by Genia Avers
She ran her hands over her hips as she took a long hard look. Even to her harsh appraisal, she was indeed hot. Her breasts were still large and spilled over the top of her bra, but her waist curved in sharply. Her belly button winked at her, an enticing morsel in a flat expanse of stomach.
She’d never had trouble attracting men, but Tanith believed sex appeal transcended the Barbie image. Many men had told her she was beautiful. Naturally, she hadn’t believed them. Guys thought all naked women were beautiful.
She ran her hand over her round, firm ass. Amazing. She hadn’t dieted, nor had she changed her exercise routine. The only thing she’d done was place her hand on the book and wish she could lose weight.
Longing and fear trickled through her body. Did she dare make another wish?
Tanith shook herself. The book wasn’t responsible for her weight loss, it couldn’t be. Sex increased the metabolism—that’s how she’d lost the weight. She ignored the voice in her head that reminded her she hadn’t been with a man in six months and solo sex didn’t require much exertion.
She backed away, but the book seemed to call to her… Had it also called to Eddie? Last week the book had been moved. Who else would have hidden it? It couldn’t have been Nana. Since the old girl broke her hip, she couldn’t climb the steep stairs.
“Oh, what the heck?” Tanith opened the book, put her hand in the center of a page and pronounced, “I want a flesh and blood lover.”
A blast of heat engulfed her palm. She jerked her fingers and shook her hand.
“Get real, Tanith.” Nothing licked her fingers. She was an MBA candidate, not some little girl who believed in magic. She restacked the book, hiding it behind a volume of Shakespeare.
“An MBA candidate who talks to herself,” she muttered, glancing at her watch. And who is late for class.
She hurried down the stairs and raced outside to grab her bike. She debated taking her car instead, but parking would take too much time. She hopped astride the ten-speed and pedaled toward school like a madwoman.
Tanith had almost reached the fine arts building when a handbill flew into her face. She couldn’t see a thing. Her fingers tightened on the handgrips and her feet slammed on the brakes. She encountered loose dirt, causing the bike to skid and go horizontal. She fell onto the grass like a clump of lead.
She lay still for a second, and then bent a knee, testing her flexibility. An intake of breath, not her own, made her open her eyes.
Groaning, Tanith pulled the paper from her face and sat up to stare into the face of an incredibly gorgeous man. He stood tall and had bulk in all the right places. Platinum streaked his blonde hair making it look as if a sun god had reached down and bleached him beautiful. Her wish couldn’t have worked that fast, could it?
“Are you okay?”
I know that voice.
It took a couple of seconds to identify the guy, but as she blinked in recognition, her fantasy evaporated.
The man might be drop dead gorgeous, but she wouldn’t be taking him home to meet Nana. He’d already met her.
“Darson. You look great. It’s a shame you’re gay.”
The man blinked, confusion evident in his incredible brown eyes. Tanith hadn’t seen him since she’d gotten her undergraduate degree. Her one real friend from school and she hadn’t even stayed in touch. Guilt threatened to choke off her air supply.
“Do I know you?”
“You do.” Her lips curved into a grin. “Darson, sweetie, I have to ask. You wouldn’t by any chance be dating women these days would you? You look delicious.”
“Tanith?” His eyes bugged. “Is it really you?”
He popped his hip and cocked his head to one side. “I do look hot, don’t I? But you look amazing, girl. Even if you are sprawled out on the grass like you’ve had too much muscatel. But, sugar, you’ve obviously hit your head if you think moi has switched teams. Now give me a hug.”
After the embrace, Tanith touched his head. “I really like this spiked hair. It’s so…so you.”
His gaze followed her movement as she rubbed her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
“Not from the fall,” Tanith shook her head, “but I’ll be dead meat if I don’t get to class.”
Darson held out a hand and helped her stand. “Are you back for grad school?” He didn’t see her nod because he had bent over to pick up the flyer. “You’re trying out for a band? Cool. It’s about time you did something with that marvelous voice of yours. I’m late too—call me tonight.”
