“Oh, Jesus.” I sighed but complied.
“Thank God it’s almost winter,” Jodi added. “You can wear jeans and long sleeves without anyone thinking you’re weird.” She shuffled through my drawers, mumbling something about how it was depressing I had so many clothes that could be considered manly. “Here,” she finally said, shoving a wad at me. “Put these on.”
After pulling on my “man” panties, I tugged up a pair of loose-legged denim jeans and put on a black AC/DC concert shirt over a white long-sleeved thermal.
When I turned to face her, Jodi was beaming with a huge smile. Then she held out what she called man jewelry, which consisted of black leather straps with silver beads on them for bracelets. And finally, she sprayed cologne in my direction.
Coughing and sputtering over the unexpected stink, I waved my hand over my face. “What the hell?”
“You need to smell the part as much as you look it,” Jodi argued as she pulled the cologne bottle to her chest and chirped with pride. “And you look just perfect. I would so throw you down on your bed and ride you right now if I didn’t know you were really a girl in there. Hell, I’m tempted to, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes but chased it with a smile. “Gracias. I think.”
“Now practice your man walk,” she demanded, waving out her hand.
I faltered. “My what?”
She sighed. “You’re not going to pass for a dude if you stroll in there with your hidden girl hips swaying and flattened tits pooched out on display.”
My mouth fell open. “Excuse me. I do not walk like that.”
She snorted. “Oh...own it, puta. You’re a hot piece of ass, you can’t help the girly swagger.”
“But I don’t—”
“Hunch your shoulders over a little more, concentrate on keeping your hips in line, and try to jut your cock forward when you strut.”
“Do...what?”
“That’s how hot guys walk, like they’re leading with their junk.”
I could only shake my head. I had honestly never seen a guy walk as if he were trying to poke his pecker out ahead of him. “Where do you come up with this shit?”
“Just do it, puta.”
I sighed but used her suggestions, trying to overdramatize the cock-and-go strut, as I was thusly dubbing it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
She purred out a promiscuous growl and clawed the air in my direction. “How do you say ‘I want to sit on your face’ in Spanish?”
“Jodi.” I fell to a stop and sighed in exasperation. She was too much sometimes. “Really?”
“No, seriously. I’ve always wanted to know how to say that to a guy anyway. Ooh, and use your slutty se?orita voice.”
With a chuckle, I had to oblige her. “Quiero sentarme en tu cara,” I cooed, puckering my lips to go with the voice.
Ever since I’d crank called her once in Spanish, putting a sensual little hitch in my tone, she’d been fascinated. Totally intrigued by my impersonation, she’d dubbed it my slutty se?orita voice and claimed it didn’t sound a thing like me.
She repeated the phrase, butchering it until I made her repeat it enough times that she finally got it right. Once I was satisfied, she seemed satisfied too. Letting out a loud squeal, she jumped in a circle and fisted her hands in the air.
“You are so going to rock this audition. I just know it, puta.”
With my new guise in place, I let her confidence consume me. “Yeah,” I murmured. And I allowed the hope to swell. I really was going to rock my audition.
I had to. There was too much of my own self-esteem riding on it not to.
I nearly didn’t make it in time. It was almost one in the afternoon by the time I skidded into the studio, hoping they hadn’t closed the auditions yet. Heading directly to the hallway where I’d waited in line for hours the day before, my relief soared when I saw six guys still loitering outside the auditioning room.
All half dozen of them glanced over to narrow their eyes. It wasn’t nearly the reception I’d received from my fellow drummers yesterday, because today, they saw a guy.
They saw competition.
Chauvinist assholes.
“This the line for Non-Castrato?” I asked.
One guy was gracious enough to nod, but that was it. The others went back to ignoring me.
Only two other people showed up to wait in line after me, and this was their last day, so shit, I was the third to last person to try out. For some reason, that felt like a bad omen.
But I stuck it out anyway. I’d gone too far to quit now. This time, dammit, I was going to play with them before they told me to “git.”
An hour of waiting later, it was my turn. I entered, not at all nervous. Maybe it was because I was hiding behind my mask. Maybe it was because they’d already rejected me, and things could only go up from there. Or maybe I just felt that confident.