Chapter Four #2
Glancing around the room, I nod like I agree, even though I don’t. It’s juvenile, having to have this conversation, but when we’re expected to be in each other’s proximity all the time, especially when we’re about to be touring for three months, liking each other is kind of key.
“I mean…it kind of seems like you don’t want me here.”
Maddox finally looks up, gaze unreadable as he leans back in his chair, giving me his full, undivided attention. I might have wished for it before, but now that I have it, it’s unnerving.
“What gave you that idea?”
I press my thumb into my palm to ground myself. He doesn’t even notice, and each second he watches me with that smug smirk on his lips sets me more on edge. I’ve had enough. My pulse kicks harder as frustration creeps into my voice, and I tilt my head slightly, narrowing my eyes.
“Let’s cut the shit, okay?” I take another step forward, barely aware I’ve moved, drawn deeper into his space with every word. “I know you don’t want me here. I know you must have been overruled. And I know you’ve had an issue with me from the second I walked in.”
Maddox sighs, slow and measured, shaking his head, his dark eyes never leaving mine. “It doesn’t matter.”
I scoff. “It matters to me.”
His fingers dig into the body of his guitar, his knuckles whitening slightly as they press into the wood.
“You got the spot, didn’t you?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” His voice is clipped, patience thinning by the second.
My feet move again of their own volition, like his irritation is a magnet and I’m made of steel.
“The point is, I need to know that you’re not going to make this harder than it needs to be.
” Another step. I’m close enough now that I catch the slight shift of his boot, his knee angling outward like he’s unconsciously making room.
“I’m good, Maddox. Clearly better than anyone else you auditioned, or else I wouldn’t be standing here. Just give me a chance.”
He lets out a low laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
I cross my arms again, shifting my weight, as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs now, voice rougher than before.
“Even when everything’s telling me not to, I’m giving you a chance.
” He plucks a chord, low and off-key, the minor note vibrating ominously between us.
“I looked you up, you know. Asked Thea about you, checked your socials… There’s nothing there.
” His sharp gaze cuts to me, his pupils narrowing like he’s tracking a threat.
“Anyone with your skill would be all over the internet, trying to make a name for themselves. You? You’re practically a ghost.”
I swallow roughly. “Maybe I’m just not big on broadcasting my life online for everyone to see.”
Everyone already sees too much without my help.
“Maybe,” he mutters, his top lip curling slightly.
“But you see, the LA scene isn’t that big.
Musicians, we all overlap. We’ve seen each other around; everyone knows someone in one way or another.
Everyone except you.” The edge in his voice is impossible to miss.
“You’re local. You’re unreal behind the kit.
And somehow, no one’s heard of you?” He pauses, lifting an eyebrow. “Kind of weird, don’t you think?”
He’s goading me, I know he is, and it’s working. My pulse kicks up, my hands tremble slightly, and the part of me that wants to mouth off…rises to the surface like it’s been propelled.
“Or maybe you don’t look hard enough,” I mutter, knowing if he really tried, the account Olive set up for me could be found. Not that it matters. That version of me, the one I don’t broadcast, was my escape, a bit of fun that turned into something bigger.
He holds my stare, and I lift my chin, shoulders squaring.
“I’ve already worked my ass off to earn respect in this industry.”
Something flickers in his eyes—surprise? Confusion?—but he masks it before I can properly acknowledge it.
“And from what I heard…” I step closer. “You need me more than I need you.”
A muscle in his jaw tics as his gaze searches mine, but I don’t break.
“I’ve answered your questions,” I say. “Any others? Or are we done?”
I’m right in front of him now. I can see the shallow rise and fall of his chest, feel the pull in the air between us. His knees are spread, and somehow, I’ve ended up right between them.
“Sorry, we’re late—”
The door bursts open, and Eli and Beau come barreling in, skidding to a halt when they see Maddox and me mere inches apart. Their gazes bounce between us, concern and suspicion etched onto both their faces.
My cheeks flush as I glance down, finally registering just how close I am, his guitar pressing against his chest the only thing separating us. An arm hangs over the body, a hand resting on his thighs, fingers flexing, and we’re so near he wouldn’t have to move much to touch me.
“Are we interrupting something?” Beau asks, slowly dragging the strap of his case off his shoulder.
Maddox stands, his movements controlled, moving around me and strapping his guitar over his chest like the last five minutes never happened.
“Just introducing ourselves properly.” He smirks as he leans down to plug into an amp.
The pressure surrounding my lungs releases as heat creeps up my neck, and I rub at it absently, trying to mask the flush.
Eli frowns, stepping closer until he’s directly between me and Maddox like a wall, his eyes raking over me. “You good?”
I force a smile, the kind you wear when someone presses on a bruise, and you pretend it doesn’t hurt. But bruises fade and I won’t let him get under my skin so easily next time.
“Great.”
He looks like he’s about to ask more, but I glance over his shoulder just in time to catch Beau murmuring, “What the hell did we walk in on?”
Maddox shrugs, casual to the point of cruelty. “Nothing.”
“Okaaay.” Beau drags out the word, skeptical, grabbing his sleek black guitar and tuning it, not nearly as smoothly as Maddox did. “Since someone’s already cranky, let’s just start.”
“Welcome to your first day of hell,” Eli says and shoots me a wink, lifting his bass from the stand. “You’re gonna love it.”
I snort, grateful for the shift, and settle behind the kit. Twisting my long hair up, I secure it, my hands already twitching to play. My fingers brush over the toms, familiar and comforting, the surface soft beneath my touch. I twirl a stick once between my fingers and breathe.
One in.
One out.
An excited smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I’m ready.
Okay then.
Let’s do this.