Darson jotted a number on the flyer and thrust it toward her. Then, he took off in a prissy walk.
Tanith grinned as she flipped over the sheet of red paper. Bold text read, Rock Band Looking for Female Lead Singer.
She couldn’t try out, could she?
No way. She might be bold in the bedroom, but with no satin sheets for backup, she made the proverbial church mouse seem aggressive.
Tanith sighed and shoved the flyer into her backpack before glancing at her watch. “Crap, crap, crap.” Her Operations Theory professor was notorious for kicking late students out of the lecture hall. Permanently. She should never have dallied with that blasted book.
She locked her bike and rushed into the building. Panic pushed bile into her throat as her eyes failed to adjust to the dark auditorium. She had to sit before the professor noticed her tardiness.
“Psst.” The male voice came from her right. A body moved toward the center of the row to create a seat for her. “You can sit here, gorgeous.”
Gorgeous? Maybe she would try out with the band.
Chapter Three
Tanith toyed with the idea of going to the audition. She knew she could sing, but could she sing in front of people? She pushed her doubts aside to start a pot of coffee. When the water started to drip, she opened the door to retrieve the newspaper. An overnight package sat next to the paper on her steps. She lifted it and read the return label.
Sally Sweeney. Her other grandmother.
Grandma Sweeney was a practical woman and had never really understood Tanith. The matronly woman had absolutely no tolerance for a little girl’s guilt.
“It isn’t your fault,” she’d snapped the week after Tanith’s parents died. “A drunk driver killed your parents. I don’t want to hear any nonsense about you causing the accident.”
As a girl, she never spoke of wishes again, but she continued to feel responsible for the loss of her parents, no matter what Grandma Sweeney, or anyone else, said. She’d crawled inside herself and refused to come out. Her beloved Nana might have been able to thaw her grief stricken heart, but not Grandma Sweeney.
Exasperated, her grandmother took her to a counselor and pushed to get her involved in real activities. “You need some exercise. Otherwise, you’ll never lose that baby fat.”
The more Grandma Sweeney pushed, the more Tanith withdrew. Books and imagination became friends and relatives. Chocolate and voice lessons replaced love and support.
Withdrawal from the world made her awkward in childhood, but it paid dividends when she turned eighteen. Reading and studying earned her a substantial scholarship. No one, except maybe Tanith herself, was surprised when she received a full ride.
A wave of guilt assaulted Tanith. Her grandmother loved her, even if they didn’t share any common bonds. Since she’d moved away, getting in touch with her father’s mother had never been a priority. She really should call more often.
The package required a “thank you” call. Tonight.
She opened the box to find a short red mini-dress—the kind she couldn’t wear and too sexy for a grandmother to buy.
Most of Tanith’s guilt disappeared. She’d be lucky if she could fit one of her thighs into the skinny garment. How mortifying, the dress would never fit. She checked the tag—size three.
What the devil was Grandma thinking? Sure, she’d only visited her twice during the summer, but the last visit had been only two weeks ago. The woman might not appreciate a good book, but s
he could estimate a bra size at forty paces. Grandma Sweeney should have known the dress was too small.
Tanith shoved the garment back into the box. Before she closed the cardboard lid, her mind replayed an image from the day before—her reflection in Nana’s gilded mirror.
She found herself reopening the box. Most of her clothes were a tad large. What could it hurt to try on the dress? “Maybe the fabric will stretch.”
If nothing else, she’d have a private chuckle at Grandma Sweeney’s size miscalculation. That might erase the remainder of her “not calling” guilt.
Tanith removed her cotton robe and pulled the teensy dress over her head, hoping it wouldn’t rip. She tugged at the hem, which barely covered the top of her thighs.
This can’t be right.
In a trance, she hurried to the bedroom. The dresser mirror was too small to see her entire silhouette, so she opened the drapes of her studio apartment.
She gaped at her reflection in the large window. “Good God!” Modesty wouldn’t let her say anything aloud, but she looked fan-frigging-tastic.
