Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I picked up the bass again after years of letting it collect dust in storage and played around with it until I finally felt the fog lift and a renewed sense of excitement build. I’d never been all that great of a musician. I played in a high school band with Tegan, and he was the first to tell anyone who asked that I sucked. But after eight years away from it, I wanted to prove I could do better. When Tegan and I met up at a mutual friend’s house party in Long Beach, I mentioned my renewed interest. Next thing I knew, we were jamming in a corner while our friends got high around us. And boom…I was hooked.
I thought maybe I’d learned a lesson about balance too. I wanted to hole up in my room and play until my fingers bled, but I made myself go to the skate park and meet up with old friends. I even got a job at a surf shop in Venice. I didn’t need the cash, but I needed options. Serial dating helped too. I had a couple of cool girlfriends. Like Lauren. But I was never really invested. I put as much effort into relationships as I did into sanding boards for customers. I knew what to say and how to do it, but I wasn’t an active participant.
My sister’s theory that I got off on beginnings but sucked at follow-through might be valid. I had a habit of walking away from achievements just to start over again. Relationships, jobs…you name it, I lacked a crucial component. The desire to stick around when things got rough.
But Zero felt different. I was invested, interested, and involved in every aspect of making the band a success. I worked on bass lines, recorded original music, and even penned lyrics every damn day. Long days in the studio, long nights playing to hardcore fans in cramped clubs…bring it on. I felt more energized and in tune than I had in years. And I was too busy to dissect the past or worry about ghosts.
At least, that was the way it seemed…until Saturday night.
I fucked up. I shouldn’t have touched Charlie. Yes, I wanted him. Hell, I still did. But he wasn’t someone I could have a fling with and walk away from easily. He was complicated.
When he waltzed into the studio Monday with a list of to-dos, ranging from blood work to insurance forms, I had a feeling we weren’t going to slip into neutral easily. He was acting weird. Too nice, if you know what I mean. A polite Charlie set me on edge like nothing else. But he ignored me Tuesday and yeah…that was much worse. I would have paid good money for his wiseass commentary about the length of my hair or the holes in my Vans. Fuck, even a tight smile would have been better than his professional brush-off.
By Wednesday, everyone noticed something wasn’t right. Tension radiated from Charlie the second he walked into the studio. He gave his daily breakdown of upcoming events in a clipped, businesslike tone that was very…un-Charlie.
“…dinner at seven p.m. sharp this Saturday with Sandstone. They’ve been to a few of your shows, they know your music, and they’re excited to meet you. In my opinion, they’re the best fit for Zero. Don’t be late. It’s not a dressy occasion, but you’ll want to wear something nice.”
I waited for a sly dig at my shoes. A snide but playful, “Yes, I’m talking to you, Ky. Splurge on a new pair of sneakers.” Or some kind of harmless semi-flirtatious taunt designed to get under my skin. I stared at him intently, willing him to look my way, but he kept on talking, looking at anyone but me.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be there and we’ll be on our best behavior,” Justin assured him. He strummed a couple of chords on his acoustic guitar, then flattened his right hand over the strings with a mischievous grin. “But only if you tell us who pissed in your Cheerios.”
Charlie frowned. Any other day I would have razzed him about considering Botox to get rid of the two lines creating an eleven smack in the middle of his brow. Then he’d respond with a fiery reminder that he was only twenty-five fucking years old before adding that he had an appointment next week. Under the silly jabs, I had a feeling he always knew I was kidding. Just like I knew he’d never had a single Botox injection…yet. It was silly, meaningless banter, but I missed it. I tried to think of something less personal but still slightly offensive to make him laugh and came up empty.
I stared at Charlie’s profile, willing him to look my way and read my mind and...tell me what to do.