. We just finished our first meal together—one where I purposely chose a chair as far away from Gage as possible, and as close to Tyler as possible, if nothing else because Tyler’s cute and Gage seems to hate it when I talk to him. We’re all holding drinks in our hands, and now we’re facing off with the men running this whole thing.
I study the four guys who I could be playing with as a permanent member of their band by the end of this thing.
I have a real shot. A one in ten chance...just like everybody else in this room.
And that’s pretty dang scary.
I’m immediately able to eliminate some of the contestants just based on personality. I talked to Marshall for thirty seconds when I pegged him as way too studious for a rock band...though, to be fair, I may have been similarly pegged because of my country background. Tim, who works as a studio musician, was too timid to have an actual stage presence.
I wonder how many of the men in this room are looking at me, thinking the same thing Gage voiced earlier: Chicks can’t play bass. I wonder if they’re silently passing judgment on me either because he put that thought in their heads or because they were already thinking it.
I brush away my judgment of Marshall and Tim. What I think doesn’t matter.
What the four men standing by the fireplace think is all that matters.
I haven’t had much chance to get to know the others apart from Tyler, who has held my attention most of the evening, and, obviously, Gage, who I’m currently trying to ignore because heck if I know how to feel about the fact he’s here other than totally angry that he told Tyler we hooked up and livid that he said girls can’t play bass.
The men of MFB stop in front of the fireplace, and all attention in the room turns to them. We all clap for the four musicians who are idols to us—who are in the position we hope to be in someday, too.
“Thank you,” Dax says, holding up a hand. “I’m Dax Hunter, lead vocalist of My Favorite Band, and on behalf of these guys and myself, welcome to Rock on the Road: The Replacement War.” Hoots, hollers, and more clapping follow his introduction.
None of them look intimidated or nervous or scared at the attention, and that’s because they’re pros. They’ve been doing this for a decade.
“Thank you,” Dax says again. “I’ll let the others introduce themselves, though I think you probably know them by now.”
“Brody Jensen, drummer,” he says, waving.
“Will Rascowicz, keyboards.”
“Adam Wilson, lead guitar.”
Goodness gracious, all four of them aren’t just rock gods, but they’re all freaking hot, too. And, I remind myself, they’re all married or engaged.
Dax takes the floor again. “We’re going to get started immediately. Each day, there will be at least one competition. Some will test your talent and skill on bass while others will show us your personality and versatility as a musician. If you come in last, you might be headed out the door. My best advice is to be yourself, show us what you can do, show us how you’ll fit with us, and be ready to fucking rock.”
We all yell out our excitement about that, while some of the guys throw up devil horns.
“So, grab your bass and meet us on the party bus out front,” Dax says. “We’re heading to your first competition in five minutes.”
There’s a rush for the stairs, and I lag a little behind even though I’m curious who I’m sharing a bedroom with. I figured I’d find out when I went up there tonight to go to bed. It’s only a place to sleep, so it doesn’t matter, and yet a little spark inside me hopes it’s Gage.
It isn’t.
He turns into the first room with a single, huge bed.
As much as two hours ago, I’d have killed to share that thing with him.
But now?
Not so much.
I’m not just angry over what he said. He damaged my reputation from the start, and that’s what hurts the most.
When I get to the room I chose, I finally see who my roommate is.
He glances up as he slings his case over his shoulder. His eyes meet mine, warm and chocolatey, and he raises a brow. “Well isn’t this a lucky coincidence?” Tyler asks, and I’m not sure whether it’s luck, fate, or something else entirely.
I smile at him. “Very lucky,” I agree, and then we walk together toward the party bus.
He isn’t putting any pressure on this—yet—but it’s still out there that I hooked up with Gage. The idea might’ve been planted that I’m that kind of girl. Maybe that’s what Tyler wants from me. Maybe that’s why he’s being so nice to me.
I hate that every relationship I form here will now be tainted by Gage’s big mouth.
I try to force that thought away, but it’s hard. Especially when my eyes meet his as I step onto the bus.
His burn at me, and I can’t tell if it’s in anger or in lust or somewhere in the middle of those two feelings, but I glance away first.
I have to.
The feeling his eyes light most in me at the moment is anger...followed closely by regret.
Flings aren’t really my thing, and this is why.
Okay maybe to say that is a little dramatic since this particular situation has never happened to me before.