She pinched herself to insure she wasn’t still dreaming. When her wrist stopped aching from the nail marks, she walked around the room, testing the feel of the snug, but comfortable, dress. When she bent over to make sure her ass wouldn’t show, the bright red flyer on her desk grabbed her attention.
It seemed like an omen. Should she audition?
Tanith belted out her scales, testing her vocal cords. Were pipes enough? Didn’t rock singers need attitude?
At twelve years old, she’d resisted when Grandma Sweeny dragged her to voice lessons. The teacher won her over with gentle encouragement and resistance died. The more she sang, the more the sweet old lady encouraged.
Despite classical training, she harbored secret fantasies of being a rock star. Didn’t everybody?
She’d kept singing, but refused to sing for anyone but her teacher, much to the chagrin of Grandma Sweeney. In all that time, she’d made only one exception. In college, she and Darson sang along with the radio. His encouragement superseded that of the voice teacher.
Maybe…
She glanced again at the flyer, looking for a time. She found it in bold print—the try-outs were at eleven. Her eyes darted to the clock on her coffeemaker: 10:30.
“Too late.” She’d picked the wrong morning to sleep in.
She poured a cup of coffee, unable to shake the heaviness consuming her. After all, it was just a stupid audition she wouldn’t win.
She sipped her coffee as she sat down to read the paper. Like every day, she read her horoscope first.
Today you meet the man of your dreams.
“Yeah right.” Been there, done that.
The doorbell rang. She laughed. “That’ll be him.”
After a glimpse through the peephole, she flung open the door. “Darson?”
“You look fabulous, dahling,” he shrilled, doing a bad imitation of Billy Crystal. “What have you been eating? I want some.”
She arched a brow, taking in Darson’s shiny, black-leather pants and silky, yellow shirt. “Love the pants but the dry cleaning must be a bear.”
Darson stood back and put his hands on his hips. “No, you cannot wear them.” He eyed her hips. “Although I must say, they’d be too big for you now. You’d make that Swedish model girl green with envy.”
Tanith’s grin spread across her face. “How’d you find me?”
He rolled his eyes toward her ceiling. “Duh. Google. Are you ready to go?”
Her smile faltered. “Go where?”
Darson gave her his patented look. “Ohmigod. You weren’t going? Here I am hoping you’d changed your attitude to go with that fab body. I should have known you’d find some lame-butt excuse to back out. Good thing I came along to drag you to the damned audition.”
“Come on, D. I can’t go. I’m not lead singer material.”
“You so are. Not only do you have the best voice I’ve ever heard, you also have the second hottest body in this room. Maybe in the whole world.” He popped a hand on his hip. “The Tough Guys are perfect for your pipes—edgy, but smooth and, God, girl. Those guys are so hot I sweat just thinking about them. You’ll fit with them just like a hot dog in a bun.”
He put his fist against his chin. “Technically, you’re the bun and they’re…” Darson grinned wickedly. “Anyway, they don’t have a single gay man in the group, but I still love ’em. That should tell you how good they are. Let’s go.”
“No.”
He pursed his lips. “Yes. A voice like yours might get them into the big leagues. You don’t want to deprive those delicious boys, do you?”
“Dar, I don’t want to be in the big leagues.”
“Um-hum. And I don’t want ten inches. Now let’s go. There’s sure to be a line.”
She blushed. “I can’t, I’ll choke.”
Darson cackled. “Sweetie, I’m going to let that one slide. Ten inches—choke? Too easy. Besides, you’ll be singing, not giving blowjobs. You are going to this audition even if I have to drag you by your blonde head. Which looks great, by the way. Why don’t you wear your hair down more often?”
Tanith involuntarily touched her head. Normally she wrapped her long locks sloppily on the top of her head and shoved a clip through her hair. “I haven’t even combed it.”
“Leave it alone.” Darson tugged at her arm. “Let’s go, we’re late.”
