“We’re talking about Stéphanie’s roommate, right?” Cole joins in. “Youwerechecking her ass out that whole night at the show.”
“You were therepour commefive minutes, Cole!” I shout, jumping up and grabbing my phone back from Ace. “Molly is my friend. I got her an interview at Metro, and Shayla hired her to be the new graphic designer. Now we text sometimes.”
“And you try to get in her pants,” Ace deadpans. I glare at him, and he holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m not complaining. It was kind of awkward when she so clearly had a crush on me. I’m sure it would be good for her to move on...even if she doesn’t seem to be interested in moving on withyou.”
“Don’t be such amaudit connard,” I grumble.
Matt is flicking his sticks against his snare, which is his passive-aggressive way of telling us he wants to get rehearsal started. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Matt, we’d probably just sit around this room insulting each other for the whole rehearsal session.
It’s how we show our love.
Matt can’t resist getting in a jab of his own before we get started on our first song, though. “Don’t worry, JP. I believe you’re just friends. I’ve yet to see you have a crush on a girl that lasts more than five minutes.”
“Yeah, you’re like a dog with a squirrel when it comes to...well, pretty much anything,” Ace chimes in.
Maybe it’s just because of missing my pills, but their shit starts getting to me for once. I crank the volume up on my keyboard and bang my fists on it, making them all wince and cover their ears.
“Voyons, guys. Can you lay the fuck off?”
Ace reaches over from where he’s tuning his guitar and pats me on the arm. “We’re just fucking with you. You good, man?”
I roll my shoulders a few times. “I’m good. Let’s play.”
We make it through half our latest set list before we stop to take a break. I can feel the sweat collecting under my shirt collar, making it stick to the back of my neck. I throw the flannel onto one of the couches and mop my face with the edge of my undershirt.
Matt screws the lid back onto his water bottle and checks the time. “Two more songs, and then we have to go meet Mona at the Metro office.”
We’ve got a meeting with our manager and some of the Metro Records team to go over a new distribution agreement. The next two hours are going to be as exciting as watching the grass grow, but Matt always insists we be a part of band-related decisions. I guess deep down, I know that nitpicking son of a bitch is smart for doing it.
The notes of our final song are still fading in the basement as we haul ass up the staircase and across the street to Sherbrooke Station so we can catch the metro. We still end up being fifteen minutes late. Shayla, Mona, and a few Metro employees are sitting around some boxes they’ve lined up to make a conference table. It makes them all look like little kids playing pretend.
“Shayla!” I shout from across the room. “Your favourite lezbro is here!”
She gives me evil eyes. “You’re not my lezbro, JP.”
I’m totally her lezbro.
She makes a face when I approach the ‘table’ and bend down to kiss her on the cheek. I take Mona’s hand next and press it to my lips like a real eighteenth century gentleman. She just rolls her eyes as I fist bump the rest of the people in the meeting and then take my seat.
“Thanks for joining us, boys,” Shayla announces, once the rest of the guys are sitting too.
Mona inspects one of her long, manicured, I-could-cut-your-throat-with-this-thing fingernails and huffs. “Fifteen minutes behind schedule.”
She and Shayla share a look of understanding. Honestly, having your manager and ex-manager in the same room can be worse than bringing your ex-girlfriend along to dinner with your current one.
We all get handed a few sheets of paper and some highlighters as one of the Metro employees goes over the changes to our record distribution agreement. It doesn’t seem to be anything major, at least not as far as I can tell. Matt’s highlighting like he’s going to be tested on this later, but I just use my own marker to draw a picture of Mona battling Iron Man with her cat claws of death.
Forty-five minutes later, we’ve signed a few documents and the rest of the guys are heading back to the door. Shayla catches me by the arm as I’m about to follow them out.
“Your friend Molly is doing well here,” she tells me. “I was a little worried about how things would turn out, since she wassonervous at the interview, but...Well, just look at her.”
The rest of the employees are sitting at a mix of real desks and desks made out of boxes, zoned in on their computer screens. I didn’t pay them much attention when I walked in the room, but Shayla points to a desk in the far corner, and I don’t know how I missed her before.
Molly is mid-laugh when my eyes land on her face, head thrown back and mouth stretched wide in a smile before she claps a hand over it to smother her outburst. It’s fucking cute. Her shoulders tremble with the effort of holding her laughter in. She shakes her head back and forth and smacks her palm against her desk, squeezing her eyes shut like she can’t handle whatever the guy beside her is saying.
I focus on him for the first time. He’s leaning over from his own desk, gripping the back of Molly’s chair to keep his balance as he points at something on her laptop screen. He’s got thick, Buddy Holly-style glasses that don’t suit his face. I narrow my eyes when I realize he’s also got a man-bun.
I know I don’t actuallyownthe man-bun look, but it’s kind of my thing. It’s like if hairstyles were gang territories, thismecwould be stepping on my turf right now.