The bus has bench seating along each side. In the back is a cabinet where we can hang our cases, and I choose a seat on the same bench as Gage so I don’t have to look at his stupid hot face. He’s sitting toward the middle, and I choose the end so I don’t have to be right next to him.
The MFB guys don’t ride with us, probably so they can discuss the contestants in the privacy of their own ride.
Tyler plops down between Gage and me, and I can almost feel the anger vibrating off Gage.
Good.
Let’s get him all riled
up and angry right before a competition. Maybe he’ll be the first one out.
“So you’re from Nashville, right?” Tyler asks me.
I nod.
“And you don’t actually do make-up there?”
I laugh. “No. I’m in a band called Electric Red Summer. Well, I was in a band before I came out here for this.”
“What kind of music do you play?”
“Mostly country, but we cover some classic rock too.” I stare out the window across from me, just above Colt’s head. To be totally honest, I’m not actually looking out the window. I’m looking at Gage.
Our eyes meet in the glass, and I look away.
I think Colt thinks I’m looking at him, because when my eyes focus and I realize I actually am looking at him, he smiles. I force a smile back, but he seems a little...smarmy.
“And you’re the bassist?”
I nod. “And co-lead vocalist. What about you? Aren’t you in Capital Kingsmen?”
“Yeah, I am. I’ve been playing bass with them for six years.”
“Are you, like, some mole here who’s gonna report all the stuff in the house back to the MFB guys?” I glance over at him.
He laughs, and the way his eyes crinkle and a little dimple shows up in his cheek at the movement is incredibly hot. He’s a very attractive man. Sexy as hell.
But I also catch Gage’s profile in my periphery as I look at Tyler, and I have to look away.
I’ve never had a man fire up so many emotions before, and part of me wants to punch something while the other part of me wants to hop on his lap and continue what we started in his hotel room this weekend.
God, I hate him.
“No, nothing like that,” Tyler says. He seems to think through his next words, like he isn’t sure how much he should be confessing. And then he lays it all out on the table anyway. “I love playing with Capital Kingsmen. They’re my boys. They’re my brothers. But a chance to play with MFB? It’s once in a lifetime. Too good to pass up, and all the guys in my band fully support that.”
Gage seemed like he was listening in on our conversation, but at that he turns to the guy next to him. Tyler and I make small talk until we pull in front of a huge building.
This is it: our first competition.
Time to say goodbye, Motley Crue.
CHAPTER 23: GAGE
I draw in a deep breath, and then the lights hit in the practice facility owned by Ashmark.
Those lights are blinding, but I don’t look into them.
I’ve been on stage enough times to know better. The same can’t be said for everybody here, though.
As I’ve gotten to know my competition tonight, I’ve learned a few things.
We’ve got Tyler, the bassist for Capital Kingsmen and an incredibly talented guy, Kevin “Blaze” Blaise, who’s in three bands in LA and wants to settle down with a permanent gig, and Colt Stevens, who used to play for a musical act called Ruby Ray, someone who’s on her way to becoming a household name. Decker is used to playing the circuit in Vegas but doesn’t have a regular gig or band he plays with. Apparently Lexi was in a band in Nashville, and I played with Sin City Crue, and that rounds out the contestants who have come here with stage experience.
The others are mostly studio musicians—John Denton, who’s a friend of Vail’s bassist, James. Tim, a guy from LA who’s so quiet and shy it’s almost painful to talk to him. Marshall, who studied at Julliard and seems like he has next to no personality, and Eric, a former child prodigy turned studio actor and musician.
Apart from Eric, who was on stage a lot as a kid but not at all recently, none of those guys have a ton of experience taking the stage with a rock band, and I definitely think that gives me a leg up—at least over them. I haven’t heard most of the other guys play to know whether they’re viable competition.
We had an hour to practice a song, and now we’re all supposed to be performing it on stage at the same time. The drums and lead guitar will be pre-recorded, and we all have mics hooked up to our instruments so Dax, Brody, Adam, and Will can listen later to the technical skills each of us has when it comes to playing our instrument.
The focus of this particular challenge is stage presence. How do each of us stand out in the line-up of nine other competitors?
That’s what MFB is judging us on tonight.
I’m a fast learner, but it helps that “Longview” by Green Day is a song I’ve played before. My eyes kept edging over to Lexi while we were practicing. She’d flip her long hair over her shoulder as she’d get frustrated with a note in the song, and then she’d puff out a breath of air before tackling it again.
