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“Nah, you were out like a light,” Matt laughed.
“You talk in your sleep, you know,” Jimmy remarked.
Giselle froze up, realizing that she had just had a full-on steamy dream about her new songwriters in the studio… in front of her bandmates. She winced. She could only imagine what they might have overheard. Her cheeks burned pink with embarrassment.
“Oh, I was having, um, a nightmare,” she lied quickly.
“You kept saying you were ‘ready’,” said Matt. “Oh god, were you having one of those ‘late for school’ nightmares? I still get those sometimes, and I haven’t been a student in, like, a million years.”
Giselle nodded emphatically. “Yup. That’s exactly what it was. I was trying to tell my mom I was ready for school, and she wasn’t listening.”
“Typical parents,” Matt said.
“Whatever you were dreaming about, I hope it inspires something musical,” Jimmy said.
Matt chimed in, “Yeah, any divine revelations or whatever?”
Giselle hoped they couldn’t see the guilt on her face. She forced a smile.
“Nope. Just leftover teenage angst, I guess,” she answered. “Anyway, where were we? Sorry for dozing off. I promise I’m paying attention.”
“It’s okay. I know you’re still a little dazed from that incident at Griffith Park,” said Jimmy. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”
“Yeah, that prop could’ve squashed you like a bug,” Matt added.
“Eloquent, Matthew, as always. But yeah, pretty much,” agreed Jimmy.
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. I hate to admit it, but Asher and Blaze did a good job of getting me out of harm’s way,” she relented. “Although I could do without the media coverage of the whole thing. I wish they could’ve rescued me in a less dramatic way.”
Why was she so resistant to them in her waking hours, while she lusted for them desperately in her slumber? Giselle was confused. Her feelings were all over the place. It had been a long time since she had anything to lose, romance-wise. It was maddening. She wanted to hate them and what they represented: having to relinquish control of her brand and her band, having to give up who she was to become someone new. And yet, she couldn’t stop herself from fantasizing about them. Specifically, about letting them take the reins.
But that wasn’t who she was. Giselle didn’t give in to anyone, especially men.
“For a couple of studio hermits, they sure booked it across that stage when you were in danger, Giselle,” Matt appraised. “That Asher guy tackled you like a football.”
“Blaze was right there, too, pushing back the crowd when they started going crazy,” said the drummer. “We’re lucky they had the instinct to jump in at the right moment.”
“Hate to think what could’ve happened if that thing did fall on you. Where would Tortured Hearts be without Giselle Kingston?” Matt appealed.
“Probably nowhere, since my dad’s the one who let us use the garage for jam sessions,” Giselle answered back with a giggle.
“We’d be in Matt’s grandma’s basement,” Jimmy mused. “It always smelled like peppermint down there.”
“That was the schnapps,” Matt remarked.
“Ah. No wonder she was always so cheerful,” said the drummer. “Anyway, we don’t have to use your grandma’s basement or your dad’s garage anymore. We’re a real band now. We have a record deal with a real label. We have this awesome recording studio. And once again, I remind you: they charge by the hour.”
“Nah, Bruce will have locked in the day rate. Or night rate. What time is it?” asked Matt.
“Ten ‘til midnight,” he answered. “We’ve been working since two.”
“Almost ten hours in the studio,” Matt said, with a low whistle. “Just like old times.”
“Remember spring break in senior year? We spent almost the whole week in Dad’s garage practicing for the end-of-year talent show,” Giselle recalled wistfully.
“You were so nervous,” said Jimmy with a smile.
She stuck her chin out defiantly. “Of course I was! I was so sure we would make fools of ourselves in front of the whole school. I mean, what a way to go out.”
