Keep the Beat: A Band-Com for Romance Geeks

by Kata Čuić

  Keep the Beat

  A Band-Com for Romance Geeks

  Kata Čuić

  Keep the Beat

  A band-com for romance geeks

  Copyright © 2020 by Kata Čuić

  Published in the United States of America by Kata Čuić Books, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  This novel may not be reproduced in whole or in part without express written permission by the author. This includes, but is not limited to, the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. And, yes, that includes the internet and social media. Especially those. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Art in any form is created from the blood, sweat, and tears of the artist—in this case, the writer. Please do not engage in piracy or plagiarism. Purchase from valid vendors. Create your own art!

  All trademarks are the property of their respective owners and are mentioned in this work only insofar as they are commonly known brands to the public.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and goings-on are the product of the author’s ridiculous imagination and/or life experiences and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead or otherwise, is coincidental. Kind of. Mostly.

  Editing by Jovana Shirley at Unforeseen Editing

  https://www.unforeseenediting.com/

  Proofreading by Alison Evans-Maxwell at Red Leaf Proofing

  https://www.facebook.com/redleafproofing/

  Cover illustrations by Jason McCormack at Aftermac Art & Design

  https://www.instagram.com/aftermacart

  Cover design by Melissa Panio-Petersen

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  Revenge is sweet.

  Emma Hastings has tried all her life to fit in. Throwing off her awkward high school years to become a member of a prestigious sorority at Wellbridge University, she has her sisters at her side, and the future spread out before her for the taking. Her senior year of college should be filled with parties, studying, and sweating between the sheets before she goes to medical school.

  One night at a party changes everything. Dominoes collapse as quickly as they’re erected. Suddenly, everyone has something to gain and everything to lose.

  Get your free copy of Revenge Love

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Also by Kata

  About the Author

  Playlist

  Chapter One

  It’s hard to leave the past behind when it’s glaring at you from across the room.

  Unfortunately, my past doesn’t want to let me go and has a bad habit of following wherever I run. It comes with a stupid nickname, too. If everyone called me Jimbo, I’d wonder what I’d done to deserve such punishment rather than wear the label like a designer suit.

  Jimbo’s real name is James Fossoway—Jimmy when we first met—and I’m blissfully ignorant of when that changed. I am not, however, blissfully ignorant of his presence. Especially when his shirt is damp with sweat and clinging to his body in such a disgusting way, his stupidly veined, muscly arms crossed over his broad chest, and the way he mouths angrily at me, Pay attention.

  I’m going to continue to zone out just to spite him.

  Actually, I’m flirting with unconsciousness because I’m pretty sure I’m dehydrated. And maybe a tiny bit too proud for my own good. Jimbo offered me his water bottle when he found out I’d forgotten mine during morning drills in the blazing sun, but I’d sooner swap spit with a rabid opossum than ever drink from anything his lips had also touched.

  “Now, I know you’re all wondering who will be head drum major this year.”

  The booming voice of our band director, Dr. Kimball, snaps me out of my brain fog. As does the smug grin spreading across good ole Jimbo’s full lips. If he’s going to ruin my life with his persistent existence in my world, then I can at least enjoy watching him be disappointed over and over again. I’m a shade petty that way.

  “As I’m sure our rookies have learned by now, college marching band isn’t like high school.”

  Awkward, exhausted laughter ripples through the band room.

  “You might have felt like freaks and geeks as the band nerds wherever you came from, but here, at this level, we work our asses off because we’re not satisfied with mediocrity. In the words of the late George Parks, ‘A band is not proud because it performs well; it performs well because it is proud.’”

  The cute freshman babies gasp at our director’s use of a curse word. Sweet, innocent, young things have no idea how real shit is about to get at this level of geekdom. I almost wish to go back to that time. When the world was still my oyster, anything was possible, and a whole new life of experiences and opportunity was waiting to kiss me with its gift of hope.

  That was all, of course, before I spied the ugly mug of my sworn enemy among the ranks of other trumpets my freshman year at State’s mandatory band camp.

  The director continues after silence blankets the auditorium once more, “Our drum majors are leaders by example. They were chosen as the best of the best from among your ranks through rigorous auditions. But this year, we want you all to be involved in choosing the candidate who best meets your needs as a collective group and as individuals on the cusp of making smart decisions to launch you into adulthood.”

