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Since I’d sat out in the hallway through two days of auditions now, I knew it was rare when a drummer played more than one song with them. This had to mean something.
Something good.
Beyond excited, lightheaded and a little sick to my stomach, I nodded and wiped clammy palms on my jean-clad thighs. “No problem.”
“Sweat” was a hard-core track for them with some tricky drum moves, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Ready to show them my mad skills, I dove right into it.
And nailed it.
Bam, I was so good I shocked myself.
As the last beat from my cymbal clanged through the air, Holden and Galloway hooted and hollered while Hart slowly turned to stare at me intently.
I squirmed under the heavy inspection. I knew Jodi had done a damn fine job of guying me up, but what if Hart saw straight through the layers? What if he knew what I really was?
Then he said, “‘Stone-Hearted,’” which was pretty much their signature song.
I grinned and began the count off.
After we finished that one, I immediately started the percussion lead-in for “Ceilings,” a new one, but my favorite, of theirs. Hart glanced back at me, and I wondered if he’d get pissy about me initiating a new song all on my own. But then a small, impressed smile crossed his lips right before he wailed out the first striking line before joining in with his guitar, on cue.
The others followed, and we played a fourth song together, just pretty much rocking out by this point.
I would’ve lit into a fifth after Asher sang the last line, but he held up a hand, stopping me.
I set my drumsticks against my knee and held my breath.
He studied me a second, then nodded. “Can you play this Friday?”
“Friday?” I echoed stupidly. Is that when their second round of callbacks started?
Hart nodded. “Yeah, that’s when our next gig is. Are you available then?”
Holy shit. “Wait. Are you saying I’m... in? I’m in the band?”
They’d been auditioning drummers for three full days. How could they just hire one of us on the spot? No one was good enough to hire after playing four songs with them. Were they?
Hart lifted his eyebrows. “Sure...if you’re interested in joining Non-Castrato.”
His green eyes were freaking hypnotizing and the dark lashes framing them made them pop even more. It didn’t seem fair that a guy should have such gorgeous eyes to go with such a gorgeous face and gorgeous lean body. But hell, put him on a stamp, and I’d write a letter to everyone I knew just for the chance to lick him.
Did they even make lickable stamps anymore? They totally should. Asher Hart lickable stamps.
I blinked, clearing my jumbled brain from all the lust, and what he’d just said finally made an impression in my head. And then, I was filled with a giddy radiance.
Holy shit, they really wanted to hire me after four songs.
I was in the band.
“Fuck, yes I want to join!” I exploded.
But as soon as the words crossed my lips, reality set in. Oh hell, what had I just done?
This was where I was supposed to rip off my mask and tell them all to go screw themselves. Except the words never came. The mask-ripping never commenced. Because I wanted to play that gig on Friday more than I wanted my next breath. Who cared if I was scheduled to work at Castañeda’s? Carmen owed me one. And who cared if I told one little white lie of omission, and just let them believe I was a guy? My gender had no bearing whatsoever on how well I could play. I just knew one thing: nothing was going to let me miss my first performance as a drummer in my first band.
I guessed I was going to have to be a man just a tad bit longer. I could still totally rip off the mask after Friday and make
them all feel as stupid and sexist as they were for not giving me a chance when I’d been a girl. So, yeah, that’s what I’d do. Wait until after Friday to let them in on my secret.
