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When he looked at me, he licked his lip deliberately, his eyes holding on me too long, and I bristled a little. He was getting a little too familiar lately, and flirty, in front of my band. And now there were cameras on him,too.
No way Liv was gonna miss thatlick.
The lights beyond the screen went up, and there was the mysterious blur that was our next, and last,audition.
At least I fucking hoped it was thelast.
Liv cued the band as soon as we were rolling, and they kicked into a song. It was “Stone Cold Crazy.” And it wasloud. Fast and tight, especially given the fact that the band probably hadn’t rehearsed it together lately—or atall.
But these guys werepros.
Impressively, our mystery guitarist held his, or her,own.
Within seconds, Zane was on his feet. Even Jesse twitched a little in his seat, leaning forward. He closed his eyes andlistened.
The guitarist was good.Reallygood. Somehow, he or she was trading off solo riffs with Raf, without even being able to see him. You could justfeeleveryone—us, the band onstage, even the crew and security guys who were standing around watching from the shadows—getting sucked up into thevibe.
Toward the end, Zane leapt up onstage and started singing with Ash. The two of them totally slayed the end of the song, and when it finished, Zane crushed Ash in a big man hug, laughing. “Hells yeah,” he growled into the mic. “Nailedit.”
“Booooo,” Jessetaunted.
“Sit your ass down!” I called out. I knew from where he was standing Zane couldn’t see behind the screen, but it was probably killing him not to go barreling back there and see who itwas.
He hopped down from the stage, swaggered on over, high-fived Dylan, and dropped back into hisseat.
“So at least we’re sure Zane’s in the band,” I saiddryly.
“Like what you heard, Elle?” Zane asked, panting from the exertion of his performance. He was gleaming with sweat as he swiped his blond hair out of his eye; Zane went straight to eleven anytime he took astage.
And, yeah. Obviously I liked it. We alldid.
We all just kinda stared at each other. Zane grinned, but no one said a thing. Pretty sure at this point we were communicating telepathically. It happened, now and then, after playing and creating and touring together for solong.
Synchronicity.
We’dallliked this one. Even Jesse didn’t have a critical word to say.Yet.
Shit… Had we just found our guy at the eleventhhour?
“Remind you of anyone?” Woo put in. Our record producer, on the other side of Zane, had been sitting back, pretty quiet most of the time, laughing more than talking. His name was David Worster, but everyone since the beginning of time had called him Woo. He’d been like a fifth member of our band in the recording studio, even playing some guitar on certain songs when we needed it over the years. He’d been with us since the beginning, and we’d recorded three of our four albums with him—our best albums. So his voice, when he used it, carriedweight.
“Shit, yeah,” Zane said, breaking the loaded silence. “Reminds me ofSeth.”
No one else seemed to want to sayit.
“So, now may be a good time to ask yourselves,” Woo said. “Do you want a Seth Brothersfanboy?”
“Could be a fanwoman,” I said. Why did they always just assume the best guitarists wereguys?
“Could be,” Wooagreed.
“It’s a dude,” Zane said. “He’s got broadshoulders.”
“You can’t see shit through that screen,” Jesse pointedout.
“And maybeshehas broad shoulders,” Isaid.
“And who the fuck cares if he’s a fanboy?” Zane added. “He’shired.”