  Jimbo’s posturing deflates a bit, and I hate, hate, hate that I share his sentiments.

  For the last three years of my time with the State Miners Marching Band, the first night of band camp has always been revered as the traditional announcement of the head drum major. Sure, in a band of over three hundred members at one of the most prestigious football schools in the country, a group of five drum majors is chosen every year to lead. But being the head drum major is a mark of distinction. You’re not just the cream of the crop; you’re the crème de la crème. You’re like the valedictorian of Harvard Law’s graduating class. You are it, and you are going places.

  “Throughout this next week of full band camp, your drum majors will be competing against each other for one thing—your vote. This is an opportunity for you to be involved in a democracy where you choose your ideal leadership and for them to become worthy of such an honor. To that end, we will make the announcement for head drum major before our first halftime show of the season. May the best candidate win!”

  A ripple of shock from the upperclassmen and confusion from the freshmen volleys through the band room.

  But from across the room filled with sweat-soake
d bodies who have given their all for the day, my past sets his shoulders in a way that can mean only one thing.

  Game on.

  The first cry of, “Jimbo for DM!” reverberates through the wide space of our band room.

  As expected, it comes from a sophomore female flautist, who gazes at him with hearts in her eyes. I almost feel bad for her because I can practically see her train of thought. He’s gorgeous. He’s built. He’s a stud. Moreover, he has just enough of that bad-boy air to make her think she’s going to be the one to finally tame him.

  Sadly, I know something she doesn’t. James Fossoway is the second in line on a list of Fossoways who can’t be tamed. They are womanizers, plain and simple. No supermodel could ever be enough motivation for them to commit. His older brother, Alex, was a star player on the football team here. His reputation should precede him, but unfortunately for the gaggle of women echoing the first’s sentiment, enough time has passed on such a large campus that none of these students even know or remember how Alex Fossoway plowed his way through the female population at State, leaving a trail of disappointment in his wake. If they knew all those facts, they’d recognize Jimbo for the prince of panty-collecting that he is.

  All these ignorant young women have to go on is the bright smile, muscly muscles, and heretofore, only loosely lassoed relationship status they know as the current Jimbo Fossoway.

  I gag at his confident smile.

  A body shifts me off-balance, so I glance to my left.

  “Sophia.” My BF squints at me. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” No. “Why?”

  “You gagged. Like, visibly gagged. If you’re going to blow chunks, make a run for it, and I’ll cover you.”

  Bless Shannon. Bless her to the moon and back. I could not have found a better friend in all the world.

  “I can’t believe I have to run an election campaign against that cretin,” I hiss, so no one else will hear. “Why can’t he just disappear already?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I’ve been begging you for years to let me help you murder him and hide the body. For some reason I can’t figure out, you’re not as homicidal as you pretend to be.”

  “If I’m going to go to prison for someone, it’s not going to be for him.” Even under layers of anxiety, I can’t keep from grinning. “It’s probably going to be for you.”

  She snickers. No one cares anymore that we’re not paying attention to the director. He’s dismissing the band by section for the night anyway. Student leaders are always last on that long list. “Hey, no one caught us stealing that Licking Pike street sign. You didn’t go to jail for me that night.”

  “What about the time we did get caught stealing that Caution: Wet Floor sign from the dining hall?” I really thought I was going to be expelled from State. Truly. I’m ninety-nine percent sure the only reason I wasn’t is because someone lit a couch on fire across campus, and all the security patrols were summoned to that hot mess.

  She knows it, and she chuckles in response. “Miracles do happen? Besides, it was for the annual Iota Tau Kappa scavenger hunt. I wasn’t going to lose that!”

  No, we almost lost our scholarships instead. “Look, you know I want head drum major more than anything, but please, please promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid to help me.”

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “I won’t do anything stupid to help you. You should help yourself this time anyway. Join ITK this year! Being part of the coolest frat in band will definitely give your image a boost!”

  I hate to admit she’s right, but … she’s not wrong. ITK is the coed band fraternity. It’s not like the nationally recognized music fraternities and sororities, but it’s more part of the long-held tradition of State being a total party school. Only these parties are for band geeks.

  “Rush doesn’t even start until after the first game of the season, and you heard Dr. Kimball. I only have two weeks to convince all the bandies to vote for me! Joining ITK can’t even help me now.” I think I’m hyperventilating. Can someone hyperventilate when they’re also dehydrated? “I need a plan. I don’t have a plan for this.”

