“You are so going to rock this audition. I just know it, puta.”
With my new guise in place, I let her confidence consume me. “Yeah,” I murmured. And I allowed the hope to swell. I really was going to rock my audition.
I had to. There was too much of my own self-esteem riding on it not to.
I nearly didn’t make it in time. It was almost one in the afternoon by the time I skidded into the studio, hoping they hadn’t closed the auditions yet. Heading directly to the hallway where I’d waited in line for hours the day before, my relief soared when I saw six guys still loitering outside the auditioning room.
All half dozen of them glanced over to narrow their eyes. It wasn’t nearly the reception I’d received from my fellow drummers yesterday, because today, they saw a guy.
They saw competition.
Chauvinist assholes.
“This the line for Non-Castrato?” I asked.
One guy was gracious enough to nod, but that was it. The others went back to ignoring me.
Only two other people showed up to wait in line after me, and this was their last day, so shit, I was the third to last person to try out. For some reason, that felt like a bad omen.
But I stuck it out anyway. I’d gone too far to quit now. This time, dammit, I was going to play with them before they told me to “git.”
An hour of waiting later, it was my turn. I entered, not at all nervous. Maybe it was because I was hiding behind my mask. Maybe it was because they’d already rejected me, and things could only go up from there. Or maybe I just felt that confident.
I had no idea what was causing it, everything just seemed...right this time around. Even more right than last time.
The room was exactly the same, and the guys were still loitering in their same basic places they’d been the day before. But today, Galloway ignored me and seemed to be sulking as he fiddled with the tuning pegs on his guitar.
Hart took charge and nodded a greeting. “Hey, man. What’s your name?”
Score!
I’d already gotten further on this audition than I had in the first one. And the man guise was obviously working; he’d called me man!
Jazzed, I cleared my throat and used the lowest vo
ice I could muster, even though it was already low for a woman’s voice. “Call me Sticks.”
“Sticks?” Galloway snorted, finally glancing up. “Wow. That’s original.”
Still miffed over the way he’d treated me yesterday, I was tempted to shove my drumsticks up his ass. But I didn’t want to do such permanent, scarring damage to my babies—even though they were my non-pink backup pair—so I managed to contain myself enough to send him a bored glance. “About as original as a douchebag bassist.”
Holden let out a belly laugh. When Galloway glared his way, Holden only grinned. “Burn,” he informed his bandmate.
“Screw you,” Galloway mumbled to me...or maybe to Holden, I wasn’t sure which. Probably both of us.
Hart cracked a half smile. “Well, you can already take Gally’s shit and dish it right back. That’s a must. Let’s see what you can do with those sticks of yours.” He nodded toward the drum set. “You can handle a five-piece, I assume.”
What idiot couldn’t handle a five-piece? I arched one of my fake eyebrows, still amazed Jodi had been able to rig my mask so I could manage facial expressions too. “Only since I was six.”
With a horrified shudder, Hart shook his head. “You’d be amazed by the lack of talent we’ve seen come through here these past few days.”
I nodded, understanding. “Well, I can manage any drum set up you put before me.”
He smiled, and damn...that smile. I probably shouldn’t look at him when he smiled. Way too dangerous.
“Good,” he said, thrilling me with his approval. “I want to try a delayed backbeat with a quick blast during the chorus, then double time to finish it up.”
Pulling my drumsticks from my back pocket, I saluted him. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to, drill sergeant.”