Page 10 of From Drummer to Gamer
“What do you think it is?” My brother still didn’t lose his smirk.
It had the name in a simple, bold font and a number, and an email printed on the bottom. It couldn’t possibly behis, could it? It did feel quite expensive, but even so, how the hell would my brother get his hands on something like this? “Who gave you this?”
“Who do you think?”
“I don’t have time for your stupid games, Raphy.”
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Matt Evans gave me that.”
And once again, my heart thundered at that name. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Even I didn’t at first.” He shrugged. “But there he was in the flesh, praising what an incredible talent I was. So talented that he wants to sign me on his label.”
“He doesn’t have a label.”
The glint in his eyes deepened. “It’s not public news yet.”
“I don’t know from which hole you dug up this load of crap from, but I’m not buying it,” I said, flicking the card toward his face.
“Si,” he whined, jerking upright. “I’m really not lying. I was busking like I usually was, and out of nowhere, this big giant approaches me, and to my surprise, guess who it was? The Matt Evans.”
“In Iona?”Doesn’t he live in LA?
“Yes. Do you really think I have the brains to even fake this card?”
Hmm, my brother did have zero brain cells. “Okay,” I said hesitantly. “Tell me everything.”
As he reiterated the story, the more bizarre it sounded, but aside from the usual smugness in his face, he also had an excited gleam in his eyes.
And I just knew he was telling the fucking truth.
My brother got to meet Matty fucking Evans before I did.
How in the world was that fair?
Not fair. At all.
I had two obsessions in my life: one was gaming, which I lived, breathed, and burned for.
And the other was rock music, or more particularly, a certain rock star with brooding eyes and effortless rhythm.
MATT EVANS.
The man of my wildest fantasies who haunted my dreams.
His music soothed the ache in my heart and healed the weight in my soul.
Unlike the other members, with their flashy smiles and theatrical performances, something raw and real about Matt conjured an undeniable desire in me.
I didn’t care what anyone said. I was his number-one fucking fangirl.
I knew every inch of his life there was to know, to simply say I was obsessed with an untouchable God, or so I thought.
Maybe sharing the same air as Matthew Evans wouldn’t be so hard after all.
“You have to say yes,” I blurted.
“Oh, do I?” He cast me an arrogant grin. “I’ll have to think about it.”