  “Just do what you’ve always done.” Shannon shrugs. “Beat him.”

  Chapter Two

  The stains on this wall suspiciously resemble a Rorschach test. And all I see in it is failure.

  I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised. Band camp is always the week before the fall semester begins, and just because the university provides us with food and shelter for that week doesn’t mean they’re going to hand over the keys to the kingdom by giving us the sort of palatial housing the football team gets.

  Jimbo told us all about how his older brother had an amazing time at preseason football camps.

  I stare at the pattern on the wall, willing it to gift me with a bright idea. Any idea at all really.

  Jimbo has spent the past three years making my life a living hell. And I haven’t backed down from a fight yet in all that time. How can I? Some girls might be traumatized by a guy taking their virginity at a regional high school band competition and then disappearing off the face of the planet, only to show up again at their chosen college, but not me. Nope.

  Nor was I disappointed when he pretended like he’d never seen me before, let alone slept with me.

  He thought he had the right of way here since his brother was a football star for State. He thought everyone would automatically love him because of his last name. He thought he’d break my heart and put me in my place by flirting with other girls right under my nose and becoming a playboy, just like his brother. He thought by also choosing a poli-sci major sophomore year that I’d be so sick of him invading my life that I’d transfer to another school.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Here I am. Staying strong.

  It’s easy to ignore him in our shared classes. That’s all lecture; there’s no time for socializing. Mostly. Band has over three hundred members. The trumpet section alone accounts for seventy-five bodies. No need to be fake friends with him here either. I had a legitimate reason for not joining ITK even though I was invited to rush freshman year. I really don’t have time. Band takes up so much of the fall semester, and there was no way I was going to let competing with Jimbo on another level tank my grades. Actually, not joining was my way of beating him. If anyone isn’t going to graduate magna cum laude, it’s him—thanks to drinking away his weekends and sleeping with every girl who’s all too willing to give it up to him.

  I joined the nationally recognized band sorority instead because that at least looks good on law school applications.

  But this? A vote?

  There’s just no way I can beat him at this.

  It’s not bad enough that there’s never been a female drum major in the history of State’s marching band. It’s not bad enough that I’m the only female drum major in a group of five as it is. The other guys I don’t really worry about in a popularity contest. They’re stereotypically awkward marching band geeks like me. It would be an even playing field.

  But Jimbo is in an entirely separate league. I’m not even sure why he joined marching band to begin with. Why doesn’t he play football like his older brother? He’s got the build for it. Muscles for days on that one.

  Muscles that are going to win him the popular vote.

  Damn muscles.

  I have a nice rack, I’ll admit, but do I really want to stoop so low as to use that to my advantage?

  Would it even work?

  I’ve attended band camps under the sweltering sun in nothing but a sports bra and running shorts before. That was honestly about staying cool, not trying to give the entire drumline boners. The guys are shirtless, and the gals are in sports bras. That’s just the way we roll when trying not to pass out from heatstroke.

  By the time the door swings open hard enough to bounce off the wall, I still don’t have any sure wins in my pocket. When I bolt upright in bed to see Shannon glaring at me with hatred in her eyes
and breathing like a raging bull, my emotional pendulum swings to worry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They’re holding a drum majors’ meeting right now. Jimbo insisted.”

  “What?” I leap off the bed like my shorts are on fire and search aimlessly for my shoes. “Did I miss the text? Oh my God! They’re never going to name me head drum major now!”

  Shannon stomps into the room, latches on to my shoulders, and stops just short of slapping some sense into me. “No, you’re not hearing what I’m telling you. Jimbo called a secret meeting and left you out of it.”

  Every previously dancing nerve ending in my body goes eerily numb. “What? How do you know about it then?”

  She gives me an expression that makes me think she’s not going to hold back with the slapping for much longer. “I was at an ITK officers’ meeting. Most of the officers are also drum majors. How do you think I know?”

  That last question is rhetorical, so I don’t bother answering.

  “Why is he such a fucking snake? Hasn’t he already done enough to me?”

  She practically vibrates in a solidarity of rage. “Can we hide his body now?”

  “Maybe,” I finally agree. “But first, I want to see what he’s up to.”

  If I’m going to beat him at his own game, then I have to know which game we’re playing this time.