Chapter One #2
Agitation claws at my chest as I spin the ring on my thumb, faster, harder, as it bites into my skin, my eyes glancing at the door until, finally, it opens.
I don’t need to look at my bandmates to know we’re all watching, the entire room turning still as our final auditionee walks in with a palpable quiet confidence. Not cocky, exactly, but not shy either, just…self-assured.
Her black boots hit the floor with soft thuds, one hand in the pocket of her leather jacket, the other gripping the strap of her beat-up bag slung over her shoulder with long, slender fingers. Twin drumsticks poke out from the front pocket, their tips rough and splintered from heavy use.
Something prickles at the base of my spine as my eyes sweep over her again; long hair cascading down her back, the color somewhere between brown and red, sharp cheekbones, full lips, thick mascara framing eyes that scan the space.
It’s not obvious; nothing I can name, at least. But there’s something…familiar about her, something that sends a strange jolt through me.
I sit up straighter, my eyebrows knitting and unknitting, like my body’s trying to figure her out before my brain can. A flicker of dread, unearned and unexplained, flashes behind my ribs before it can take hold.
“Oh shit,” Eli says under his breath, shifting forward, eyes fixed on her. “You know her, don’t you?”
“I—” I don’t know. “Do you?”
“Don’t think so. Maybe?” Shrugging, he sticks out his lower lip. “Kinda gives me that feeling when you think you know someone, but it’s just ’cause they look like that actress from that one movie.” He gestures vaguely. “Know what I mean?”
I do. But I don’t think that’s it. Or maybe it is?
“If this is gonna be weird, say it now,” Beau says flatly, drumming an impatient finger on the table.
“No, it’s not—” Trailing off, my gaze stays locked on her as she stops in front of us, pulling a folder from her bag and handing it out, looking at each of us in turn with a cool calm.
“I’m Paige Erikson, here to audition,” she says when none of us speak. “You were expecting me?”
The guys move simultaneously, the sound of scraping chairs and mundane small talk barely registering as they round the table, shaking her hand and taking the folder from her before setting it down.
I stay planted, not moving to greet her. Instead, the chair creaks beneath my weight as I move, bracing my forearms on the table, studying her. A spark ignites somewhere deep inside me that I can’t place, déjà vu sinking sharp teeth into my senses.
I swear I’ve seen her before.
“Eli James, bass guitar,” Eli says, giving his signature lazy grin and jerking a thumb toward Beau. “Beau Fletcher, guitar, backup vocals.”
She waits, rocking slightly on her heels, expecting me to speak.
I don’t. My fingers twitch against the table as I just…stare.
“You’re still looking for a drummer, right?” she asks, voice just shy of a rasp. It scrapes down my spine, the timber low and rough, enough to make my blood stir.
What the fuck is happening?
Eli and Beau exchange a glance.
“Still looking,” Beau says, then nods toward me. “And this is Maddox Knox. Lead guitar and vocals.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says, her teeth catching her bottom lip.
“Have we met?” The question comes out harsher than I mean it to, my voice low, guarded even. Accusatory.
She startles, her eyebrows pulling together before shaking her head. “I don’t think so?”
My body moves before I can stop it. I stand, slow and deliberate, closing the space between us.
“Never played at Finnegan’s? Or the coffee shop on 4th?”
I’m close now, too close that she has to tilt her chin to hold my gaze. She doesn’t back down, doesn’t shift her weight or shrink into herself, just holds steady, shoulders squared.
“No. Would it matter if I had?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
My jaw tightens as she blinks up at me, waiting for my reply, the brilliant blue of her irises becoming more vibrant the longer we stare at each other.
Would it matter?
I take in her face, looking for something—a tell, a flicker of recognition, anything—but there’s nothing.
“It wouldn’t,” Beau cuts in. Gripping my shoulder, he pulls me back with a wary look. “Let’s get you ready, and I’ll walk you through the set list.”
Paige holds my gaze a second longer before turning and heading for the kit, pulling out her sticks and dropping her bag by the stool.
Once she’s out of earshot, Beau spins on me, eyes narrowed. “Seriously? What the hell was that?”
Pressing my tongue to the inside of my cheek, I nod toward her. “You really don’t recognize her?”
He glances back and shakes his head. “Maybe there’s something. I don’t know? But what I do know is that she’s here to audition and she could be the one we were waiting for.” He pins me with a look. “So pull it together.”
He mutters something I can’t hear, fingers squeezing his ink-covered arm as he heads over to Paige. I slump back in my seat, grabbing her portfolio, my eyes scanning the contents.
Twenty-four. Four years younger than me. Not a huge gap, but big enough I’d think I’d remember her.
LA local. Figures, this city pumps out a hundred versions of the same person every week. But she doesn’t feel like a copy.
Graduate of one of the elite music schools in New York. Impressive, sure, but that doesn’t mean much to me.
Flipping to the next page, I scan her studio credits–some scattered gigs, a couple of names I vaguely recognize from low-budget projects, but not enough for me to pinpoint this feeling.
It’s there, though, right on the edge of my memory.
“You good, man?” Eli nudges my foot, drawing my attention away from her info.
I don’t answer, not right away. I’m not even sure what good feels like.
“I’m fine.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it.
Beau returns, his excitement wafting off him as he slips her portfolio out of my hands, already thumbing through it as he drops down beside me.
“This is it. I can feel it,” he says, and the words land heavier than I expect. For the first time all day, I don’t know if that excites me, too, or scares the hell out of me.