“Can we get started now?”
We all quiet down, and after being patient with four guitarists who looked much better on paper than they sounded in person, Adam goes outside for a smoke break. The rest of the guys follow, and I slide into a seat next to Rowan.
“Listen to this,” I say, playing her a song on my phone.
Her head nods to the beat. “I like it. Who’s it by?”
“The next auditioner.” My grin is downright giddy, and Rowan catches my good mood, her blue eyes lighting up. “His name is Kit. I have a good feeling about this one.”
I got the email from Kit on Wednesday while I was walking back to my car from class. By the time I got home, I was overflowing with excitement and practically tackled Joel to get him to listen. He agreed that the song was awesome, and I immediately sent an email to Kit to give him an audition time.
“I think Shawn’s head might explode pretty soon if we don’t find somebody,” Rowan says, and I laugh. The last guy couldn’t even figure out how to plug in his guitar. Shawn plugged him in, patted his back, and then immediately sent him on his way, shaking his head when the guy tried to talk his way back onto the stage.
“If this next guy doesn’t work out, I’m just going to learn to play the guitar myself.”
Rowan chuckles, and then she grins at me and says, “Sooo, you and Joel . . .”
When a knock sounds at the door, I seize the opportunity to bound out of my seat, not bothering to respond to my meddling best friend. Rowan thinks Joel and I are more than what we are, and no amount of arguing is going to convince her otherwise. My heels echo off the floor as I escape to the front door, and I swing it open wide to find Queen of the freaking Groupies.
Long black hair highlighted with dark blue highlights cascades down to a loose black tank top—low cut and showing copious amounts of lacy black bra. The girl’s black jeans—which are more ripped up than any pair I’ve ever seen Adam, Shawn, or Joel wear—are practically painted to her legs. She’s built like a freaking runway model with boobs. Complete with stacked bracelets, a tiny diamond nose ring, and combat boots, she’s the definition of rocker chic.
I resist the urge to slam the door in her face.
“The band isn’t here to sign shit or take pictures,” I say, wondering how the hell she heard they would be here today.
“Okay?” she asks, a perfectly shaped eyebrow lifting to emphasize her confusion. “I’m not here for autographs or pictures . . .”
“Great.” I begin closing the door, but she slaps her hand against it.
“Are you Dee?” When I just stand there staring daggers at her, she wedges her combat boot against the door and holds out her hand. “I’m Kit. We spoke over email?”
“You’re Kit?” Rowan asks from behind me as I dazedly shake Kit’s hand.
Kit’s eyes light with realization, and she laughs. “Oh, sorry. Yeah. I have four older brothers who thought Katrina was too girly of a name.”
“And you’re here to audition?” Rowan asks.
Kit pulls a guitar case from where she’d propped it outside against the wall. She shoots us a smile and says, “I hope so. It is okay that I’m a girl, right?”
“Yeah,” Rowan rushes to say, but I’m skeptical. The song I listened to sounded amazing, but it’s hard for me to reconcile the expectation I had in my head with the girl standing before me.
“That depends,” I answer. “Are you a girl that can play the guitar?”
“I think so,” Kit says with a perfectly straight face. “I mean, it’s difficult since my vagina is constantly getting in the way, but I’ve learned to manage it just like any other handicap.” Her brows pull down in a frown, and she says, “Sadly, I don’t get special parking.”
A long moment of silence passes between us, but then I can’t help laughing. Kit’s lips turn up at the corners and I lead her inside.
It isn’t until we enter Mayhem that the first glimpses of her nervousness begin to show. With her guitar propped against the stage, she rubs her hands over her back pockets and stares around the room. “So it’s just going to be us?”
“No—”
I begin to tell her that the guys should be back in at any moment, but then the back door opens and they all step inside.
“Guys,” I say as they close the distance between us, “this is Kit. She’s up next.”
They’re all staring at her, and I gauge Joel’s reaction, suddenly very aware that we are auditioning a girl, with all girl parts. Long legs, perky boobs, and as she so kindly pointed out, a vagina. If this works out, the guys could soon be practicing, performing, and touring with a girl.
Joel steps beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “We thought you were a dude.”
Kit smiles. “Yeah, I gathered that when your girlfriend tried to close the door in my face.”