AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The only professional work I’ve done is the article Erin did forNo Cover, and then the onesAlt Pressused for the festival,” she explains.
“It’s not like I got paid for it, but I’m not complaining because having my name in a major music blog is worth more than money for me right now.”
I nod, walking back to the register where Sasha joins me, leaning against the counter. “I was hoping you were serious about needing help for the summer,” she says.
“Just for the summer?” I raise an eyebrow, trying not to sound too disappointed; partly because I really do need someone permanently.
“I’ll be going back to school in the fall,” she explains.
“Going back to Austin?” I don’t want to pry, but I’m curious. All I know about her is from Erin, how they met in a bar in Austin and ended up taking a road trip back to L.A.
“No. I only have a couple of classes left and I’m doing those online through UCLA, but I’m hoping to get an internship atAlt Press,” she explains.
I clear my throat. “I could use the summer help until I find someone permanent,” I say as I walk down the hallway to the back storeroom. I don’t hear footsteps behind me so I turn around.
“Are you coming?” I call to her, and she hurries after me, her boots clicking on the tile.
The room is littered with boxes, some soiled and others not, but I have no idea what the records look like inside, aside from the one I already cut open.
“I need someone to separate out all the damaged ones so I can ship them back,” I tell her.
Sasha kneels down, the muscles in her thighs straining and pulls one of the albums out of the box, inspecting it. “Do people still buy albums?” She looks up at me and laughs lightly.
“Yes.” I snatch theLed Zeppelin IValbum from her, turning it over in my hand. “Such a shame.” I shake my head at the damage. “This is their best album, too,” I say absently, placing it back on top of the box in disgust.
“That’s debatable,” she speaks up, still kneeling in front of the box as she peers inside.
I cock an eyebrow. “There is no debate.”
She flicks her golden-brown eyes up at me. “All music is debatable,” she counters. “Just like art is subjective.”
She has a point, but I narrow my eyes at her anyway. “You weren’t even born yet when that album came out,” I say, noticing how young she is. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head, exposing the multiple studs and tiny hoops that adorn her ear. I notice the thin gold chain that lies against her neck and the way her chest expands with each breath, causing the necklace to gleam in the overhead light.
“Neither were you,” she challenges.
Straightening up, she stands a good half a foot shorter than me, even with the heels of her boots.
“You so sure about that?” Compared to her I am feeling very old at the moment.
She looks as if she’s trying to carbon date the lines on my face. “You don’t look that old.” It’s not just the tone she uses, but the upturn of her lips that has me on edge.
I ask the stupidest question on earth. “How old do you think I am?”
The way her eyes roam over my face and down my arms… I already know I’m trouble. “Early forties I’d guess, only because I know you were in a grunge band, but honestly,” her fingers play with a stray piece of blonde hair that’s come loose, “you don’t look it.”
The way her eyes settle on me causes heat to rise up my neck. I turn away, busying myself with shifting boxes out of the way to make a path.
“What kind of music do you listen to then?” I ask, changing the subject.
She looks as though she’s flipping through a playlist in her mind. “I listen to all kinds, but I’m into classic rock at the moment.”
I chuckle. “I bet ?90s music is classic rock to you,” I tease, just for fun, becausefuck, by now it feels like classic rock to me.
“No,” she laughs. “Actually, I don’t like ‘90s music.” She crosses her arms over her chest in a cute, defiant way.
I shift my weight and lean against the wall. “Is that so?”
“It’s too depressing and whiny,” she tells me.