She’s persistent. She’s focused.
I’m sure the other guys here are, too, but she’s got some special, unique quality about her that the others don’t...and it’s not just the fact that she’s a she.
I force her from my thoughts and put all my energy into focusing on the song. We’re counted down from five, and when one hits, we all start into the song at the same time. I think of the lyrics while I play, something my mind tends to wander to, and then I play a quick fill between notes to really propel the bassline. It’s not part of the original song, but it feels good and right—and it feels like something that’ll help me stand out from the rest when MFB listens back.
I have no idea if others are doing the same thing, but it doesn’t matter. I need to show what I can do, and fills are an idea I stole from listening to thousands of basslines over the course of my relationship with the bass guitar. I know there’s a fine line between overplaying something and ruining the song or adding something magical to it, and I’ve played this song enough times to know that this is adding.
I push all my energy into the song, too, because I’ve learned over the years that if I don’t feel it, those listening won’t, either. I think of the nights I played with the Crue when I was drunk or bored or lonely or tired, and those performances were all shit.
Tonight, though, I’m focused.
I rock the song, and I’m proud of what I left behind as it comes to an end.
All ten of us exit the stage. I’m all fired up after that. I want to keep playing, and I realize how much I’ve missed my guitar over the last few days when I was cooped up and distracted with a girl.
No more of that shit.
“How’d you do?” Decker asks me, and it feels good to have someone here I sort of already know—aside from Lexi, of course. We’re just acquaintances, but he has the potential to become a friend as we both find ourselves leaning on one another in this very strange situation where we’re competitors but also living together.
“Felt good,” I say, putting my bass back into its case. “You?”
He nods. “Same. You think you’re safe?”
“I think I’ve got more stage presence than Marshall did,” I say, and he laughs.
I feel a little bad for jabbing one of the other contestants when he’s not even here to defend himself in the middle of our conversation. I guess I’m not really making myself look too good so far.
But the only opinions that matter now are those of the MFB men. They’re watching back our performances, both as a whole group and the individual shots that were captured as we played. They’re listening to our individual bass tracks to spot the talent and the skill.
I left it all out there, and I just hope it was good enough.
It doesn’t take as long as I think it will when we’re called back to the stage. Cameras are set up to capture our reactions as we listen to what Dax has to say, and the four producers lead us to stools where we sit shoulder to shoulder.
“This was a tough decision,” he begins. “The four of us see so much talent standing on the stage in front of us. We’re honored you each want to be part of what we’ve created here, and we’re thrilled to say that we all think our next bassist is here in this room.” He glances at his bandmates. “Though we don’t all agree on who that is just yet.”
Nervous laughter flits through the
contestants, but this is good. They don’t need to decide now. Split opinions mean better chances.
“You each have a talent, or else you wouldn’t be here—and that’s why this competition was about so much more than just skill. We needed to see your stage presence and how you stand out in the crowd. Unfortunately, you can’t all stay, and so we were forced to choose the one person we thought most faded into the background even though his performance was technically perfect.”
His.
So it’s not Lexi.
She’s staying.
And technically I still don’t know if I am, though my confidence definitely says yes.
“We tried to pick a winner for this battle, but there were too many of you who stood out to us. So instead, we had to settle on one person who didn’t win. We’re sorry to say that Marshall, you lost this battle. You won’t be MFB’s replacement bassist.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as I look over at Marshall, the skinny nerdy guy with a buzz cut so close to his scalp that you can’t even really tell what color hair he has.
The poor guy is classically trained, and he came in here expecting to win just based on his talent.
But it takes more than just being technically perfect. His normally pale face is bright red as he tries to contain his disappointment by pressing his lips together and nodding just once.
I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. It sucks to get the boot anytime from a competition like this, but to be the first one cast off must really hurt.
I’m glad I’m not the one who has to feel that pain.
We’re ushered back to the house. “It’ll be an early morning tomorrow,” Miles announces once we’re all back in the family room seated around the room on various couches. “If you haven’t already done it, be sure to put in your food selections before you go to bed, and get some good rest. You’ll need it for what’s in store tomorrow.”
The four producers leave, and no one moves. My eyes edge over to her again. She’s deep in conversation with Tyler, and I hate it. I hate that she’s talking to him when he perked up after I said I spent the weekend hooking up with her.
Goddammit, why’d I say that?
