Page 29 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

Well, that’s an interesting development.

Not interesting enough to distract me from Jordan, though.

A personal day? Bullshit.

Jordan rarely ever takes a day off. In fact, I can’t recall the last time she took any time off at all.

Something is definitely not right.

Is it me?

Did I make things worse for her?

Was the other night really a huge mistake?

I sit silently, like always, my thoughts a constant stream as Mac drives us across the city toward the theater we booked for tonight’s band practice. Along the way, I hear Harvey and the ladies gushing over their lunch today with the romance author and… some hot dude named Robbie? I’m not much of a reader myself, but I’m happy they had fun.

I’m especially happy for Addison, smiling comfortably under Harvey’s arm. I’ve never seen her so happy, so content. Like me, she always kept to herself… until he came along. Maybe all it takes to be happy is to find the right person to bring your smile out of you.

I glance around the bus, instinctively searching for the one person I know isn’t even here.

We arrive at the theater. It’s a small venue, known for smaller bands and one-man shows and the like, but it’ll do for tonight’s practice.

Mac parks our bus near the back of the building next to a familiar van. Our roadies came early to transport our instruments, but I stop and help the guys carry in my drums because... well, I’m protective of my babies.

Once inside, we enter the backstage area and, within a few minutes, we’re all set up in the empty auditorium, ready to go over tomorrow’s set list. It includesStrawberry Daiquirisfor the first time. That song was for the Battle of the Bands against The Electrics come Halloween night, but unfortunately, it leaked thanks to Paul Monroe’s little bus bug. We all agreed to sack it and come up with something else for the Battle.

Still a fire song, though, so we’re keeping it.

We take our places on stage while Chrissy, August, Harmony, and Harvey sit in the front row. Once again, I search for Jordan, butshe’s not here.

My stomach tightens.

Knox stands at his microphone stand. “Hello, Chicago,” he says, testing it out, his voice echoing into all four corners of the room.

In the sound booth at the back, Roy gives us the thumbs up.

Levels all good. Time to play.

“We are Knox, Jonah, Addison, Bronson, and Katrina. And these are?—”

The doors in the back swing open loudly, interrupting Knox’s usual starting line. Past the stage lights, I see the silhouette of a man holding open both doors at the end of the aisle. Two people stand behind his shoulders, clearly female based on their curves.

It only takes a second for me to recognize them.

And another to make my anger spike.

“Son of a bitch,”Knox grumbles.

The three of them step forward. As they get closer, I stand up off my stool, getting a better look at them in their matching black and yellow outfits.

The Electrics.

Leading the way, Logan Shock charges forward.

Chrissy and August stand up, blocking their path to the stage. “Excuse me,” Chrissy says diplomatically. “You have to leave. This is a private rehearsal.”

“Yes, I know,” Logan says, his black-lined eyes smiling. “This will only take a minute.”

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