Take Me with You (Take Me #2)(3)

I’d been working for Corey for almost two months now, and I still didn’t know what to make of him. The guy was a genius in the studio, but his social skills were limited to which obscure band he was into that week.

“Can I listen to it?”

Corey shrugged. “Yeah, man.”

He fiddled with the controls as I walked into the sound room and crashed back into one of the plush leather armchairs. A few seconds later, “Life Raft” filtered in through the speakers. I sat forward in the chair as the guitar riff picked up, and I belted out the first verse.

It was…perfect.

Our shit demo that thousands of people had listened to was nothing compared to this version. A real studio made a hell of a lot of difference. That f*cking meant I’d get the talk from Miller again today at rehearsal.

I hadn’t told Ari yet, but Hollis—the Pacific Entertainment manager for the popular rock band, The Drift—had called Miller to try to recruit us. This was despite the fact that I’d managed to piss off Hollis after storming off stage on New Year’s Eve before proceeding to get into a fistfight with Donovan Jenkins, the lead singer of The Drift.

Apparently, the success of “Life Raft” had jolted ContraBand into the spotlight, but part of me didn’t want it to be a reality. I f*cking liked waking up to my beautiful blonde every morning, going to the studio, and playing local gigs. But the guys weren’t content with playing at The Ivy League, a local Princeton bar, and I knew they weren’t f*cking going anywhere without me.

“This is the f*cking shit. Can you send it to me?”

Corey nodded. “I had extra time.”

He popped a disc out of the network of computers, dropped it into a case, and passed it over to me. It had a black cover with the band name, ContraBand, slashed across the front in lime green. The words Life Raft EP were scrawled underneath.

“EP?”

“I couldn’t get ‘Hemorrhage’ out of my head, so I put together the other tracks you were working on.”

“Fuck, man. Thanks.” I reached my hand out and shook Corey’s.

“Sure thing. Just get me tickets to Madison Square Garden when you guys make it.”

I laughed. Madison Square Garden. Yeah, right. “Will do.”

Once I reached my blue truck, I stuck the CD into the player and listened to our music on the drive home. Corey deserved a f*cking medal for this shit. Every song was flawless, so clear and crisp.

It was exactly what I’d needed after Ari’s mad dash out of my apartment this morning. Work had kept me from thinking about her, but “Life Raft” was her song. I couldn’t keep my mind off of her with those lyrics pouring through the speakers.

I’d never been in a relationship before, so this was all new to me, but chicks didn’t run away from me. I knew we had issues we still had to deal with from before Christmas break, but something with her wasn’t right, and she was going to f*cking tell me what the problem was.

“Hey, dipshit,” I said when I walked through the garage door at my place.

I smacked Vin on the back of his head and veered toward the sound system.

“Fucker!” Vin shot back. “Where the f*ck have you been all damn day?”

“At work. Where the f*ck do you think I’ve been?”

“Following around your piece of ass like a whipped motherf*cker.”

“What did you say about Ari?” I growled, taking two steps toward Vin.

Miller intervened, “Can we go two days without you two at each other’s throats?”

Vin glared at Miller and crashed back into the couch. He still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Miller had hooked up with my cousin, Sydney, at the ski lodge the weekend we’d performed at the Poconos music festival. Vin had taken Syd’s virginity in high school and acted as if he had some claim over her. The truth was, she was even more of a slut than I had been before Ari, and that was f*cking saying something.

McAvoy walked into the room a minute later, surveyed what was going on, and then reached for a joint. “I’m probably going to need this, aren’t I?”

I ignored them and inserted the EP into our stereo. “Just listen to this.”

The music blasted through our sound system. McAvoy slowly put the joint back behind his ear, Vin leaned forward in his seat, and Miller’s jaw dropped open.

“Is that us?” Miller asked.

“No. I gave someone else the rights to our songs.”

“We sound f*cking killer!” Vin cheered.

“Corey put together an entire EP for us.”

We spent the next twenty minutes of practice listening to the recordings. We had put them together to ensure we’d look more professional if Pacific lost interest.

Except Pacific hadn’t lost interest—as much as I wanted them to.

“Hey, have you heard from Pacific lately?” I f*cking hated saying Hollis’s name. The guy was an * who had preyed on my relationship with Ari. He would have to figure out his place with us before I’d even consider signing with them.

“Hollis sent me the final deets about The Drift tour. He wants us to meet him at the NYC kickoff,” Miller said.

“He wants us to f*cking hang out with Donovan and his shit bandmates?” I stood and stopped the track that was playing.

“Bro,” Miller said, “be glad that he wants to see us at all after what went down with Donovan.”