She couldn’t go. She’d make a fool of herself. Backing away, Tanith grabbed the flyer from the desk and pushed it toward his face. “Read this. Auditions by appointment only. I don’t have an appointment.”
Darson showed too many teeth. The grinning hyena had to be up to something. “I was afraid you’d chicken out, you chicken shit. I called and made the appointment for you. No excuses this time.”
“You what?” Tanith gulped, too stunned to be angry. Her thoughts scattered into a hundred directions, making her stomach gurgle. If she didn’t do something fast, Darson would succeed in getting her to try-out.
“Let me change clothes.”
“Change? No way! You look fabulous.”
She whimpered as Darson pushed her from behind. Tanith barely had time to grab her keys and a hairclip before he marched her out the door.
Chapter Four
They made it to the audition five minutes early, but a long line already snaked around the building. Tanith felt her throat constrict. She tugged at her hemline, her mind working frantically to find any excuse to leave.
Every time she thought of something and opened her mouth, Darson put a finger on her lips. “Just breathe. You’ll be fine.”
The line moved faster than her thinking. “Dar, I really don’t think—”
“Breathe.” He kept chatting but his words didn’t penetrate.
She kept seeing herself fall off the stage. She re-tasted her morning coffee and feared she’d see it again too. In her mind, she stood onstage, but when she opened her mouth, she sounded like a seagull.
“I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can. You do it in the shower every morning.” He leaned closer to the woman standing next to him. “Don’t let your imagination get creative. I assure you, the only thing she does in the shower is sing.”
Both the woman and Darson laughed. Tanith felt sick.
Darson kneaded her shoulders. “Quit being a ninny. You’ll be fine.”
She opened her mouth again to reason with Darson, but she’d made it to the front of the line. How could that have happened? She tried to speak, to tell the man she’d made a mistake, but her mouth wouldn’t work.
“This is Tanith Cox,” Darson said to the man behind the makeshift desk.
He didn’t even raise his head as he studied the paper. He placed a check on the page and barked, “To the right.”
“My right or your right?” she squeaked. A large group waited to her left with at least thirty females standing in a cluster. Even more women waited behind her, but
only two women stood to her right.
His arm, covered with scrolled tattoos, shot out toward the two women standing near a door. “Wait over there. Next.”
“Move,” Darson hissed in her ear.
He pushed her and she stumbled to the right. Her stomach stopped churning. Sick disappointment drowned her nervous jitters.
She hadn’t really wanted to try out—okay, she’d wanted to, but had been too afraid. That didn’t make rejection any easier. It sucked. They’d dismissed her already, probably because she didn’t have the right look.
Sighing, she glanced at one of the women standing next to her. The vamp towered over her with legs encased in skin-hugging leopard pants. The black vest exposed most of the Amazon’s boobs and tons of makeup enhanced a classically beautiful face. What’s wrong with her look?
“‘Lo,” the vamp said, flashing a row of perfect teeth. She gave her black-purple hair a bit of a shake, exposing green streaks randomly planted in the long black. Somehow, she looked sexy instead of garish.
“Hello,” Tanith whispered, feeling overdressed. Even in her thigh baring dress, no one would notice her standing next to that dazzler. Not that it mattered.
“We might as well leave,” she whispered to Darson. “This is obviously the reject line.”
“Just a sec, hon.” He kept talking to the other female in the trio, as if she hadn’t spoken. His chat buddy wore a buzz cut and sported more chains than Tanith had ever seen without a Doberman nearby.
“Dar—”
A combined scream drowned out her words. Tanith looked around for the source of the commotion. She recognized the man sticking his head through the door from the picture on the flyer. Several girls in the other line shrieked.
“Margo Stewart?” he yelled in a clipped accent, and then disappeared inside the building.
The beautiful woman who’d been standing next to Tanith tottered toward the door on four-inch stilettos. Tanith grabbed Darson by his ear, forcing him to listen. “I don’t get it. Are they taking people from this line? I thought we were the discards.”
He groaned. “You’re so negative. Of course this isn’t the reject line.”
