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I took a sip of my drink as he darted out of the room. A few minutes later he reappeared clutching a handful of papers. My eyes widened as he thrust them at me.
“This is all just standard shit. I need to see your ID—otherwise I could get into deep shit if you turned out to be underage and I’m taking you into bars and shit.”
“You couldn’t have given me all this tomorrow at rehearsal?” I asked. It seemed like a pretty weak reason to get me over to his house. Maybe he wanted to see me for another reason…
Or maybe that was just my hopeful, hormonal teenage mind going into overdrive again.
“Sure I could have,” he said. “But we have a lot riding on this tour and I need to get things in order. Excuse me if I want to protect my investment.”
“Your investment?” I repeated, my voice dry. What was I, a cow being fattened up ready for sale?
He rolled his eyes. “Settle down, will you? I wasn’t referring to you. I’ve put a lot of work into getting this band noticed. This tour could really open some doors. You think this is all about me trying to impress you or something, but believe me, I don’t need to try that hard to get women.”
Of course he didn’t. I bet all he had to do was introduce himself. Or flash one of those sexy smiles…
I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. Why the hell would Saxon Waite be into me?
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
He chuckled, the bastard. I shuffled down from the barstool and wandered into the dining room. He loved seeing me squirm. I tried to ignore him as I stalked over to the table and snatched the set list from it. Focusing way too hard on the piece of paper in front of me, I prayed for him to change the subject.
“Okay,” he said, seemingly happier. “Those are the songs you’ll need to learn. I want you listening to them while you sleep, I want you breathing them when you’re awake. Every word, every pause, you need to know. And on top of that, you need to bring a little of yourself into them. There’s nothing worse than being able to tell the person singing isn’t into the song. You need to feel it. Make sense?”
I nodded. I’d been writing songs since I was eight. It had helped me deal with some pretty dark experiences. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was feel the music. That was the beauty of singing: it was so easy to immerse myself in another world.
“Good.” He nodded. “Now go home. Get some rest and be back here two hours before rehearsal so we can go over where you’re at.”
“Got it.”
***
I sat on the floor of my room trying to block out the noise that was Nelson playing World of Warcraft. Surrounding me were all the song sheets I needed to learn. I knew most of them word for word, but it was getting the tone and singing in tune with the guys that I had to focus on.
I picked up a sheet and stood up. Grabbing my iPad, I tugged my sweatpants off and climbed under the covers, running through my track list until I found “Love Unrequited” and pressed play. I hummed along to the previous singer, Natasia, and mimicking her vocals.
An hour later, I’d had enough. I knew I was getting it, but I felt like I was trying to learn too much too fast. All the songs were beginning to blend into one.
I need a break.
Reaching up, I yanked the earphones from my ears and tossed them on the floor. Reaching over to my nightstand, I grabbed my half read copy of Sizzle, by Lexi Buchanan. I didn’t get time to read as much as I would’ve liked, but even I couldn’t resist a hot rock star.
Chapter Eight
Sax
“Sax!”
I laughed as Stace barreled down hallway and crashed into me, her arms flying around my neck. She looked beautiful in a purple sleeveless dress. Her blonde hair had been straightened, hanging halfway down her back.
“I can’t believe you came,” she added with a cheeky grin.
“As if I’d miss my kid sister’s birthday. Eighteen, Stace. You’re growing up.”
“It’s just a number,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. She slipped her hand inside mine and dragged me down the hallway. “It’s not like I can drink or anything. No difference to yesterday, really. Besides, if we start focusing on the numbers, then by your age we’d start getting really depressed.”
“Watch it,” I growled.
She howled as I messed up her hair. “Do you know how long I spent doing my hair this morning?” she complained.
