Page 2 of Electric Touch

“Oh my God, he’s looking right at me.”

I glance at the woman beside me. Is he looking at her? She is gorgeous, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a perfect pouty mouth.

"You’re dismissed.”

My stomach bottoms out, until I realise the producer is talking to the blonde woman, not me.

“You’re kidding me?” Her mouth drops open.

“We don’t want groupies.”

“I’m not a groupie!” She protests.

I glance back at Nash, who has lost interest in us. He picks up an acoustic guitar, sitting on the arm of a chair, plucking at the strings.

I am as shocked as everyone around us when he speaks up.

“Let her stay.”

“Not your decision,” the producer replies without looking at him.

“She’s hot, I’d fuck her. Isn’t that what this is all about? She stays.”

“Jesus Christ, Nash,” Declan sighs.

Riley looks away. Hell, if my boyfriend of over ten years made that comment, it would have ticked me off. She does nothing, as if she doesn’t want to cause drama with an audience.

The producer turns to Declan for guidance. He is clearly irritated, but nods his head. I guess what the stars want, the stars get. That is a dynamic I have no insight into. My chance is slipping away.

I am moving into difficult territory on the list. Some of them take me into situations I wouldn’t usually find myself in and some of them are easy. I’ve already crossed off three a few days after starting. There is no order to it, so long as I cross them all off.

But there isn’t a lot of time, so putting myself out there is a necessity.

I am leaving getting a tattoo for as long as possible. I’m not scared of the pain, per se, it’s about the permanence of it on my body. Sasha says I can get something small.

Apollo, my other best friend, tells me it needs to be meaningful. We’ve been friends since I moved to America when I was seven. He took me under his wing and we’ve been inseparable since. I trust his judgment, and he’s convinced me the tattoo should make a statement.

Apollo’s body is covered in tattoos, from his neck to his ankles, and he already has his artist lined up to do the tattoo for me. Getting a tattoo versus getting a rock star into bed, couldn’t be more different.

Yet here I am, looking at three male members of Red Alert. How in the ever-loving hell will I get one of them to sleep with me? Especially when I’m sure this whole thing is over.

The producer turns to me and gives me a sympathetic smile. Maybe I would have gone through, had it not been for the girl next to me. There is only space for ten and Nash just gave the last place to someone the producers don’t want.

“I’m sorry. We have no more spots open.” The producer says through gritted teeth.

Damn my life.

“Thank you for the opportunity.” It’s disappointing, and hurts that I’m being turned away for this reason.

Double damn.

“Wait.”

I pause and look at the producer.

“Who represents you? I’d like you to audition for other projects.”

“I don’t have representation,” I say. Her eyes widen. “This isn’t something I do.”

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