Read Online The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7) by Linda Kage - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Linda Kage
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hell, what could they do? Tell me to git again? Been there, done that.
Except the overhead ring in the room was growing slightly obnoxious. To reduce it, I yanked a hanky from my pocket without missing a beat and draped it over my knee nearest the drumhead to muffle the snare’s reverberation. I smiled as that instantly helped. Bobbing my head, I switched into overtime as Hart had instructed. His voice rose, coming to a crescendo.
Though I’d never heard one in this song before, I hit the crash cymbal when he peaked and added a strong kick to the bass drum pedal.
The other members stopped playing, and it was over. An echo of guitars, drum, and Hart’s voice continued to resonate through the room, filling it with a heaviness that made me bite the inside of my lip and hold my breath.
All three band members turned to look at me.
“You brought in the hi-hat in the middle of that second verse,” Hart finally said. His stare wasn’t exactly accusatory, but it sure as hell wasn’t reassuring either.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, adding my personal touch quite so soon.
But it had felt so right at the time.
I gave a slow nod. “Uh, yeah. It just seemed...fitting.” Growing more nervous, I swiped the hanky from my knee to mop my damp brow, only to remember the sweat wasn’t showing on the outside of my mask.
“And the crash cymbal at the end,” Holden spoke up. “That was new.”
“Well...” I cleared my throat. “You know...I thought...why not?”
“Why not?” Galloway repeated tonelessly, shaking his head as he glanced at Hart and Holden. Then he burst out, “Shit, yeah. Why the fuck not! Christ, that was fucking awesome .”
Holden nodded, agreeing with Galloway.
I nearly peed my pants. “Really? You liked it?” Of course, they liked it. I had totally kicked ass. But to hear them actually admit it aloud... Man, you have no idea how much of a rush that gave me.
“I loved it,” Holden said. His grin was goofy but proud. “I didn’t think we’d ever find anyone half as good as Rock was.”
“But goddamn, if you’re not twice as good,” Galloway exploded. “You got an ear for this shit, Sticks. A fucking brilliant ear.”
Thank God for my mask; I was blushing so hard my true face had to be tomato red right now. Glad I could look cool and collected, I lifted my eyebrows at Asher Hart, who had yet to comment.
Narrowing his eyes as if he didn’t trust my talent and that one song had been a fluke for me, he murmured, “Let’s try ‘Sweat.’ See how well you handle that one.”
Since I’d sat out in the hallway through two days of auditions now, I knew it was rare when a drummer played more than one song with them. This had to mean something.
Something good.
Beyond excited, lightheaded and a little sick to my stomach, I nodded and wiped clammy palms on my jean-clad thighs. “No problem.”
“Sweat” was a hard-core track for them with some tricky drum moves, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Ready to show them my mad skills, I dove right into it.
And nailed it.
Bam, I was so good I shocked myself.
As the last beat from my cymbal clanged through the air, Holden and Galloway hooted and hollered while Hart slowly turned to stare at me intently.
I squirmed under the heavy inspection. I knew Jodi had done a damn fine job of guying me up, but what if Hart saw straight through the layers? What if he knew what I really was?
Then he said, “‘Stone-Hearted,’” which was pretty much their signature song.
I grinned and began the count off.
After we finished that one, I immediately started the percussion lead-in for “Ceilings,” a new one, but my favorite, of theirs. Hart glanced back at me, and I wondered if he’d get pissy about me initiating a new song all on my own. But then a small, impressed smile crossed his lips right before he wailed out the first striking line before joining in with his guitar, on cue.
The others followed, and we
Except the overhead ring in the room was growing slightly obnoxious. To reduce it, I yanked a hanky from my pocket without missing a beat and draped it over my knee nearest the drumhead to muffle the snare’s reverberation. I smiled as that instantly helped. Bobbing my head, I switched into overtime as Hart had instructed. His voice rose, coming to a crescendo.
Though I’d never heard one in this song before, I hit the crash cymbal when he peaked and added a strong kick to the bass drum pedal.
The other members stopped playing, and it was over. An echo of guitars, drum, and Hart’s voice continued to resonate through the room, filling it with a heaviness that made me bite the inside of my lip and hold my breath.
All three band members turned to look at me.
“You brought in the hi-hat in the middle of that second verse,” Hart finally said. His stare wasn’t exactly accusatory, but it sure as hell wasn’t reassuring either.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, adding my personal touch quite so soon.
But it had felt so right at the time.
I gave a slow nod. “Uh, yeah. It just seemed...fitting.” Growing more nervous, I swiped the hanky from my knee to mop my damp brow, only to remember the sweat wasn’t showing on the outside of my mask.
“And the crash cymbal at the end,” Holden spoke up. “That was new.”
“Well...” I cleared my throat. “You know...I thought...why not?”
“Why not?” Galloway repeated tonelessly, shaking his head as he glanced at Hart and Holden. Then he burst out, “Shit, yeah. Why the fuck not! Christ, that was fucking awesome .”
Holden nodded, agreeing with Galloway.
I nearly peed my pants. “Really? You liked it?” Of course, they liked it. I had totally kicked ass. But to hear them actually admit it aloud... Man, you have no idea how much of a rush that gave me.
“I loved it,” Holden said. His grin was goofy but proud. “I didn’t think we’d ever find anyone half as good as Rock was.”
“But goddamn, if you’re not twice as good,” Galloway exploded. “You got an ear for this shit, Sticks. A fucking brilliant ear.”
Thank God for my mask; I was blushing so hard my true face had to be tomato red right now. Glad I could look cool and collected, I lifted my eyebrows at Asher Hart, who had yet to comment.
Narrowing his eyes as if he didn’t trust my talent and that one song had been a fluke for me, he murmured, “Let’s try ‘Sweat.’ See how well you handle that one.”
Since I’d sat out in the hallway through two days of auditions now, I knew it was rare when a drummer played more than one song with them. This had to mean something.
Something good.
Beyond excited, lightheaded and a little sick to my stomach, I nodded and wiped clammy palms on my jean-clad thighs. “No problem.”
“Sweat” was a hard-core track for them with some tricky drum moves, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Ready to show them my mad skills, I dove right into it.
And nailed it.
Bam, I was so good I shocked myself.
As the last beat from my cymbal clanged through the air, Holden and Galloway hooted and hollered while Hart slowly turned to stare at me intently.
I squirmed under the heavy inspection. I knew Jodi had done a damn fine job of guying me up, but what if Hart saw straight through the layers? What if he knew what I really was?
Then he said, “‘Stone-Hearted,’” which was pretty much their signature song.
I grinned and began the count off.
After we finished that one, I immediately started the percussion lead-in for “Ceilings,” a new one, but my favorite, of theirs. Hart glanced back at me, and I wondered if he’d get pissy about me initiating a new song all on my own. But then a small, impressed smile crossed his lips right before he wailed out the first striking line before joining in with his guitar, on cue.
The others followed, and we
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