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That had never happened before.
The rule was clear: Practice didn’t start until everyone was there.
We were supposed to work like a democracy and how was that supposed to happen without all of us casting votes?
Sure, my vote should have counted for more as band leader, but that was beside the point. They hadn’t even waited for me to cast it.
What was more, they’d brought in someone new, or at least tried to, without even telling me. Finding a possible cellist for Dante Street Massacre was a fast opportunity we should take advantage of, to be sure, but could Thom have not shot me a text?
The two betrayals stacked together were bad enough but then came the fact that the cellist was really talented. So, I couldn’t just throw her out. Not only would it seem downright petty and turn most of the guys against me, but it would also be bad for the band.
Pauline was clearly perfect for the advertised role, and to dismiss her for personal reasons made no sense. I had to do what was best for the band. I would just have to bite the bullet and stick it out.
I didn’t have to be friends with Pauline— just colleagues. Certainly, I could do that much for the good of the band. The plain truth was that we needed Pauline.
We did what we did and did it well, but Pauline was other-worldly. Not that I would ever say so out loud.
I arrived home quickly, since the Brass Beagle wasn’t far away from my place. That was part of what made it the pub of choice for band business. We had voted on it at one point and the decision had never been redressed. But that was all the better for me, really.
Walking carefully down the hall, since all of the board dictators for my condo acted like dictators, with stiff rules against noise after nine, I made it to my door without incident, surprisingly. Even the beast in No. 9 seemed to be fast asleep. At least there was some luck to be had that star-crossed night.
Safely inside, I let out a breath in place of the scream that had been brewing since arriving at the practice space. Everything would be okay, I consoled myself, lightly massaging my temples. It was for the band and would be better in the long run. I wondered if Sting and Stewart Copland had thought the same thing.
It was both the best and worst timing in the world. My phone was buzzing in my pocket, like a mutant bee the second my ass touched leather.
“Hello?”
“Derek, it's Thom.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“You were using your demon voice.”
“Oh, right.”
“So, what’s happening?”
“Slaughter-House Five.”
“Sounds like an interesting evening. Anyhoo, I just got off the phone with the other guys and we all decided we want Pauline to join Dante Street Massacre.”
“Adam agreed to this, did he?”
“Astoundingly, yes, he did. Said it was what was best for the band. I don’t think he’s thrilled with the symphonic, acoustic direction but he’s willing to go along.”
Adam was one of the hardest headed people I knew. If he could see the bigger picture, I certainly wasn’t going to be a jerk about it.
“Yours is the final vote.”
“It needs to be four out of five,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but if you leave, we wouldn’t have a songwriter anymore and the point would be moot.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. Equality, like most things, only went so far. Practicality always took priority.
“Alright then, you twisted my arm. Pauline can join as a full member, assuming she wants to, of course. Have you talked to her about it?”
“No, not yet,” he said. “I was just about to call her, but I wanted to make sure I talked to you first.”
“Tell her and get back to me.”
“Righto.”
I repressed the urge to do Snoopy dances. For some reason, I’d never considered the possibility that Pauline might not want to join. The interview and audition process could have been as preliminary for her as it was for us.
I just couldn’t decide which way to feel about Pauline Guthrie. Something about her just rubbed me the wrong way. Her technical skill just irked me somehow. Worse, she was hot to boot, and that just complicated matters.
Having her around would make me so distracted, and I hated how much I loved looking at her body. Her every delicious curve drove me crazy.
I’d heard the term “hate boner” but I’d never actually experienced one. Up until that moment, the sudden pressure in my pants was undeniable.
Leaning back a bit further, I unbuttoned my suit-jacket and unfastened my pants. My cock was so fucking hard at the thought of her. She was so sexy that it was difficult to deny my attraction to her.
Plus, it wasn’t just wanting her when I didn’t want to want her that drove me crazy. It wasn’t all about her looks.
