“I’m not sure anymore.”
For fuck’s sake.
“There’s a reason why you turned left instead of right. Whatever that reason is, don’t forget it now when there’s no turning back. Some good just might come out of this for you, so make the most of it while you can.”
She gaped at me in disgust before shrieking, “Is that supposed to be motivating?”
Loren and Rich snorted in response.
“Decide for yourself. Just stop wasting my time.” Walking over to one of the cases we’d piled in the living room, I snatched up one of the microphones I’d brought from Portland. Loren and Rich, always in sync with me despite our rocky friendship, were already in place—Rich behind his drums and Loren plugged in and clutching his bass.
“Together this time. Oh, and Fawn?”
“Yes, Houston?” She batted her long lashes sarcastically. When she smiled, I paused, getting lost in it for a moment.
“Don’t think for a second that I’m not keeping tabs.”
Hours later, the three of us were standing in the kitchen in quiet contemplation as the sun set over Los Angeles. I let Braxton leave early today since she claimed she had to work tonight. I wasn’t thrilled about sharing her time, so the moment I was sure she could manage being one of us, she was quitting that job, whether she wanted to or not.
“She played like she wrote it that last time,” Loren announced. “So maybe it’s time we stop singling her out and get down to business?”
“I’m not singling her out. If one of us sounds bad, we all sound bad. We’ll continue like this until I can trust her judgment.”
Part of the guitarist’s job was to be spontaneous and original, which would allow her to improv when she needed to and keep the rhythm going. Bound’s entire sound and direction would be influenced by her abilities and style, which meant this next era of our legacy now belonged to Braxton fucking Fawn. She just hadn’t figured that out yet.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Loren snapped with a scowl. “Face it, she’s good. You’re just an asshole. Did you see how fast she caught on to ‘Flayed Alive’?” he asked no one in particular.
Jericho was busy scrolling on his phone, and I pretended not to have caught a peek of Braxton’s Instagram on his screen moments ago. She had endless thirst traps, making me feel like a kid in a candy store when I went through them last night.
“Calvin still couldn’t grasp it, and he’d been playing with us for years.” Loren stared at me for a moment before he grinned so wide that I thought his face would split in half. “It must have got you hard as fuck watching her master a Houston Morrow original.”
“Not particularly.”
“Liar.”
“Is there some reason why you think I care if you believe me?”
“Because I’m telling you both now before you get any ideas,” Loren began. There was revenge in his eyes when he glanced at Rich, who didn’t see it because his gaze was still glued to his phone and a photo of Braxton wearing a green bikini. When Loren met mine, holding my stare for a little too long, a growl rose in my chest at the apparent challenge. “Dibs.”
The sound of Rich’s phone dropping onto the counter stole our attention from one another. “What do you mean dibs? You can’t just call it.”
“That’s literally the entire purpose of dibs,” Loren shot back dryly.
“How do you know she’d even want you? You’re a dick to her.”
“It’s called flirting, Forrest Gump. Not all of us blush and smile and ask a girl how she’s feeling like you do. That’s why you don’t get laid as much.”
“There’s more to life than just sex.”
Tossing his head back, Loren made this sound that was a cross between a hyena and a donkey. “You sound like a fucking virgin.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Oh, I know. I saw your pasty ass going to pound-town one too many times to think that.”
Red bloomed on Rich’s cheeks before he stood from the stool like he was ready to go to the ground with Loren. “You can’t just call dibs, Lo.”
“Why not?” Loren asked even though he didn’t seem to care too much about the answer or that Rich looked one wrong word from punching him.
“Because she’s our guitarist,” I answered for him. “No one is touching her. That would be unprofessional.”
“Says the asshole who was just dry humping her up the wall two hours ago.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“But you wanted it to. I claimed her, and now suddenly, morals matter? Who do you think you’re fooling, Morrow?”
I shot up from my seat and had my hand wrapped around Loren’s throat by the time the stool hit the ground. “You don’t like it?” I questioned after slamming him against the wall and pinning him there. “Do something about it.”